Epilogue, p.658, f.2
"During the days when I was imprisoned in the Land of Ta [Tihran],
although the galling weight of chains and the loathsome atmosphere of the
prison allowed me little sleep, yet occasionally, in my moments of slumber,
I felt as if something were pouring forth over breast, even as a mighty
torrent, which, descending from the Summit of a lofty mountain precipitates
itself over the earth. All my limbs seemed to have been set aflame. At
such moments my tongue recited what mortal ears could not hear." ("The
Epistle to the Son of the Wolf," p. 17.)