Where's thy cure, O Taleb?
I find no medicine that cureth love,
In vain I search. Sweet Fatima's the cause
Of all my woes, with _khelkal_ tinted blue.
My heart endureth passion's pangs, my grief
Continues. Where's thy remedy, O Taleb?
Thy remedy is lost, my good Lord Taleb.
Pray God for me, O Taleb, I implore.
But how to cure the malady of love?
There is no remedy, and all is lost.
I die for lack of strength to bear my trials.
It is to thee that I intrust myself,
The healer who must bring rest to my heart;
For now a living brand burns in my breast.
If thou art skilful, find a cure for me.
[1] This elegy is the work of a celebrated sheik of Tlemcen,
Mahomet-Ben-Sahla, whose period was the first half of the eighteenth
century. He left a son, Ben Medien, a poet, too, and his descendants still
live, near Tlemcen, in a village called Feddan-es-Seba.
Look in thy book and calculate for me
If thou canst quench the burning brand within.
I will become thy slave, and thou may'st keep
Me or at auction sell. Where is thy cure!
Thy remedy is lost, my good Lord Taleb.
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