"'Tis true, my daughter dear, a seer had I, Whom I have lost,--a dire calamity; By his advice and love I undertake This journey. But alas! for mine own sake He fell by perils on this lengthened way; He was not strong, and feared that he should lay Himself to rest amid the mountains wild. He was a warrior, with him I killed Khumbaba, Elam's king who safely dwelt Within a forest vast of pines, and dealt Destruction o'er the plains. We razed his walls-- My friend at last before me dying falls.
"Alas! why did my seer attempt to slay The dragons that we met upon the way, He slew his foe, and like a lion died. Ah, me! the cause, when I the gods defied, And brought upon us all this awful woe; In sorrow o'er his death, my life must flow! For this I came to find the ancient seer, Lead me to him, I pray, if he lives here."
Then Mua leads him through the glorious land Of matchless splendor, on the border grand Of those wide Happy Fields that spread afar O'er beaming hills and vales, where ambient air With sweetest zephyrs sweeps a grand estrade, Where softest odors from each flowering glade Lull every sense aswoon that breathes not bliss And harmony with World of Blessedness. 'Neath trees of luring fruits she leads the way, Through paths of flowers where night hath fled away, A wilderness of varied crystal flowers, Where fragrance rests o'er clustering, shining bowers. Each gleaming cup its nectared wine distils, For spirit lips each chalice ever fills.
Beyond the groves a lucent palace shone In grandest splendor near an inner zone; In amethyst and gold divinely rose, With glories scintillant the palace glows. A dazzling halo crowns its lofty domes, And spreading from its summit softly comes With grateful rays, and floods the balustrades And golden statues 'neath the high arcades; A holy palace built by magic hand With wondrous architecture, portals grand, And aurine turrets piled to dizzy heights, Oh, how its glory Izdubar delights!
Beneath majestic arcades carved, they pass, Up golden steps that shine like polished glass, Through noble corridors with sculptured walls, By lofty columns, archways to the halls Of glories, the bright harbinger of fanes Of greater splendor of the Heavenly plains. Beneath an arch of gems the King espies A form immortal, he who death defies. Advancing forth the sage his welcome gives, "'Tis Izdubar who comes to me and lives!" Embracing him he leads him in a room, Where many a curious graven tablet, tome, And scrolls of quaint and old forgotten lore Have slept within for centuries of yore. The tablets high are heaped, the alcoves full, Where truth at last has found a welcome goal. In wisdom's room, the sage his guest has led, And seats him till the banquet high is spread; Of Izdubar he learns his journeys great, How he for aid has left his throne of state.