"But strange to tell, the young king grew every day more grave and
pensive in the midst of all these delights. Music nor mirth could win
him from the melancholy which overshadowed him. The truth was, that amid
so much adulation as surrounded him, the idol of a nation, his soul no
longer increased in wisdom; and loving virtue beyond all other things,
he secretly bemoaned his defection whilst not perceiving its cause. His
virtues, the cynosure of all eyes, withered like tender flowers meant to
blossom in the shade, but unnaturally exposed to noon-day. His adoring
people bewailed what they thought must be a foreshadowing of mortal
illness, and the wise counsellors of his childhood vainly strove to
fathom his mood. But those who know us best are ever the Unseen, and
about the young monarch hovered the benignant influences that had
watched his infancy, and now rightly interpreted the sorrow of his
heart. In sooth, that this sorrow was matter of rejoicing in the Air, I
gather from the joyous mien of that river-sprite which one day surprised
him as he languidly mused in a balcony that overhung the water, and
spoke to him in accents strange to his ear and yet at once comprehended.
"'Come, O king, my voice obey;
Come where hidden things are seen;
Come with me from garish day,
Withering, blasting, grievous, vain,
To retreat of mystery,
Haunt of holy mystery.' "These words, as I have related, were spoken in an unknown tongue, and
yet my story gives the mystic speech in pleasant and familiar rhythm. I
do not know how this may be," and Nawab Khan gravely shook his head,
"but perchance in recounting his experience, the king, unable to exactly
reproduce in his own tongue the message brought to him by the sprite,
for the thoughts of the Immortals cannot be expressed in human speech,
conveyed a semblance of it in such words as he could command, and sought
to veil their incompetency by an agreeable measure. In like manner I
think may the art of poetry have been invented. It is an effort to
cover by wile of dulcet utterance the impotence of mortal speech to tell
the things that belong to the spirit. And, after all, language as we
know it is an uncertain interpreter of even human emotions. So many of
our words, and they our dearest, are but symbols representing unknown
quantities.
"But to return to my story," continued the Nawab, "the sprite waving her
arms beckoned the king to follow her, and led the way towards the
river's mouth. It entered the lake only a short distance from where they
were. The king experienced a poignant grief when for a moment he feared
that, unable to follow her, he must forever lose sight of his beauteous
visitant. But in another instant he was stepping into a tiny skiff which
suddenly appeared where a moment before had floated a lily. The magical
craft followed its spirit guide, moving against the tide, impelled by
unseen power, and ever and anon the sprite beckoned him onward. Soon
they entered the river, which here was deep, broad, and smoothly
flowing. Motion ceased when they were under a high overhanging bank
whose drooping foliage screened them from view. Here his guide again
spoke: "'Ask and ye hear, O king, 'tis meet
That mortal want should be replete
From fulness of immortal state.' "At once his soul's sadness found voice and he cried: "'Tell me how may my increase in virtue resemble this river in its
onward flow?' "Then the spirit answered: "'From veiled spring that river sweeps
Whose swelling tides in glory
Roll onward to th' infinite deeps,
It is the soul's own story.' "Again she beckoned him on, and without effort of his own he glided over
the water until they paused again where a lotus flower rested on the
tide. The bees clustered around it, attesting its sweetness, and when
the king bent over it and breathed its odour he cried: "'Ah, how shall my piety be pure like the lotus, and the savour of my
virtues spread abroad?' "And again the sprite replied: "'Fairest flowers bloom unseen,
Graces that are manifest
Are of largess less serene;
Ever veiled things are best.' "When the eve deepened they were in a forest, a single star overhead
shone through the gloom, and was reflected in the water. Looking upward
the king asked for the third time: "'How shall the days of my life be glorious and shine like the stars?' "Ere she plunged beneath the flood to vanish forever, his guide
answered: "'Love, like the star, the shade of eve,
Seclusion, heavenly rest,
And calm, for these things interweave
The bowers of the Blest?' "The king was now at the river's secret source, and on the bank above
the deep pool he saw a man of a more princely aspect than any he had
ever known. He stood grand and divine, extending his hand with a most
benignant smile, and the story goes that the king perceived that he held
a luminous gem, some say a diamond and some an emerald--both stones, as
has often been proved, having magical potency. I cannot tell what it
was, but the king reached out his own hand to touch it, when instantly,
he knew not how, it seemed that something, a Resolve, a Desire, who can
say what, went from him into the bright orb, bearing which the creature
of light arose through the air, ascending higher and higher, bearing the
jewel which shone like the everlasting stars. And the king knew that his
soul's life had gone to other regions beyond the knowledge and speech of
men.