Kirta

. . [ ]
. . [ ]
. . [ ]
and [ ]
the mai[den ]
. . . . . [ ]
. . . . [ ]
and . . [ ]
. . . . . [ ]
a wo[man ]
your brother [ ]
Now she . . [ ]
and cries [ ]
She gives to drink [ ]
Now she . . . [ ]
and the mixed drink. Now she [ ]
She approaches [her] brother [and asks:]
"Why do you deceive me, [my brother?]
How many moons has he been s[ick],
how many has Kir[ta] been ill?"
And the hero [Ilihu] replies:
"Three moons has he been [sick],
four has Kir[ta] been ill.
It seems Kirta's reaching the sunset, the grave.⁠a
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . [ ]
. . . . . . now she . . . . [ ]
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . gate
. . . . . . . . . . . . [ ]
. . . . . . to no [ ]
. . . [ ] . . . . . . . [ ]
to no . . . . and [ ]
her brother, seven [ ]
the hero Ilihu . . [ ]
Now she . . . . . . . . , now [she] . . . . .
She weeps bit[terly]. She [gives fo]rth
her voice in weeping: 'In your life, our [fa]ther,
we rejoice, exult in your not dying.
Like a dog your aspect is changed,
like a hound your joyous face.
Will you die, then, father, like the mortals,
or your joy change to weeping,
to a woman's dirge, O father, my song?
Or do gods die? The offspring
of the Kindly One shall surely live! For you, father,
weeps the mount of Baal, Sa[pa]n, the sacred
circuit. The mighty [circu]it laments,
the circuit broad of s[pan]:
Is, then, Kirta a son [of El], an
offspring of the Kindly One [and the Holiness]?'"
And so she ent[ers into her father's presence],
she enters the ch[amber of Kirta].
With two things . . . [ ]
she took her stand [ ]
weepers [ ]
the mount [ ]
he wails [ ]
a wheel [ ]
[ ] . . . [ ]