ag, "why
wilt thou vainly brandish thy rebellious arms against the powers of
Heaven? If the Sultan, though he be the favourite of Allah, do wrong,
the Mighty One, who delighteth in justice, will make thee the
instrument of His vengeance on the offending Prince. But know the
extent of thy power, vain woman! and presume not to war against the
will of Heaven, lest the battle of the faithful genii be set in array
against thee, and thou be joined to the number of those who are
already fallen."

"Proud vassal of light," answered the enchantress Hapacuson, "I fear
not thy threats, nor the bright pageants that surround thee: war,
tumult, chaos, and darkness, fear and dismay, are to me more welcome
than the idle splendours of thy Master."

"Abandoned wretch!" answered the bright being, "defile not thy
Maker's creations by thy blasphemous tongue; but learn at least to
fear that Mighty One thou art not worthy to honour."

Thus saying, she blew from her mouth a vivid flame, like a sharp two
edged-sword, which, entering into the clouds that surrounded
Hapacuson, the hag gave a horrible shriek, and the thick clouds
rolling around her, she flew away into the darkness.

The fair one then descending towards the Sultan, the brightness
disappeared, and Misnar, the Vizier, and the guards, fell prostrate
before her.

"Arise, Misnar," said she, "Heaven's favourite! and fear not to enter
the tomb, where the enchantments of Hapacuson are now at an end."

The Sultan was about to answer, but the fair one led the way to the
tomb, and commanded him to enter with her, and uncover the stone case
which stood at the upper end.

As the lid was removing, a sigh issued from its case, and a lovely
female arose as from a deep sleep.

"Inform me," said the Sultan, "whom it is my happy fate to release
from this wretched confinement?"

"Alas!" answered the beautiful maiden, "art thou the vile Bennaskar,
or the still more vile Mahoud? Oh, let me sleep till death, and never
more behold the wretchedness of life!"

"What!" said the Sultan, starting from his knees, "do I behold the
unfortunate Princess of Cassimir?"

"Illustrious Hemjunah," said the Vizier Horam, as the Princess stared
wildly about her, "Misnar, the Sultan of India, is before thee."

"Yes," interrupted the fair spirit, "doubt not, Hemjunah, the truth of
the Vizier Horam; for behold! Macoma, thy guardian genius, assures
thee of the reality of what thou beholdest."

"Helper of the