he Great Hall, seven days after the
mastery of the Event, lo, Noorna, in air, borne by Gulrevaz, she fair and
fresh in the revival of health and beauty, and the light of constant
love. Of her entry into the Great Hall, to the embrace of her betrothed,
the poet exclaims, picturing her in a rapture:

Her march is music, and my soul obeys
Each motion, as a lute to cunning fingers
I see the earth throb for her as she sways
Wave-like in air, and like a great flower lingers
Heavily over all, as loath to leave
What loves her so, and for her loss would grieve.

But oh, what other hand than heaven's can paint
Her eyes, and that black bow from which their lightning
Pierces afar! long lustrous eyes, that faint
In languor, or with stormy passion brightening:
Within them world in world lights up from sleep,
And gives a glimpse of the eternal deep.

Sigh round her, odorous winds; and, envious rose,
So vainly envious, with such blushes gifted,
Bow to her; die, strangled with jealous throes,
O Bulbul! when she sings with brow uplifted;
Gather her, happy youth, and for thy gain
Thank Him who could such loveliness ordain.

Surely the Master of the Event advanced to her in the glory of a Sultan,
and seated her beside him in majesty, and their contract of marriage was
read aloud in the Hall, and witnessed, and sealed: joyful was he! Then
commenced that festival which lasted forty days, and is termed the
Festival of the honours of hospitality to the Sons of Aldis, wherein the
head-cook of the palace, Uruish, performed wonders in his science, and
menaced the renown of Zrmack, the head-cook of King Shamshureen. Even so
the confectioner, Dob, excelled himself in devices and inventions, and
his genius urged him to depict in sugars and pastes the entire adventures
of Shibli Bagarag in search of the Sword. Honour we Uruish and Do-b! as
the poet sayeth:

Divide not this fraternal twain;
One are they, and one should for ever remain:
As to sweet close in fine music we look,
So the Confectioner follows the Cook.

And one of the Sons of Aklis, Zaragal, beholding this masterpiece of Dob,
which was served to the guests in the Great Hall on the fortieth evening,
was fair to exclaim in extemporaneous verse:

Have I been wafted to a rise
Of banquet spread in Paradise,
Dower'd with consuming powers divine;--
That I, who have not fail