| The Coming of the Ship | .i nu selklama le bloti
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| Almustafa, the chosen and the beloved, who was a dawn onto his own day, had waited twelve years in the city of Orphalese for his ship that was to return and bear him back to the isle of his birth. | .i la .almustafas po'u le secuxna je seprami zi'e poi ke'a cerni pe'a ke'a mo'u le pare senanca ku pu denpa le sexruti bloti le tcadu me'e la .orfaliz. le pu'u bevri ko'a le daplu pe le ko'a vejbena kei
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| And in the twelfth year, on the seventh day of Ielool, the month of reaping, he climbed the hill without the city walls and looked seaward; and he beheld the ship coming with the mist. | .i mo'u le paremoi nanca .e le zemoi djedi pe la .ielul. noi crepu masti ku'o ko'a cpare le cmana ze'o le tcadu bitmu lo ka galtu .i ko'a catlu le xamsi .i ko'a viska le nu xruti bloti kei le bumru
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| Then the gates of his heart were flung open, and his joy flew far over the sea. And he closed his eyes and prayed in the silences of his soul. | .i ca la'e di'u fe le vorme po'e le ko'a cnise'i cu renro kalri .i le ko'a ka gleki kei ve'u pu vofli veka'a le xamsi .i le ko'a kanla cu mu'e ganlo .i ko'a pensi ci'o le ruxse'i sesmaji
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| But as he descended the hill, a sadness came upon him, and he thought in his heart: | .i ku'i mo'i ni'a lo nu badri cu cfari .i le ko'a cnise'i cu cusku
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| How shall I go in peace and without sorrow? Nay, not without a wound in the spirit shall I leave this city. | lu xu mi ba klama sekai lo nu panpi secau badri .i ju'onai mi na cliva leti tcadu secau le pruxi vexrani
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| Long were the days of pain I have spent within its walls, and long were the nights of aloneness; and who can depart from his pain and his aloneness without regret? | .i so'i se djedi nu mi lo cortu gi'e lemi ka sepli cu nicte go'i gi'e ma kakne cliva le ko'a cortu .e le ko'a ka sepli secau lo xenru
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| Too many fragments of the spirit have I scattered in these streets, and too many are the children of my longing that walk naked among these hills, and I cannot withdraw from them without a burden and an ache. | .i fe le'i du'e se porpi po'e le pruxi cu fatri renro mi levi klaji gi'e le'i du'e panzi po lemi pacna poi lunbe cadzu bu'u levi ro cmana gi'e mi ka'enai cliva ra secau lo mabla sebevri .e lo secortu
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| It is not a garment I cast off this day, but a skin that I tear with my own hands. | .i ca le cabdei mi vimcu lo pa na taxfu .i mi katna le skapi sepi'o le'imi xance
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| Nor is it a thought I leave behind me, but a heart made sweet with hunger and with thirst. | ji'a mi ca cliva ge nai lo xanri gi le cnise'i poi lonu xagji je taske cupu galfi ke'a lo titla
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| Yet I cannot tarry longer. | .i ku'i mi na ka'e nu za'o stali
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| The sea that calls all things unto her calls me, and I must embark. | le xamsi goi ko'e noi ke'a bapli lacpu roda fa'a ko'e cu bapli lacpu mi .ije mi bilga lenu cliva
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| For to stay, though the hours burn in the night, is to freeze and crystallize and be bound in a mould. | .i ki'u bo lonu stali mu'inai lonu le cacra cu pe'a jelca ca lo nicte kei cu jalge lonu dunja gi'e krilybi'o gi'e rinju lo tarmi calku
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| Fain would I take with me all that is here. But how shall I? | .i .au mi cu nu'o .ui kansa lebna loro zvati .i ku'i snada fi ma
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| A voice cannot carry the tongue and the lips that give it wings. Alone must it seek the ether. | .i lo voksa na ka'e bevri lo tance .e lo ctebi poi dunda ra lo nalci .i va'o lo nonkansa ra sisku lo gapci
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| And alone and without his nest shall the eagle fly across the sun. | .i va'o lo nonkansa secau le cpizda le katcpi cu ba vofli ca'u lo solri
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| Now when he reached the foot of the hill, he turned again towards the sea, and he saw his ship approaching the harbour, and upon her prow the mariners, the men of his own land. | .i mo'u le nu ko'a klama le cmana zbepi kei di'a ko'a cu carna fi le fa'a xamsi .i ko'a viska lenu leko'a bloti goi ko'e klama le marbi .i ko'a viska le nu leko'a bloti goi ko'e cu klama le marbi kei .e lo bende be bu'u le blozbi po'u lo nanmu goi ko'i po leko'a gugde
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| And his soul cried out to them, and he said: | .i leko'a pruxi cu krixu ko'i gi'e ko'a cusku
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| Sons of my ancient mother, you riders of the tides, | lu doi lo bersa po mi tcesau mamta doi ctaru sebevri
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| How often have you sailed in my dreams. And now you come in my awakening, which is my deeper dream. | .i so'eroi do te falnu ci'e lonu mi senva .i ca'a do klama ce'i lonu mi cikra no'u lomi zenba senva
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| Ready am I to go, and my eagerness with sails full set awaits the wind. | .i bredi fa mi lo nu cliva .i lemi kamdjica sepi'o leke'a traji stika falnu cu denpa lo se falnu
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| Only another breath will I breathe in this still air, only another loving look cast backward, | ji'e lo paroi krefu nu vasxu kei mi ba vasxu levi smaji vacri .i ji'e li pa lo nu krefu prami ba catlu cu se renro ti'a mi
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| Then I shall stand among you, a seafarer among seafarers. | .i ba la'e di'u do sanli ru'u mi noi le xamsi litru cu jbini lo xamsi litru
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| And you, vast sea, sleepless mother, | .i ji'a doi do doi banli xamsi doi claxu bo sipna mamta
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| Who alone are peace and freedom to the river and the stream, | poi lo rirxe .e lo flecu cu rirxe po'o fo lo nu panpi kei .e lo nu zifre kei
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| Only another winding will this stream make, only another murmur in this glade, | .i ji'e lo paroi krefu nu korcu kei lavi rirxe cu jersi .i ji'e lo paroi krefu smaji cmoni
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| And then shall I come to you, a boundless drop to a boundless ocean. | .i ba la'e di'u mi klama do tai le claxu bo jimte dirgo po le claxu bo jimte xamsi li'u
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| And as he walked he saw from afar men and women leaving their fields and their vineyards and hastening towards the city gates. | .i ca ko'a cadzu .i ze'u ko'a cu viska nu lo nanmu .e lo ninmu goi ko'e cu cliva lori foldi kei gi'e cu sutra klama le vorme be le tcadu be'o
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| And he heard their voices calling his name, and shouting from the field to field telling one another of the coming of the ship. | .ije ko'a tirna nu leiko'e voksa cu krixa
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| And he said to himself: | .ije ko'a cusku fi vo'a
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| Shall the day of parting be the day of gathering? | fe lu xu le nu cliva djedi cu ba du le nu jmaji djedi
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| And shall it be said that my eve was in truth my dawn? | .i xu se cusku du'u je'u lemi dorfa'o cu pu du lemi dorcfa
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| And what shall I give unto him who has left his plough in midfurrow, or to him who has stopped the wheel of his winepress? | .i mi ba dunda ma lo cliva be lori te plixa be lo de'a se plixa be'o .e lo sisti be lo nu gaugunro xislu be lera marxa be lo se vanju be'o
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| Shall my heart become a tree heavy-laden with fruit that I may gather and give unto them? | .i xu lemi cnise'i cu ba binxo lo tricu poi tilju bevri be lo grute poi pu'i mi gaujmaji ke'a ku'o zi'e poi pu'i mi dunda ke'o ku'o be'o
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| And shall my desires flow like a fountain that I may fill their cups? | .i xu lemi djica cu ba jetce flecu semu'e le nu mi tisna leke'o kabri
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| Am I a harp that the hand of the mighty may touch me, or a flute that his breath may pass through me? | .i xu mi jgita pe'a seni'i lonu lo xance be lo vlipa cu kakne lonu pencu mi .ijabo xu mi flani pe'a seni'i lonu lo vy selva'u cu kakne lo nu pagre mi
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| A seeker of silences am I, and what treasure have I found in silences that I may dispense with confidence? | .i sisku fe tu'a lo smaji temci fa mi .ijebo mi ca lo bi'unai smaji temci ba'o facki ma poi dirba gi'e kakne lo nu fatri gau mi fi'o birti mi
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| If this is my day of harvest, in what fields have I sowed the seed, and in what unrembered seasons? | .i da'i lo djedi poi mi crepu ca ke'a cu cabna .iseji'ubo mi sombo lo tsiju ma poi foldi ca ma poi tolselmorji citsi
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| If this indeed be the hour in which I lift up my lantern, it is not my flame that shall burn therein. | .i da'i lo cacra poi mi lafmuvgau lo mi tergu'i ca ke'a cu cabna .iseji'ubo lo fagri pe na'ebo mi ba jelca ne'i ra
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| Empty and dark shall I raise my lantern, | .i lo ke kunti je manku ke'e tergu'i mi ba se lafmuvgau
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| And the guardian of the night shall fill it with oil and he shall light it also. | .ijebo lo nicte badgau ba clugau ru lo grasu gi'e jelgau ji'a li'u
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| These things he said in words. But much in his heart remained unsaid. For he himself could not speak his deeper secret. | .i la'edi'u se cusku ko'a se pi'o lo valsi .ije ku'i lo za'i so'i cnise'i cu ca'o nalselsku cu ranji .i ki'ubo ba'e ko'a na kakne lonu cusku lo selmipri be vo'a be'o noi zmadu fi loka ce'u pluja loka smuni ce'u
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| And when he entered into the city all the people came to meet him, and they were crying out to him as with one voice. | .i ro prenu ca lo nu ko'a nerkla lo tcadu cu klama tezu'e lonu penmi ko'a gi'e krixa tavla ko'a fi'o se simlu lo ka ce'u voksa be lo prenu pa mei
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| And the elders of the city stood forth and said: | .i loi tolci'opre po lo tcadu cu ca'u sanli gi'e cusku
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| Go not yet away from us. | lu .i e'osai ko na ca cliva mi'a
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| A noontide have you been in our twilight, and your youth has given us dreams to dream. | .i za'a dormidju pe'a fa do ca'o lonu mi'a lifri lo vacmurse pe'a .i ji'a loka do citno cu sabji da poi mi'a senva ke'a ku'o mi'a
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| No stranger are you among us, nor a guest, but our son and our dearly beloved. | .i iusai fange fa do mi'a nagi'enai vitke gi'e bersa je ke dirba selpa'i
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| Suffer not yet our eyes to hunger for your face. | .i e'osai ko na ca curmi lo nu lo kanla be mi'a cu xagji pe'a lo flira be do li'u
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| And the priests and the priestesses said unto him: |
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| Let not the waves of the sea separate us now, and the years you have spent in our midst become a memory. |
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| You have walked among us a spirit, and your shadow has been a light upon our faces. |
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| Much have we loved you. But speechless was our love, and with veils has it been veiled. |
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| Yet now it cries aloud unto you, and would stand revealed before you. |
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| And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation. |
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| And others came also and entreated him. |
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| But he answered them not. He only bent his head; and those who stood near saw his tears falling upon his breast. |
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| And he and the people proceeded towards the great square before the temple. |
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| And there came out of the sanctuary a woman whose name was Almitra. And she was a seeress. |
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| And he looked upon her with exceeding tenderness, for it was she who had first sought and believed in him when he had been but a day in their city. |
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| And she hailed him, saying: |
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| Prophet of God, in quest for the uttermost, long have you searched the distances for your ship. |
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| And now your ship has come, and you must needs go. |
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| Deep is your longing for the land of your memories and the dwelling place of your greater desires; and our love would not bind you nor our needs hold you. |
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| Yet this we ask ere you leave us, that you speak to us and give us of your truth. |
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| And we will give it unto our children, and they unto their children, and it shall not perish. |
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| In your aloneness you have watched with our days, and in your wakefulness you have listened to the weeping and the laughter of our sleep. |
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| Now therefore disclose us to ourselves, and tell us all that has been shown you of that which is between birth and death. |
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| And he answered, |
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| People of Orphalese, of what can I speak save of that which is even now moving your souls? | |