... A marvelous tale, told once by this sea to sailors from these shores, on its way back from the far islands, the day it returned with the tide... of sweet young girls beyond the sea, guarding the spellbound caves of emerald and ruby... the like of which no eye has ever seen, nor any ear on earth heard!
Treasures upon treasures... laid under a spell in the seas by beautiful maidens, to be unbound by an Eastern sailor from the land of Lebanon.
And he shall have, after that, mountains of emerald and ruby, heaped-up mountains, to carry home on the sea's return to Lebanon — and to carry with him the sweet maidens, guardians of the treasures spellbound in the sea!
... And one night, the youth of the mountains came down, chasing the sweet tale — and the tale, upon the sea, stretches and stretches, its letters growing long, until every letter in it is a jinniyeh striking the sea with her magic wand, and the sea splits open upon caves and mountains, of the heaped-up piles, of the spellbound bounties of the seas... gold upon gold, gold of dust, dust of gold... piles upon piles, one atop the other... treasures upon treasures, laid under a spell in the seas by beautiful maidens, to be unbound by an Eastern sailor from the land of Lebanon!
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— Where to, my precious charge, where to?! Stay upon my heart... warm my old age in the springtime of your youth; my heart warms itself in your eyes. With tears I raised your youth... Where to, my dear treasure, where to?!
— In the sea, Mother, there is a marvelous tale... mountains of rubies, spellbound and waiting for me; tomorrow I shall come back to your heart with heaps of them, and with sweet maidens!
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— Where to, good farmer, you who pour blessings into my breast — where to? My soil is kindly and tender... and my vineyard generous and open-handed!
And the earth, your earth, is bountiful — her breast never stints; why then should your breast stint its love, good farmer?
— In the sea, O earth, in the sea there is a marvelous tale: mountains of rubies, spellbound and waiting for me...
Vineyards of emerald, with the clusters hanging in them... tomorrow I shall come back with clusters of emerald and hang them on your trellises...
In the sea, O earth, in the sea..?!
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... And the nights fall desolate... the hearth-fires amid the snows are cold to freezing; the embers in them die out upon the palms of an old woman and an old man whose veins have withered... alone, alone... but for the picture hanging on the wall, and this letter sleeping under the pillow, holding the scent of a boy lost at sea.
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The village squares are deserted; the warm ray of sunlight dies there alone, and rises no more upon a sinewy forearm.
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The grape clusters in the vineyards hang dried where they were left, a sucked-dry skin no mouth craves and no mind recalls.
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The great church bell at the feast, head bowed, mournful, rings out no peals!
For the young men have cut its ropes and gone...
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The silk looms in the house — song chokes in them, and nothing rises to their mind but lament!
The silkworm dies of hunger, for the earth puts forth no mulberry leaf any more...!
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On the threshing floors of wheat, life flickers dimly, upon gaunt cows and gaunt grains that cannot fill the beloved house sparrow.
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The red, red tiled houses stand darkened, living in the gloom of loneliness and the darkness of desertion... on their red tiles a crow... and in their broken-down windows an owl. The paths — no husky murmur in them, no ringing song of a strong lad surging with love as the evenings come home to the beloved's house.
The young girls droop broken at the windows, their eyes on the sea, behind the tale.
And their feet were torn from walking night and day, and their shoulders were flayed, deep gashes carved into the flesh.
Bring them back from the coal mines, from
