The birth of the prince was
celebrated throughout the empire by the customary public demonstrations
of joy. The felicity of Ibrahim was complete. He was perpetually
revolving in his mind the sentiments and hopes which the nation would
form of the royal infant. Scarce was he born, when paternal solicitude
embraced, as it were, his whole life. Impatient to know his destiny,
that solicitude plunged into futurity, determined, if possible, to wrest
from time, the secrets of which he was the hoary-headed guardian.
In Ibrahim's dominions were some sages particularly honoured with the
confidence of heaven. He commanded them to consult the stars, and to
report their answer. "Tremble," said the sages; "thou unfortunate
father, tremble! Never before have the skies presented such inauspicious
omens. Let him fly; let this son, too dear to you, fly; let him avoid,
if possible, the meeting with any savage beasts. His seventh year is the
fatal one; and if he should happen then, to escape the misfortune that
hangs over him, ah! do not wish him to live. His father, his very
father, will not be able to escape from the hand of a parricide.
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