London ; New York:
J. Lane the Bodley Head,
Text on page 216
Oh, my Nakhdah when the mattress is spread, who will lie on it ?
Who shall be covered by the folded coverlet ?
Who will sit upon the embroidered mat,
Or lean against the great round pillow ?
Oh, my Nakhdah ! the feast is waiting, but who will eat it ? v The water is cool, but who will drink it ?
The napkin is there, whose mouth can it wipe ?
The sireh is ready, but who will use it ?
Thy Sister is cold, who will fondle her ?
Ah-hu ! ah-hu ! come death, deliver me.'
"And then she fell to weeping and moaning, struggling with her sisters, and trying to cast herself into the sea.
" That is the tale of Ra'nah and Nakhdah M a'win, and every one knows it. Some tell it one way and some another, but that is how it came to me. The girl was mad, mad with love and regret for six months ; and then her father married her to another man, and that cured her. I knew the man : he was a foreigner. She and two of her sisters died long ago, but the other is alive still.
"How to get the dyong's tears? Oh, that
is easy enough. You catch the sea-woman when
she comes up the sand to eat the sweet grass on
shore. I told you how to do it. You have to lie in