Whilst the damsel was still speaking and inviting Jemshíd into the garden, he looked at her thoughtfully, and hesitated; and she said to him: "Why do you hesitate? I am permitted by my father to do what I please, and my heart is my own.
"Stranger, my father is the monarch mild Of Zábulistán, and I his only child; On me is all his fond affection shown; My wish is his, on me he dotes alone."
Jemshíd had before heard of the character and renown of this extraordinary damsel, yet he was not disposed to comply with her entreaty; but contemplating again her lovely face, his heart became enamoured, when she took him by the hand and led him along the beautiful walks.
With dignity and elegance she passed-- As moves the mountain partridge through the meads; Her tresses richly falling to her feet, And filling with perfume the softened breeze.
In their promenade they arrived at the basin of a fountain, near which they seated themselves upon royal carpets, and the damsel having placed Jemshíd in such a manner that they might face each other, she called for music and wine.
But first the rose-cheeked handmaids gathered round, And washed obsequiously the stranger's feet; Then on the margin of the silvery lake Attentive sate.
The youth, after this, readily took the wine and refreshments which were ordered by the princess.
Three cups he drank with eager zest, Three cups of ruby wine; Which banished sorrow from his breast, For memory left no sign Of past affliction; not a trace Remained upon his heart, or smiling face.
Whilst he was drinking, the princess observed his peculiar action and elegance of manner, and instantly said in her heart: "This must be a king!" She then offered him some more food, as he had come a long journey, and from a distant land, but he only asked for more wine. "Is your fondness for wine so great?" said she. And he replied: "With wine I have no enemy; yet, without it I can be resigned and contented.
"Whilst drinking wine I never see The frowning face of my enemy; Drink freely of the grape, and nought Can give the soul one mournful thought; Wine is a bride of witching power, And wisdom is her marriage dower; Wine can the purest joy impart, Wine inspires the saddest heart; Wine gives cowards valour's rage, Wine gives youth to tottering age; Wine gives vigour to the weak, And crimson to the pallid cheek; And dries up sorrow, as the sun Absorbs the dew it shines upon."