Mejnour, all around me is mist and haze; I have gone back in our sublime existence; and from the bosom of the imperishable youth that blooms only in the spirit, springs up the dark poison-flower of human love.
This man is not worthy of her,--I know that truth; yet in his nature are the seeds of good and greatness, if the tares and weeds of worldly vanities and fears would suffer them to grow.

If she were his, and I had thus transplanted to another soil the passion that obscures my gaze and disarms my power, unseen, unheard, unrecognised, I could watch over his fate, and secretly prompt his deeds, and minister to her welfare through his own.

But time rushes on! Through the shadows that encircle me, I see, gathering round her, the darkest dangers.

No choice but flight,--no escape save with him or me.

With me!--the rapturous thought,--the terrible conviction! With me! Mejnour, canst thou wonder that I would save her from myself?
A moment in the life of ages,--a bubble on the shoreless sea.