Summary

Henry Iliowizi The Weird Orient: Nine Mystic Tales

Yezed’s imagination had been enkindled by the sight of the sinking orb; he thought of the unfading glories of Jannat al Naïm, the Prophet’s Garden of Delight.
“Yezed, I am thinking that thou hast passed thy twenty-first year and art as helpless as a child; thou hast no ambition, not a wish to fire thee to a manly deed. If I died this coming night what would become of thee and thy mother?” began Othman, eying the unsophisticated youth sharply.
“Yezed wished to own a horse, his father made him happy,—what else shall Yezed wish? If one is happy he has no wish. Thou die to-night?
Source: Gutenberg

Henry Iliowizi The Weird Orient: Nine Mystic Tales

Great Odin, the cloud-compelling power who wields the thunderbolt, but whose old sovereignty has been lamentably curtailed, deplores his condition and thine. True, when the empire over Midgard had to be abandoned in favor of Alfadur’s anointed, the extremities of earth alone afforded refuge from the universal spread of those hateful inspirations which, like a deluge, submerged the better world,—synagogue, church, or mosque supplanting those pantheons of art, poetry and beauty, which, in the golden age of dream and fable, song, dance and free love, made man as happy as an unbridled child.
Source: Gutenberg

Henry Iliowizi The Weird Orient: Nine Mystic Tales

Him thou art to question, because he is the one to satisfy thy demand,” replied the demon. “Describe his retreat to me and its approaches, and thou shalt go free,” commanded the son of David.
“He is to be found where no creature of flesh and blood can long endure; it is not heaven; neither is it earth; in the heart of the Orient, on the highest peak of the highest mountain range, a hollow summit crowned with eternal snow, holding under seal before a recess of frozen crystal the purest spring under the heaven to give him drink, that is Ashmodai’s retreat.
Source: Gutenberg

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