Ποιηματων αϰρατης η ελευϑερια, ϰαι νομος εις,το δοξαν τω ϖοιητη.Lucian, Quomodo Hist. scribenda.
THE SECOND VOLUME.
LONDON:PRINTED FOR T. N. LONGMAN AND O. REES, PATERNOSTER-ROW,BY BIGGS AND COTTLE, BRISTOL.1801.
The sixth Book1The seventh Book51The eighth Book89The ninth Book139The tenth Book203The eleventh Book261The twelfth Book299
So from the inmost cavern, ThalabaRetrod the windings of the rock.Still on the ground the giant limbsOf Zohak were outstretched;The spell of sleep had ceasedAnd his broad eyes were glaring on the youth:Yet raised he not his arm to bar the way,Fearful to rouse the snakesNow lingering o’er their meal.Oh then, emerging from that dreadful cave,How grateful did the gale of nightSalute his freshened sense!How full of lightsome joy,Thankful to Heaven, he hastens by the vergeOf that bitumen lake,Whose black and heavy fumes,Surge heaving after surge,Rolled like the billowy and tumultuous sea.The song of many a bird at mornAroused him from his rest.Lo! by his side a courser stood!More animate of eye,Of form more faultless never had he seen,More light of limbs and beautiful in strength,Among the race whose blood,Pure and unmingled, from the royal steedsOf[108]Solomon came down.The chosen Arab’s eyeGlanced o’er his graceful shape,His rich caparisons,His crimson trappings gay.But when he saw the mouthUncurbed, the unbridled neck,Then flushed his cheek, and leapt his heart,For sure he deemed that Heaven had sentThe Courser, whom no erring hand should guide.And lo! the eager SteedThrows his head and paws the ground,Impatient of delay!Then up leapt ThalabaAnd away went the self-governed steed.Far over the plainAway went the bridleless steed;With the dew of the morning his fetlocks were wet,The foam frothed his limbs in the journey of noon,Nor stayed he till over the westerly heavenThe shadows of evening had spread.Then on a sheltered bankThe appointed Youth reposed,And by him laid the docile courser down.Again in the grey of the morningThalaba bounded up,Over hill, over daleAway goes the bridleless steed.Again at eve he stopsAgain the Youth descends.His load discharged, his errand done,Then bounded the courser away.Heavy and dark the eve;The Moon was hid on high,A dim light only tinged the mistThat crost her in the path of Heaven.All living sounds had ceased,Only the flow of waters near was heard,A low and lulling melody.Fasting, yet not of wantPercipient, he on that mysterious steedHad reached his resting place,For expectation kept his nature up.The flow of waters nowAwoke a feverish thirst:Led by the sound, he movedTo seek the grateful wave.A meteor in the hazy airPlayed before his path;Before him now it rolledA globe of livid fire;And now contracted to a steady light,As when the solitary hermit prunesHis lamp’s long undulating flame:And now its wavy pointUp-blazing rose, like a young cypress-treeSwayed by the heavy wind;Anon to Thalaba it moved,And wrapped him in its pale innocuous fire:Now in the darkness drownedLeft him with eyes bedimmed,And now emerging[109]spread the scene to sight.Led by the sound, and meteor-flameAdvanced the Arab youth.Now to the nearest of the many rillsHe stoops; ascending steamTimely repels his hand,For from its source it sprung, a boiling tide.A second course with better hap he tries,The wave intensly coldTempts to a copious draught.There was a virtue in the wave,His limbs that stiff with toil,Dragged heavy, from the copious draught receivedLightness and supple strength.O’erjoyed, and deeming the benignant PowerWho sent the reinless steed,Had blessed the healing waters to his useHe laid him down to sleep;Lulled by the soothing and incessant sound,The flow of many waters, blending oftWith shriller tones and deep low murmuringsThat from the fountain cavesIn mingled melodyLike faery music, heard at midnight, came.The sounds that last he heard at nightAwoke his sense at morn.A scene of wonders lay before his eyes.In mazy windings o’er the valeWandered a thousand streams;They in their endless flow[110]had channelled deepThe rocky soil o’er which they ran,Veining its thousand islet stones,Like clouds that freckle o’er the summer sky,The blue etherial ocean circling eachAnd insulating all.A thousand shapes they wore, those islet stones,And Nature with her various tintsVaried anew their thousand forms:For some were green with moss,Some rich with yellow lichen’s gold,Or ruddier tinged, or grey, or silver-white,Or sparkling sparry radiance to the sun.Here gushed the fountains up,Alternate light and blackness, like the playOf sunbeams, on the warrior’s burnished arms.Yonder the river rolled, whose bed,Their labyrinthine lingerings o’erReceived the confluent rills.This was a wild and wonderous scene,Strange and beautiful, as whereBy Oton-tala, like a sea[111]of stars,The hundred sources of Hoangho burst.High mountains closed the vale,Bare rocky mountains, to all living thingsInhospitable, on whose sides no herbRooted, no insect fed, no bird awokeTheir echoes, save the Eagle, strong of wing,A lonely plunderer, that afarSought in the vales his prey.Thither towards those mountains, ThalabaAdvanced, for well he weened that there had FateDestined the adventures end.Up a wide vale winding amid their depths,A stony vale between receding heightsOf stone, he wound his way.A cheerless place! the solitary BeeWhose buzzing was the only sound of lifeFlew there on restless wing,Seeking in vain one blossom, where to fix.Still Thalaba holds on,The winding vale now narrows on his way,And steeper of ascentRightward and leftward rise the rocks,And now they meet across the vale.Was it the toil of human handsThat hewed a passage in the rock,Thro’ whose rude portal-wayThe light of heaven was seen?Rude and low the portal-way,Beyond the same[112]ascending straitsWent winding up the wilds.Still a bare, silent, solitary glen,A fearful silence and a solitudeThat made itself be felt.And steeper now the ascent,A rugged path, that tiredThe straining muscles, toiling slowly up.At length again a rockStretched o’er the narrow vale.There also was a portal hewn,But gates of massy iron barred the way,Huge, solid, heavy-hinged.There hung a horn beside the gate,Ivory-tipt and brazen mouthed,He took the ivory tip,And thro’ the brazen mouth he breathed;From rock to rock rebounding rung the blast,Like a long thunder peal!The gates of iron, by no human armUnfolded, turning on their hinges slow,Disclosed the passage of the rock.He entered, and the iron gatesFell to, and closed him in.It was a narrow winding way,Dim lamps suspended from the vaultLent to the gloom an agitated light.Winding it pierced the rock,A long descending pathBy gates of iron closed;There also hung the horn besideOf ivory tip and brazen mouth,Again he took the ivory tipAnd gave the brazen mouth his voice again.Not now in thunder spake the horn,But poured a sweet and thrilling melody:The gates flew open, and a flood of lightRushed on his dazzled eyes.Was it to earthly Eden lost so long,The youth had found the wonderous way?But earthly Eden boastsNo terraced palaces,No rich pavilions bright with woven[113]gold.Like these that in the valeRise amid odorous groves.The astonished ThalabaDoubting as tho’ an unsubstantial dreamBeguiled his passive sense,A moment closed his eyes;Still they were there ... the palaces and groves,And rich pavilions glittering golden light.And lo! a man, reverend in comely ageAdvancing meets the youth.“Favoured of Fortune,” he exclaimed,“Go taste the joys of Paradise!“The reinless steed that ranges o’er the world“Brings hither those alone for lofty deeds“Marked by their horoscope; permitted here“A foretaste of the full beatitude,“That in heroic acts they may go on“More ardent, eager to return and reap“Endless enjoyment here, their destined meed.“Favoured of Fortune thou,“Go taste the joys of Paradise!”This said, he turned away, and leftThe Youth in wonder mute;For Thalaba stood muteAnd passively receivedThe mingled joy that flowed on every sense.Where’er his eye could reachFair structures, rain bow-hued, arose;And rich pavilions thro’ the opening woodsGleamed from their waving curtains sunny gold;And winding thro’ the verdant valeFlowed streams of liquid light;And fluted cypresses reared upTheir living obelisks;And broad-leaved[114]Zennars in long colonadesO’er-arched delightful walks,Where round their trunks the thousand-tendril’d vineWound up and hung the bows with greener wreaths,And clusters not their own.Wearied with endless beauty did his eyesReturn for rest? beside him teems the earthWith tulips, like the ruddy[115]evening streaked,And here the lily hangs her head of snow,And here amid her sable[116]cupShines the red eye-spot, like one brightest starThe solitary twinkler of the night,And here the rose expandsHer paradise[117]of leaves.Then on his ear what soundsOf harmony arose!Far music and the distance-mellowed songFrom bowers of merriment;The waterfall remote;The murmuring of the leafy groves;The single nightingalePerched in the Rosier by, so richly toned,That never from that most melodious bird,Singing a love-song to his brooding mate,Did Thracian shepherd by the graveOf Orpheus[118]hear a sweeter song;Tho’ there the Spirit of the SepulchreAll his own power infuse, to swellThe incense that he loves.And oh! what odours the voluptuous valeScatters from jasmine bowers.From yon rose wilderness,From clustered henna, and from orange grovesThat with such perfumes fill the breeze,As Peris to their Sister bear,When from the summit of some lofty treeShe hangs encaged, the captive of the Dives.They from their pinions shakeThe sweetness of celestial flowers,And as her enemies impureFrom that impervious poison far awayFly groaning with the torment, she the whileInhales her fragrant[119]food.Such odours flowed upon the worldWhen at Mohammed’s nuptials, wordWent forth in Heaven to rollThe everlasting gates of ParadiseBack on their living hinges, that its galesMight visit all below; the general blissThrilled every bosom, and the familyOf man, for once[120]partook one common joy.Full of the joy, yet still awakeTo wonder, on went Thalaba;On every side the song of mirth,The music of festivity,Invite the passing youth.Wearied at length with hunger and with heatHe enters in a banquet room,Where round a fountain brink,On silken[121]carpets sate the festive train.Instant thro’ all his frameDelightful coolness spread;The playing fount refreshedThe agitated air;The very light came cooled thro’ silvering panesOf pearly[122]shell, like the pale moon-beam tinged;Or where the wine-vase[123]filled the aperture,Rosy as rising morn, or softer gleamOf saffron, like the sunny evening mist:Thro’ every hue, and streaked by allThe flowing fountain played.Around the water-edgeVessels of wine, alternate placed,Ruby and amber, tinged its little waves.From golden goblets there[124]The guests sate quaffing the delicious juiceOf Shiraz’ golden grape.But Thalaba took not the draughtFor rightly he knew had the Prophet forbiddenThat beverage the mother[125]of sins.Nor did the urgent guestsProffer a second time the liquid fireFor in the youth’s strong eye they sawNo moveable resolve.Yet not uncourteous, ThalabaDrank the cool draught of innocence,That fragrant from its dewy[126]vaseCame purer than it left its native bed.And he partook the odorous fruits,For all rich fruits were there.Water-melons rough of rind,Whose pulp the thirsty lipDissolved into a draught:Pistachios from the heavy-clustered treesOf Malavert, or Haleb’s fertile soil,And Casbin’s[127]luscious grapes of amber hue,That many a week endureThe summer sun intense,Till by its powerful fireAll watery particles exhaled, aloneThe strong essential sweetness ripens there.Here cased in ice, the[128]apricot,A topaz, crystal-set:Here on a plate of snowThe sunny orange rests,And still the aloes and the sandal-woodFrom golden censers o’er the banquet roomDiffuse their dying sweets.Anon a troop of females formed the danceTheir ancles bound with[129]bracelet-bellsThat made the modulating harmony.Transparent[130]garments to the greedy eyeGave all their harlot limbs,That writhed, in each immodest gesture skilled.With earnest eyes the banquetersFed on the sight impure;And Thalaba, he gazed,But in his heart he bore a talismanWhose blessed AlchemyTo virtuous thoughts refinedThe loose suggestions of the scene impure.Oneiza’s image swam before his sight,His own Arabian Maid.He rose, and from the banquet room he rushed,And tears ran down his burning cheek,And nature for a moment woke the thoughtAnd murmured, that from all domestic joysEstranged, he wandered o’er the worldA lonely being, far from all he loved.Son of Hodeirah, not among thy crimesThat murmur shall be written!From tents of revelry,From festal bowers, to solitude he ran,And now he reached where all the rillsOf that well-watered garden in one tideRolled their collected waves.A straight and stately bridgeStretched its long arches o’er the ample stream.Strong in the evening and distinct its shadeLay on the watry mirror, and his eyeSaw it united with its parent pileOne huge fantastic fabric. Drawing near,Loud from the chambers[131]of the bridge below,Sounds of carousal came and song,And unveiled women bade the advancing youthCome merry-make with them.Unhearing or unheeding, ThalabaPast o’er with hurried pace,And plunged amid the forest solitude.Deserts of Araby!His soul returned to you.He cast himself upon the earthAnd closed his eyes, and calledThe voluntary vision up.A cry as of distressAroused him; loud it came, and near!He started up, he strung his bow,He plucked the arrow forth.Again a shriek ... a woman’s shriek!And lo! she rushes thro’ the trees,Her veil all rent, her garments torn!He follows close, the ravisher....Even on the unechoing grassShe hears his tread, so close!“Prophet save me! save me God!“Help! help!” she cried to Thalaba,Thalaba drew the bow.The unerring arrow did its work of death.He turned him to the woman, and beheldHis own Oneiza, his Arabian Maid.
So from the inmost cavern, ThalabaRetrod the windings of the rock.Still on the ground the giant limbsOf Zohak were outstretched;The spell of sleep had ceasedAnd his broad eyes were glaring on the youth:Yet raised he not his arm to bar the way,Fearful to rouse the snakesNow lingering o’er their meal.
Oh then, emerging from that dreadful cave,How grateful did the gale of nightSalute his freshened sense!How full of lightsome joy,Thankful to Heaven, he hastens by the vergeOf that bitumen lake,Whose black and heavy fumes,Surge heaving after surge,Rolled like the billowy and tumultuous sea.
The song of many a bird at mornAroused him from his rest.Lo! by his side a courser stood!More animate of eye,Of form more faultless never had he seen,More light of limbs and beautiful in strength,Among the race whose blood,Pure and unmingled, from the royal steedsOf[108]Solomon came down.
The chosen Arab’s eyeGlanced o’er his graceful shape,His rich caparisons,His crimson trappings gay.But when he saw the mouthUncurbed, the unbridled neck,Then flushed his cheek, and leapt his heart,For sure he deemed that Heaven had sentThe Courser, whom no erring hand should guide.And lo! the eager SteedThrows his head and paws the ground,Impatient of delay!Then up leapt ThalabaAnd away went the self-governed steed.
Far over the plainAway went the bridleless steed;With the dew of the morning his fetlocks were wet,The foam frothed his limbs in the journey of noon,Nor stayed he till over the westerly heavenThe shadows of evening had spread.Then on a sheltered bankThe appointed Youth reposed,And by him laid the docile courser down.Again in the grey of the morningThalaba bounded up,Over hill, over daleAway goes the bridleless steed.Again at eve he stopsAgain the Youth descends.His load discharged, his errand done,Then bounded the courser away.
Heavy and dark the eve;The Moon was hid on high,A dim light only tinged the mistThat crost her in the path of Heaven.All living sounds had ceased,Only the flow of waters near was heard,A low and lulling melody.Fasting, yet not of wantPercipient, he on that mysterious steedHad reached his resting place,For expectation kept his nature up.The flow of waters nowAwoke a feverish thirst:Led by the sound, he movedTo seek the grateful wave.A meteor in the hazy airPlayed before his path;Before him now it rolledA globe of livid fire;And now contracted to a steady light,As when the solitary hermit prunesHis lamp’s long undulating flame:And now its wavy pointUp-blazing rose, like a young cypress-treeSwayed by the heavy wind;Anon to Thalaba it moved,And wrapped him in its pale innocuous fire:Now in the darkness drownedLeft him with eyes bedimmed,And now emerging[109]spread the scene to sight.
Led by the sound, and meteor-flameAdvanced the Arab youth.Now to the nearest of the many rillsHe stoops; ascending steamTimely repels his hand,For from its source it sprung, a boiling tide.A second course with better hap he tries,The wave intensly coldTempts to a copious draught.There was a virtue in the wave,His limbs that stiff with toil,Dragged heavy, from the copious draught receivedLightness and supple strength.O’erjoyed, and deeming the benignant PowerWho sent the reinless steed,Had blessed the healing waters to his useHe laid him down to sleep;Lulled by the soothing and incessant sound,The flow of many waters, blending oftWith shriller tones and deep low murmuringsThat from the fountain cavesIn mingled melodyLike faery music, heard at midnight, came.
The sounds that last he heard at nightAwoke his sense at morn.A scene of wonders lay before his eyes.In mazy windings o’er the valeWandered a thousand streams;They in their endless flow[110]had channelled deepThe rocky soil o’er which they ran,Veining its thousand islet stones,Like clouds that freckle o’er the summer sky,The blue etherial ocean circling eachAnd insulating all.A thousand shapes they wore, those islet stones,And Nature with her various tintsVaried anew their thousand forms:For some were green with moss,Some rich with yellow lichen’s gold,Or ruddier tinged, or grey, or silver-white,Or sparkling sparry radiance to the sun.Here gushed the fountains up,Alternate light and blackness, like the playOf sunbeams, on the warrior’s burnished arms.Yonder the river rolled, whose bed,Their labyrinthine lingerings o’erReceived the confluent rills.
This was a wild and wonderous scene,Strange and beautiful, as whereBy Oton-tala, like a sea[111]of stars,The hundred sources of Hoangho burst.High mountains closed the vale,Bare rocky mountains, to all living thingsInhospitable, on whose sides no herbRooted, no insect fed, no bird awokeTheir echoes, save the Eagle, strong of wing,A lonely plunderer, that afarSought in the vales his prey.
Thither towards those mountains, ThalabaAdvanced, for well he weened that there had FateDestined the adventures end.Up a wide vale winding amid their depths,A stony vale between receding heightsOf stone, he wound his way.A cheerless place! the solitary BeeWhose buzzing was the only sound of lifeFlew there on restless wing,Seeking in vain one blossom, where to fix.
Still Thalaba holds on,The winding vale now narrows on his way,And steeper of ascentRightward and leftward rise the rocks,And now they meet across the vale.Was it the toil of human handsThat hewed a passage in the rock,Thro’ whose rude portal-wayThe light of heaven was seen?Rude and low the portal-way,Beyond the same[112]ascending straitsWent winding up the wilds.
Still a bare, silent, solitary glen,A fearful silence and a solitudeThat made itself be felt.And steeper now the ascent,A rugged path, that tiredThe straining muscles, toiling slowly up.At length again a rockStretched o’er the narrow vale.There also was a portal hewn,But gates of massy iron barred the way,Huge, solid, heavy-hinged.
There hung a horn beside the gate,Ivory-tipt and brazen mouthed,He took the ivory tip,And thro’ the brazen mouth he breathed;From rock to rock rebounding rung the blast,Like a long thunder peal!The gates of iron, by no human armUnfolded, turning on their hinges slow,Disclosed the passage of the rock.He entered, and the iron gatesFell to, and closed him in.It was a narrow winding way,Dim lamps suspended from the vaultLent to the gloom an agitated light.Winding it pierced the rock,A long descending pathBy gates of iron closed;There also hung the horn besideOf ivory tip and brazen mouth,Again he took the ivory tipAnd gave the brazen mouth his voice again.Not now in thunder spake the horn,But poured a sweet and thrilling melody:The gates flew open, and a flood of lightRushed on his dazzled eyes.
Was it to earthly Eden lost so long,The youth had found the wonderous way?But earthly Eden boastsNo terraced palaces,No rich pavilions bright with woven[113]gold.Like these that in the valeRise amid odorous groves.The astonished ThalabaDoubting as tho’ an unsubstantial dreamBeguiled his passive sense,A moment closed his eyes;Still they were there ... the palaces and groves,And rich pavilions glittering golden light.
And lo! a man, reverend in comely ageAdvancing meets the youth.“Favoured of Fortune,” he exclaimed,“Go taste the joys of Paradise!“The reinless steed that ranges o’er the world“Brings hither those alone for lofty deeds“Marked by their horoscope; permitted here“A foretaste of the full beatitude,“That in heroic acts they may go on“More ardent, eager to return and reap“Endless enjoyment here, their destined meed.“Favoured of Fortune thou,“Go taste the joys of Paradise!”
This said, he turned away, and leftThe Youth in wonder mute;For Thalaba stood muteAnd passively receivedThe mingled joy that flowed on every sense.Where’er his eye could reachFair structures, rain bow-hued, arose;And rich pavilions thro’ the opening woodsGleamed from their waving curtains sunny gold;And winding thro’ the verdant valeFlowed streams of liquid light;And fluted cypresses reared upTheir living obelisks;And broad-leaved[114]Zennars in long colonadesO’er-arched delightful walks,Where round their trunks the thousand-tendril’d vineWound up and hung the bows with greener wreaths,And clusters not their own.Wearied with endless beauty did his eyesReturn for rest? beside him teems the earthWith tulips, like the ruddy[115]evening streaked,And here the lily hangs her head of snow,And here amid her sable[116]cupShines the red eye-spot, like one brightest starThe solitary twinkler of the night,And here the rose expandsHer paradise[117]of leaves.
Then on his ear what soundsOf harmony arose!Far music and the distance-mellowed songFrom bowers of merriment;The waterfall remote;The murmuring of the leafy groves;The single nightingalePerched in the Rosier by, so richly toned,That never from that most melodious bird,Singing a love-song to his brooding mate,Did Thracian shepherd by the graveOf Orpheus[118]hear a sweeter song;Tho’ there the Spirit of the SepulchreAll his own power infuse, to swellThe incense that he loves.
And oh! what odours the voluptuous valeScatters from jasmine bowers.From yon rose wilderness,From clustered henna, and from orange grovesThat with such perfumes fill the breeze,As Peris to their Sister bear,When from the summit of some lofty treeShe hangs encaged, the captive of the Dives.They from their pinions shakeThe sweetness of celestial flowers,And as her enemies impureFrom that impervious poison far awayFly groaning with the torment, she the whileInhales her fragrant[119]food.Such odours flowed upon the worldWhen at Mohammed’s nuptials, wordWent forth in Heaven to rollThe everlasting gates of ParadiseBack on their living hinges, that its galesMight visit all below; the general blissThrilled every bosom, and the familyOf man, for once[120]partook one common joy.
Full of the joy, yet still awakeTo wonder, on went Thalaba;On every side the song of mirth,The music of festivity,Invite the passing youth.Wearied at length with hunger and with heatHe enters in a banquet room,Where round a fountain brink,On silken[121]carpets sate the festive train.Instant thro’ all his frameDelightful coolness spread;The playing fount refreshedThe agitated air;The very light came cooled thro’ silvering panesOf pearly[122]shell, like the pale moon-beam tinged;Or where the wine-vase[123]filled the aperture,Rosy as rising morn, or softer gleamOf saffron, like the sunny evening mist:Thro’ every hue, and streaked by allThe flowing fountain played.Around the water-edgeVessels of wine, alternate placed,Ruby and amber, tinged its little waves.From golden goblets there[124]The guests sate quaffing the delicious juiceOf Shiraz’ golden grape.
But Thalaba took not the draughtFor rightly he knew had the Prophet forbiddenThat beverage the mother[125]of sins.Nor did the urgent guestsProffer a second time the liquid fireFor in the youth’s strong eye they sawNo moveable resolve.Yet not uncourteous, ThalabaDrank the cool draught of innocence,That fragrant from its dewy[126]vaseCame purer than it left its native bed.And he partook the odorous fruits,For all rich fruits were there.Water-melons rough of rind,Whose pulp the thirsty lipDissolved into a draught:Pistachios from the heavy-clustered treesOf Malavert, or Haleb’s fertile soil,And Casbin’s[127]luscious grapes of amber hue,That many a week endureThe summer sun intense,Till by its powerful fireAll watery particles exhaled, aloneThe strong essential sweetness ripens there.Here cased in ice, the[128]apricot,A topaz, crystal-set:Here on a plate of snowThe sunny orange rests,And still the aloes and the sandal-woodFrom golden censers o’er the banquet roomDiffuse their dying sweets.
Anon a troop of females formed the danceTheir ancles bound with[129]bracelet-bellsThat made the modulating harmony.Transparent[130]garments to the greedy eyeGave all their harlot limbs,That writhed, in each immodest gesture skilled.
With earnest eyes the banquetersFed on the sight impure;And Thalaba, he gazed,But in his heart he bore a talismanWhose blessed AlchemyTo virtuous thoughts refinedThe loose suggestions of the scene impure.Oneiza’s image swam before his sight,His own Arabian Maid.He rose, and from the banquet room he rushed,And tears ran down his burning cheek,And nature for a moment woke the thoughtAnd murmured, that from all domestic joysEstranged, he wandered o’er the worldA lonely being, far from all he loved.Son of Hodeirah, not among thy crimesThat murmur shall be written!
From tents of revelry,From festal bowers, to solitude he ran,And now he reached where all the rillsOf that well-watered garden in one tideRolled their collected waves.A straight and stately bridgeStretched its long arches o’er the ample stream.Strong in the evening and distinct its shadeLay on the watry mirror, and his eyeSaw it united with its parent pileOne huge fantastic fabric. Drawing near,Loud from the chambers[131]of the bridge below,Sounds of carousal came and song,And unveiled women bade the advancing youthCome merry-make with them.Unhearing or unheeding, ThalabaPast o’er with hurried pace,And plunged amid the forest solitude.Deserts of Araby!His soul returned to you.He cast himself upon the earthAnd closed his eyes, and calledThe voluntary vision up.A cry as of distressAroused him; loud it came, and near!He started up, he strung his bow,He plucked the arrow forth.Again a shriek ... a woman’s shriek!And lo! she rushes thro’ the trees,Her veil all rent, her garments torn!He follows close, the ravisher....Even on the unechoing grassShe hears his tread, so close!“Prophet save me! save me God!“Help! help!” she cried to Thalaba,Thalaba drew the bow.The unerring arrow did its work of death.He turned him to the woman, and beheldHis own Oneiza, his Arabian Maid.
From fear, amazement, joy,At length the Arabian Maid recovering speech,Threw around Thalaba her arms and cried,“My father! O my father!” ThalabaIn wonder lost, yet fearful to enquire,Bent down his cheek on hers,And their tears mingled as they fell.ONEIZA.At night they seized me, Thalaba! in my sleep,...Thou wert not near,... and yet when in their graspI woke, my shriek of terror called on thee.My father could not save me,... an old man!And they were strong and many,... O my God,The hearts they must have had to hear his prayers,And yet to leave him childless!THALABA.We will seek him.We will return to Araby.ONEIZA.Alas!We should not find him, Thalaba! our tentIs desolate, the wind hath heaped the sandsWithin its door, the lizard’s[132]track is leftFresh on the untrodden dust; prowling by nightThe tyger, as he passes hears no breathOf man, and turns to search its solitude.Alas! he strays a wretched wandererSeeking his child! old man, he will not rest,...He cannot rest, his sleep is misery,His dreams are of my wretchedness, my wrongs....O Thalaba! this is a wicked place!Let us be gone!THALABA.But how to pass againThe iron doors that opening at a breathGave easy entrance? armies in their strength,Would fail to move those hinges for return!ONEIZA.But we can climb the mountains that shut inThis dreadful garden.THALABA.Are Oneiza’s limbsEqual to that long toil?ONEIZA.Oh I am strongDear Thalaba! for this ... fear gives me force,And you are with me!So she took his hand,And gently drew him forward, and they wentTowards the mountain chain.It was broad moonlight, and obscure or lostThe garden beauties lay,But the great boundary rose, distinctly marked.These were no little hills,No sloping uplands lifting to the sunTheir vine-yards, with fresh verdure, and the shadeOf ancient woods, courting the loitererTo win the easy ascent: stone mountains theseDesolate rock on rock,The burthens of the earth,Whose snowy summits met the morning beamWhen night was in the vale, whose feet were fixedIn the world’s[133]foundations. Thalaba surveyedThe heights precipitous,Impending crags, rocks unascendible,And summits that had tired the eagle’s wing;“There is no way!” he cried.Paler Oneiza grewAnd hung upon his arm a feebler weight.But soon again to hopeRevives the Arabian maid,As Thalaba imparts the sudden thought.“I past a river,” cried the youth“A full and copious stream.“The flowing waters cannot be restrained“And where they find or force their way,“There we perchance may follow, thitherward“The current rolled along.”So saying yet again in hopeQuickening their eager stepsThey turned them thitherward.Silent and calm the river rolled along,And at the verge arrivedOf that fair garden, o’er a rocky bedTowards the mountain base,Still full and silent, held its even way,But the deep sound, the dashLouder and louder in the distance rose,As if it forced its streamStruggling with crags along a narrow pass.And lo! where raving o’er a hollow courseThe ever-flowing tideFoams in a thousand whirlpools! there adownThe perforated rockPlunge the whole waters, so precipitous,So fathomless a fallThat their earth-shaking roar came deadened upLike subterranean thunders.“Allah save us!”Oneiza cried, “there is no path for man“From this accursed place!”And as she spake her jointsWere loosened, and her knees sunk under her.“Cheer up, Oneiza!” Thalaba replied,“Be of good heart. We cannot fly“The dangers of the place,“But we can conquer them!”And the young Arab’s soulArose within him; “what is he,” he cried,“Who has prepared this garden of delight,“And wherefore are its snares?”The Arabian Maid replied,“The Women when I entered, welcomed me“To Paradise, by Aloadin’s will“Chosen like themselves, a Houri of the Earth.“They told me, credulous of his blasphemies,“That Aloadin placed them to reward“His faithful servants with the joys of Heaven.“O Thalaba, and all are ready here“To wreak his wicked will, and work all crimes!“How then shall we escape?”“Woe to him!” cried the Appointed, a stern smileDarkening with stronger shades his countenance,“Woe to him! he hath laid his toils“To take the Antelope,“The Lion is come in!”She shook her head, “a Sorcerer he“And guarded by so many! Thalaba,...“And thou but one!”He raised his hand to Heaven,“Is there not God, Oneiza?“I have a Talisman, that, whoso bears,“Him, nor the Earthly, nor the Infernal Powers“Of Evil can cast down.“Remember Destiny“Hath marked me from mankind!“Now rest in faith, and I will guard thy sleep!”So on a violet bankThe Arabian Maid lay down,Her soft cheek pillowed upon moss and flowers.She lay in silent prayer,Till prayer had tranquillized her fears,And sleep fell on her. By her sideSilent sate Thalaba,And gazed upon the Maid,And as he gazed, drew inNew courage and intenser faith,And waited calmly for the eventful day.Loud sung the Lark, the awakened MaidBeheld him twinkling in the morning light,And wished for wings and liberty like his.The flush of fear inflamed her cheek,But Thalaba was calm of soul,Collected for the work.He pondered in his mindHow from Lobaba’s breastHis blunted arrow fell.Aloadin too might wearSpell perchance of equal powerTo blunt the weapon’s edge!Beside the river-brink,Rose a young poplar, whose unsteady leavesVarying their verdure to the gale,With silver glitter caughtHis meditating eye.Then to Oneiza turned the youthAnd gave his father’s bow,And o’er her shoulders slungThe quiver arrow-stored.“Me other weapon suits;” said he,“Bear thou the Bow: dear Maid!“The days return upon me, when these shafts,“True to thy guidance, from the lofty palm“Brought down the cluster, and thy gladdened eye“Exulting turned to seek the voice of praise.“Oh! yet again Oneiza, we shall share“Our desert joys!”So saying to the bankHe moved, and stooping low,With double grasp, hand below hand, he clenchedAnd from its watry soilUptore the poplar trunk.Then off he shook the clotted earth,And broke away the headAnd boughs and lesser roots,And lifting it aloftWielded with able sway the massy club.“Now for this child of Hell!” quoth Thalaba,“Belike he shall exchange to day“His dainty Paradise“For other dwelling, and the fruit“Of Zaccoum,[134]cursed tree.”With that the youth and Arab maidTowards the garden centre past.It chanced that Aloadin had convokedThe garden-habitants,And with the assembled throngOneiza mingled, and the appointed youth.Unmarked they mingled, or if oneWith busier finger to his neighbour notesThe quivered Maid, “haply,” he says,“Some daughter of the[135]Homerites,“Or one who yet remembers with delight“Her native tents of Himiar!” “Nay!” rejoinsHis comrade, “a love-pageant! for the man“Mimics with that fierce eye and knotty club“Some savage lion-tamer, she forsooth“Must play the heroine of the years of old!”Radiant with gems upon his throne of goldAloadin sate.O’er the Sorcerer’s headHovered a Bird, and in the fragrant airWaved his winnowing wings,A living canopy.Large as the plumeless CassowarWas that o’ershadowing Bird;So huge his talons, in their graspThe Eagle would have hung a helpless prey.His beak was iron, and his plumesGlittered like burnished gold,And his eyes glowed, as tho’ an inward fireShone thro’ a diamond orb.The blinded multitudeAdored the Sorcerer,And bent the knee before him,And shouted out his praise,“Mighty art thou, the Bestower of joy,“The Lord of Paradise!”Aloadin waved his hand,In idolizing reverenceMoveless they stood and mute.“Children of Earth,” he cried,“Whom I have guided here“By easier passage than the gate of Death,“The infidel Sultan to whose lands“My mountains reach their roots,“Blasphemes and threatens me.“Strong are his armies, many are his guards,“Yet may a dagger find him.“Children of Earth, I tempt you not“With the vain promise of a bliss unseen,“With tales of a hereafter Heaven“Whence never Traveller hath returned!“Have ye not tasted of the cup of joy,“That in these groves of happiness“For ever over-mantling tempts“The ever-thirsty lip?“Who is there here that by a deed“Of danger will deserve“The eternal joys of actual Paradise?“I!” Thalaba exclaimed,And springing forward, on the Sorcerer’s headHe dashed the knotty club.He fell not, tho’ the forceShattered his skull; nor flowed the blood.For by some hellish talismanHis life imprisoned stillDwelt in the body. The astonished crowdStand motionless with fear, and waitImmediate vengeance from the wrath of Heaven.And lo! the Bird ... the monster BirdSoars up ... then pounces downTo seize on Thalaba!Now Oneiza, bend the bow,Now draw the arrow home!It fled, the arrow from Oneiza’s hand,It pierced the monster Bird,It broke the Talisman.Then darkness covered all,...Earth shook, Heaven thundered, and amid the yellsOf Spirits accursed, destroyedThe Paradise[136]of Sin.At last the earth was still;The yelling of the Demons ceased;Opening the wreck and ruin to their sightThe darkness rolled away. Alone in lifeAmid the desolation and the deadStood the Destroyer and the Arabian Maid.They looked around, the rocks were rent,The path was open, late by magic closed.Awe-struck and silent down the stony glenThey wound their thoughtful way.Amid the vale belowTents rose, and streamers playedAnd javelins sparkled in the sun,And multitudes encampedSwarmed, far as eye could follow, o’er the plain.There in his war pavilion sateIn council with his ChiefsThe Sultan of the Land.Before his presence there a Captain ledOneiza and the appointed Youth.“Obedient to our Lord’s command,” said he,“We past towards the mountains, and began“The ascending strait; when suddenly Earth shook,“And darkness like the midnight fell around,“And fire and thunder came from Heaven“As tho’ the Retribution day were come.“After the terror ceased, and when with hearts“Somewhat assured, again we ventured on,“This youth and woman met us on the way.“They told us that from Aloadin’s haunt“They came on whom the judgement-stroke has fallen;“He and his sinful Paradise at once“Destroyed by them, the agents they of Heaven.“Therefore I brought them hither, to repeat“The tale before thy presence; that as search“Shall prove it false or faithful, to their merit“Thou mayest reward them.”“Be it done to us,”Thalaba answered, “as the truth shall prove!”The Sultan while he spake“Fixed on him the proud eye of sovereignty;“If thou hast played with us,“By Allah and by Ali, Death shall seal“The lying lips for ever! if the thing“Be as thou sayest it, Arab, thou shalt stand“Next to ourself!”...And hark! the cryThe lengthening cry, the increasing shoutOf joyful multitudes!Breathless and panting to the tentThe bearer of good tidings comes,“O Sultan, live for ever! be thy foes“Like Aloadin all!“The wrath of God hath smitten him.”Joy at the welcome taleShone in the Sultan’s cheek“Array the Arab in the robe“Of honour,” he exclaimed,“And place a chain of gold around his neck,“And bind around his brow the diadem,“And mount him on my steed of state,“And lead him thro’ the camp,“And let the Heralds go before and cry“Thus shall the Sultan reward“The man[137]who serves him well!”Then in the purple robeThey vested Thalaba.And hung around his neck the golden chain,And bound his forehead with the diadem,And on the royal steedThey led him thro’ the camp,And Heralds went before and cried“Thus shall the Sultan reward“The man who serves him well!”When from the pomp of triumphAnd presence of the KingThalaba sought the tent allotted him,Thoughtful the Arabian Maid beheldHis animated eye,His cheek inflamed with pride.“Oneiza!” cried the youth,“The King hath done according to his word,“And made me in the land“Next to himself be named!...“But why that serious melancholy smile?“Oneiza when I heard the voice that gave me“Honour, and wealth, and fame, the instant thought“Arose to fill my joy, that thou wouldest hear“The tidings, and be happy.”ONEIZA.ThalabaThou wouldest not have me mirthful! am I notAn orphan,... among strangers?THALABA.But with me.ONEIZA.My Father,...THALABA.Nay be comforted! last nightTo what wert thou exposed! in what a perilThe morning found us! safety, honour, wealthThese now are ours. This instant who thou wertThe Sultan asked. I told him from our childhoodWe had been plighted;... was I wrong Oneiza?And when he said with bounties he would heapOur nuptials,... wilt thou blame me if I blestHis will, that bade me fix the marriage day!In tears Oneiza?...ONEIZA.Remember DestinyHath marked thee from mankind!THALABA.Perhaps when Aloadin was destroyedThe mission ceased, else would wise ProvidenceWith its rewards and blessings strew my pathThus for accomplished service?ONEIZA.Thalaba!THALABA.Or if haply not, yet whither should I go?Is it not prudent to abide in peaceTill I am summoned?ONEIZA.Take me to the Deserts!THALABA.But Moath is not there; and wouldest thou dwellIn a Stranger’s tent? thy father then might seekIn long and fruitless wandering for his child.ONEIZA.Take me then to Mecca!There let me dwell a servant of the Temple.Bind thou thyself my veil,... to human eyeIt never shall be lifted. There, whilst thouShalt go upon thine enterprize, my prayers,Dear Thalaba! shall rise to succour thee,And I shall live,... if not in happiness;Surely in hope.THALABA.Oh think of better things!The will of Heaven is plain: by wonderous waysIt led us here, and soon the common voiceShall tell what we have done, and how we dwellUnder the shadow of the Sultan’s wing,So shall thy father hear the fame, and find usWhat he hath wished us ever.... Still in tears!Still that unwilling eye! nay ... nay.... Oneiza....Has then another since I left the tent....ONEIZA.Thalaba! Thalaba!With song, with music, and with danceThe bridal pomp proceeds.Following on the veiled BrideFifty female slaves attendIn costly robes that gleamWith interwoven gold,And sparkle far with gems.An hundred slaves behind them bearVessels of silver and vessels of goldAnd many a gorgeous garment gayThe presents that the Sultan gave.On either hand the pages goWith torches flaring thro’ the gloom,And trump and timbrel merrimentAccompanies their way;And multitudes with loud acclaimShout blessings on the Bride.And now they reach the palace pile,The palace home of Thalaba,And now the marriage feast is spreadAnd from the finished banquet nowThe wedding guests are gone.Who comes from the bridal chamber?It is Azrael, the Angel of Death.
From fear, amazement, joy,At length the Arabian Maid recovering speech,Threw around Thalaba her arms and cried,“My father! O my father!” ThalabaIn wonder lost, yet fearful to enquire,Bent down his cheek on hers,And their tears mingled as they fell.
ONEIZA.
At night they seized me, Thalaba! in my sleep,...Thou wert not near,... and yet when in their graspI woke, my shriek of terror called on thee.My father could not save me,... an old man!And they were strong and many,... O my God,The hearts they must have had to hear his prayers,And yet to leave him childless!
THALABA.
We will seek him.We will return to Araby.
ONEIZA.
Alas!We should not find him, Thalaba! our tentIs desolate, the wind hath heaped the sandsWithin its door, the lizard’s[132]track is leftFresh on the untrodden dust; prowling by nightThe tyger, as he passes hears no breathOf man, and turns to search its solitude.Alas! he strays a wretched wandererSeeking his child! old man, he will not rest,...He cannot rest, his sleep is misery,His dreams are of my wretchedness, my wrongs....O Thalaba! this is a wicked place!Let us be gone!
THALABA.
But how to pass againThe iron doors that opening at a breathGave easy entrance? armies in their strength,Would fail to move those hinges for return!
ONEIZA.
But we can climb the mountains that shut inThis dreadful garden.
THALABA.
Are Oneiza’s limbsEqual to that long toil?
ONEIZA.
Oh I am strongDear Thalaba! for this ... fear gives me force,And you are with me!So she took his hand,And gently drew him forward, and they wentTowards the mountain chain.It was broad moonlight, and obscure or lostThe garden beauties lay,But the great boundary rose, distinctly marked.These were no little hills,No sloping uplands lifting to the sunTheir vine-yards, with fresh verdure, and the shadeOf ancient woods, courting the loitererTo win the easy ascent: stone mountains theseDesolate rock on rock,The burthens of the earth,Whose snowy summits met the morning beamWhen night was in the vale, whose feet were fixedIn the world’s[133]foundations. Thalaba surveyedThe heights precipitous,Impending crags, rocks unascendible,And summits that had tired the eagle’s wing;“There is no way!” he cried.Paler Oneiza grewAnd hung upon his arm a feebler weight.
But soon again to hopeRevives the Arabian maid,As Thalaba imparts the sudden thought.“I past a river,” cried the youth“A full and copious stream.“The flowing waters cannot be restrained“And where they find or force their way,“There we perchance may follow, thitherward“The current rolled along.”So saying yet again in hopeQuickening their eager stepsThey turned them thitherward.
Silent and calm the river rolled along,And at the verge arrivedOf that fair garden, o’er a rocky bedTowards the mountain base,Still full and silent, held its even way,But the deep sound, the dashLouder and louder in the distance rose,As if it forced its streamStruggling with crags along a narrow pass.And lo! where raving o’er a hollow courseThe ever-flowing tideFoams in a thousand whirlpools! there adownThe perforated rockPlunge the whole waters, so precipitous,So fathomless a fallThat their earth-shaking roar came deadened upLike subterranean thunders.“Allah save us!”Oneiza cried, “there is no path for man“From this accursed place!”And as she spake her jointsWere loosened, and her knees sunk under her.“Cheer up, Oneiza!” Thalaba replied,“Be of good heart. We cannot fly“The dangers of the place,“But we can conquer them!”
And the young Arab’s soulArose within him; “what is he,” he cried,“Who has prepared this garden of delight,“And wherefore are its snares?”
The Arabian Maid replied,“The Women when I entered, welcomed me“To Paradise, by Aloadin’s will“Chosen like themselves, a Houri of the Earth.“They told me, credulous of his blasphemies,“That Aloadin placed them to reward“His faithful servants with the joys of Heaven.“O Thalaba, and all are ready here“To wreak his wicked will, and work all crimes!“How then shall we escape?”
“Woe to him!” cried the Appointed, a stern smileDarkening with stronger shades his countenance,“Woe to him! he hath laid his toils“To take the Antelope,“The Lion is come in!”She shook her head, “a Sorcerer he“And guarded by so many! Thalaba,...“And thou but one!”He raised his hand to Heaven,“Is there not God, Oneiza?“I have a Talisman, that, whoso bears,“Him, nor the Earthly, nor the Infernal Powers“Of Evil can cast down.“Remember Destiny“Hath marked me from mankind!“Now rest in faith, and I will guard thy sleep!”
So on a violet bankThe Arabian Maid lay down,Her soft cheek pillowed upon moss and flowers.She lay in silent prayer,Till prayer had tranquillized her fears,And sleep fell on her. By her sideSilent sate Thalaba,And gazed upon the Maid,And as he gazed, drew inNew courage and intenser faith,And waited calmly for the eventful day.
Loud sung the Lark, the awakened MaidBeheld him twinkling in the morning light,And wished for wings and liberty like his.The flush of fear inflamed her cheek,But Thalaba was calm of soul,Collected for the work.He pondered in his mindHow from Lobaba’s breastHis blunted arrow fell.Aloadin too might wearSpell perchance of equal powerTo blunt the weapon’s edge!Beside the river-brink,Rose a young poplar, whose unsteady leavesVarying their verdure to the gale,With silver glitter caughtHis meditating eye.Then to Oneiza turned the youthAnd gave his father’s bow,And o’er her shoulders slungThe quiver arrow-stored.“Me other weapon suits;” said he,“Bear thou the Bow: dear Maid!“The days return upon me, when these shafts,“True to thy guidance, from the lofty palm“Brought down the cluster, and thy gladdened eye“Exulting turned to seek the voice of praise.“Oh! yet again Oneiza, we shall share“Our desert joys!”So saying to the bankHe moved, and stooping low,With double grasp, hand below hand, he clenchedAnd from its watry soilUptore the poplar trunk.Then off he shook the clotted earth,And broke away the headAnd boughs and lesser roots,And lifting it aloftWielded with able sway the massy club.“Now for this child of Hell!” quoth Thalaba,“Belike he shall exchange to day“His dainty Paradise“For other dwelling, and the fruit“Of Zaccoum,[134]cursed tree.”
With that the youth and Arab maidTowards the garden centre past.It chanced that Aloadin had convokedThe garden-habitants,And with the assembled throngOneiza mingled, and the appointed youth.Unmarked they mingled, or if oneWith busier finger to his neighbour notesThe quivered Maid, “haply,” he says,“Some daughter of the[135]Homerites,“Or one who yet remembers with delight“Her native tents of Himiar!” “Nay!” rejoinsHis comrade, “a love-pageant! for the man“Mimics with that fierce eye and knotty club“Some savage lion-tamer, she forsooth“Must play the heroine of the years of old!”
Radiant with gems upon his throne of goldAloadin sate.O’er the Sorcerer’s headHovered a Bird, and in the fragrant airWaved his winnowing wings,A living canopy.Large as the plumeless CassowarWas that o’ershadowing Bird;So huge his talons, in their graspThe Eagle would have hung a helpless prey.His beak was iron, and his plumesGlittered like burnished gold,And his eyes glowed, as tho’ an inward fireShone thro’ a diamond orb.
The blinded multitudeAdored the Sorcerer,And bent the knee before him,And shouted out his praise,“Mighty art thou, the Bestower of joy,“The Lord of Paradise!”Aloadin waved his hand,In idolizing reverenceMoveless they stood and mute.“Children of Earth,” he cried,“Whom I have guided here“By easier passage than the gate of Death,“The infidel Sultan to whose lands“My mountains reach their roots,“Blasphemes and threatens me.“Strong are his armies, many are his guards,“Yet may a dagger find him.“Children of Earth, I tempt you not“With the vain promise of a bliss unseen,“With tales of a hereafter Heaven“Whence never Traveller hath returned!“Have ye not tasted of the cup of joy,“That in these groves of happiness“For ever over-mantling tempts“The ever-thirsty lip?“Who is there here that by a deed“Of danger will deserve“The eternal joys of actual Paradise?
“I!” Thalaba exclaimed,And springing forward, on the Sorcerer’s headHe dashed the knotty club.
He fell not, tho’ the forceShattered his skull; nor flowed the blood.For by some hellish talismanHis life imprisoned stillDwelt in the body. The astonished crowdStand motionless with fear, and waitImmediate vengeance from the wrath of Heaven.And lo! the Bird ... the monster BirdSoars up ... then pounces downTo seize on Thalaba!Now Oneiza, bend the bow,Now draw the arrow home!It fled, the arrow from Oneiza’s hand,It pierced the monster Bird,It broke the Talisman.Then darkness covered all,...Earth shook, Heaven thundered, and amid the yellsOf Spirits accursed, destroyedThe Paradise[136]of Sin.
At last the earth was still;The yelling of the Demons ceased;Opening the wreck and ruin to their sightThe darkness rolled away. Alone in lifeAmid the desolation and the deadStood the Destroyer and the Arabian Maid.They looked around, the rocks were rent,The path was open, late by magic closed.Awe-struck and silent down the stony glenThey wound their thoughtful way.
Amid the vale belowTents rose, and streamers playedAnd javelins sparkled in the sun,And multitudes encampedSwarmed, far as eye could follow, o’er the plain.There in his war pavilion sateIn council with his ChiefsThe Sultan of the Land.Before his presence there a Captain ledOneiza and the appointed Youth.
“Obedient to our Lord’s command,” said he,“We past towards the mountains, and began“The ascending strait; when suddenly Earth shook,“And darkness like the midnight fell around,“And fire and thunder came from Heaven“As tho’ the Retribution day were come.“After the terror ceased, and when with hearts“Somewhat assured, again we ventured on,“This youth and woman met us on the way.“They told us that from Aloadin’s haunt“They came on whom the judgement-stroke has fallen;“He and his sinful Paradise at once“Destroyed by them, the agents they of Heaven.“Therefore I brought them hither, to repeat“The tale before thy presence; that as search“Shall prove it false or faithful, to their merit“Thou mayest reward them.”“Be it done to us,”Thalaba answered, “as the truth shall prove!”
The Sultan while he spake“Fixed on him the proud eye of sovereignty;“If thou hast played with us,“By Allah and by Ali, Death shall seal“The lying lips for ever! if the thing“Be as thou sayest it, Arab, thou shalt stand“Next to ourself!”...And hark! the cryThe lengthening cry, the increasing shoutOf joyful multitudes!
Breathless and panting to the tentThe bearer of good tidings comes,“O Sultan, live for ever! be thy foes“Like Aloadin all!“The wrath of God hath smitten him.”
Joy at the welcome taleShone in the Sultan’s cheek“Array the Arab in the robe“Of honour,” he exclaimed,“And place a chain of gold around his neck,“And bind around his brow the diadem,“And mount him on my steed of state,“And lead him thro’ the camp,“And let the Heralds go before and cry“Thus shall the Sultan reward“The man[137]who serves him well!”
Then in the purple robeThey vested Thalaba.And hung around his neck the golden chain,And bound his forehead with the diadem,And on the royal steedThey led him thro’ the camp,And Heralds went before and cried“Thus shall the Sultan reward“The man who serves him well!”
When from the pomp of triumphAnd presence of the KingThalaba sought the tent allotted him,Thoughtful the Arabian Maid beheldHis animated eye,His cheek inflamed with pride.“Oneiza!” cried the youth,“The King hath done according to his word,“And made me in the land“Next to himself be named!...“But why that serious melancholy smile?“Oneiza when I heard the voice that gave me“Honour, and wealth, and fame, the instant thought“Arose to fill my joy, that thou wouldest hear“The tidings, and be happy.”
ONEIZA.
ThalabaThou wouldest not have me mirthful! am I notAn orphan,... among strangers?
THALABA.
But with me.
ONEIZA.
My Father,...
THALABA.
Nay be comforted! last nightTo what wert thou exposed! in what a perilThe morning found us! safety, honour, wealthThese now are ours. This instant who thou wertThe Sultan asked. I told him from our childhoodWe had been plighted;... was I wrong Oneiza?And when he said with bounties he would heapOur nuptials,... wilt thou blame me if I blestHis will, that bade me fix the marriage day!In tears Oneiza?...
ONEIZA.
Remember DestinyHath marked thee from mankind!
THALABA.
Perhaps when Aloadin was destroyedThe mission ceased, else would wise ProvidenceWith its rewards and blessings strew my pathThus for accomplished service?
ONEIZA.
Thalaba!
THALABA.
Or if haply not, yet whither should I go?Is it not prudent to abide in peaceTill I am summoned?
ONEIZA.
Take me to the Deserts!
THALABA.
But Moath is not there; and wouldest thou dwellIn a Stranger’s tent? thy father then might seekIn long and fruitless wandering for his child.
ONEIZA.
Take me then to Mecca!There let me dwell a servant of the Temple.Bind thou thyself my veil,... to human eyeIt never shall be lifted. There, whilst thouShalt go upon thine enterprize, my prayers,Dear Thalaba! shall rise to succour thee,And I shall live,... if not in happiness;Surely in hope.
THALABA.
Oh think of better things!The will of Heaven is plain: by wonderous waysIt led us here, and soon the common voiceShall tell what we have done, and how we dwellUnder the shadow of the Sultan’s wing,So shall thy father hear the fame, and find usWhat he hath wished us ever.... Still in tears!Still that unwilling eye! nay ... nay.... Oneiza....Has then another since I left the tent....
ONEIZA.
Thalaba! Thalaba!
With song, with music, and with danceThe bridal pomp proceeds.Following on the veiled BrideFifty female slaves attendIn costly robes that gleamWith interwoven gold,And sparkle far with gems.An hundred slaves behind them bearVessels of silver and vessels of goldAnd many a gorgeous garment gayThe presents that the Sultan gave.On either hand the pages goWith torches flaring thro’ the gloom,And trump and timbrel merrimentAccompanies their way;And multitudes with loud acclaimShout blessings on the Bride.And now they reach the palace pile,The palace home of Thalaba,And now the marriage feast is spreadAnd from the finished banquet nowThe wedding guests are gone.
Who comes from the bridal chamber?It is Azrael, the Angel of Death.