STORY LXVII
It once happened that in a journey to the Hejâz[1] a company of young and pious men, whose sentiments harmonised with mine, were my fellow travellers. They occasionally sang, and recited spiritual verses; but we had with us also an A'bid[2] who entertained a bad opinion of the behaviour of the Dervishes and was ignorant of their sufferings. When we reached the palm-grove of the Beni Hallâl, a black boy of the encampment, falling into a state of excitement, broke out in a strain, which brought down the birds from the sky; I saw, however, the camel of the A'bid, which began to prance, throwing him and running into the desert.
Knowest thou what that matutinal bulbul said to me? What man art thou to be ignorant of love? That Arabic verse threw a camel into ecstasy[3] and joy; if thou hast no taste, thou art an ill-natured brute. When a camel's head is turned by the frenzy of joy and a man does not feel it, he must be an ass. When the winds blow over the plain, the branches of the bantree bend; not hard rocks.
Whatever thou beholdest chants His[4] praises; he knows this who has the true perception. Not only the bulbul on the rose-bush sings praises, but every bramble is a tongue, extolling Him.
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