THALABA THE DESTROYER.

THE EIGHTH BOOK.

WOMAN.

Go not among the Tombs, Old Man!
There is a madman there.

OLD MAN.

Will he harm me if I go?

WOMAN.

Not he, poor miserable man!
But ’tis a wretched sight to see
His utter wretchedness.
For all day long he lies on a grave,
And never is he seen to weep,
And never is he heard to groan.
Nor ever at the hour of prayer
Bends his knee, nor moves his lips.
I have taken him food for charity
And never a word he spake,
But yet so ghastly he looked
That I have awakened at night
With the dream of his ghastly eyes.
Now go not among the Tombs, Old Man!

OLD MAN.

Wherefore has the wrath of God
So sorely stricken him?

WOMAN.

He came a Stranger to the land,
And did good service to the Sultan,
And well his service was rewarded.
The Sultan named him next himself,
And gave a palace for his dwelling,
And dowered his bride with rich domains.
But on his wedding night
There came the Angel of Death.
Since that hour a man distracted
Among the sepulchres he wanders.
The Sultan when he heard the tale
Said that for some untold crime
Judgement thus had stricken him,
And asking Heaven forgiveness
That he had shewn him favour,
Abandoned him to want.

OLD MAN.

A Stranger did you say?

WOMAN.

An Arab born, like you.
But go not among the Tombs,
For the sight of his wretchedness
Might make a hard heart ache!

OLD MAN.

Nay, nay, I never yet have shunned
A countryman in distress:
And the sound of his dear native tongue
May be like the voice of a friend.

Then to the Sepulchre
The Woman pointed out,
Old Moath bent his way.
By the tomb lay Thalaba,
In the light of the setting eve.
The sun, and the wind, and the rain
Had rusted his raven locks,
His checks were fallen in,
His face bones prominent,
By the tomb he lay along
And his lean fingers played,
Unwitting, with the grass that grew beside.

The Old man knew him not,
And drawing near him cried
“Countryman, peace be with thee!”
The sound of his dear native tongue
Awakened Thalaba.
He raised his countenance
And saw the good Old Man,
And he arose, and fell upon his neck,
And groaned in bitterness.
Then Moath knew the youth,
And feared that he was childless, and he turned
His eyes, and pointed to the tomb.
“Old Man!” cried Thalaba,
“Thy search is ended there!”

The father’s cheek grew white
And his lip quivered with the misery;
Howbeit, collecting with a painful voice
He answered, “God is good! his will be done!”

The woe in which he spake,
The resignation that inspired his speech,
They softened Thalaba.
“Thou hast a solace in thy grief,” he cried,
“A comforter within!
“Moath! thou seest me here,
“Delivered to the Evil Powers,
“A God-abandoned wretch.”

The Old Man looked at him incredulous.
“Nightly,” the youth pursued,
“Thy daughter comes to drive me to despair.
“Moath thou thinkest me mad,...
“But when the Cryer [138] from the Minaret
“Proclaims the midnight hour,
“Hast thou a heart to see her?”

In the [139] Meidan now
The clang of clarions and of drums
Accompanied the Sun’s descent.
“Dost thou not pray? my son!”
Said Moath, as he saw
The white flag waving on the neighbouring Mosque;
Then Thalaba’s eye grew wild,
“Pray!” echoed he, “I must not pray!”
And the hollow groan he gave
Went to the Old Man’s heart,
And bowing down his face to earth,
In fervent agony he called on God.

A night of darkness and of storms!
Into the Chamber [140] of the Tomb
Thalaba led the Old Man,
To roof him from the rain.
A night of storms! the wind
Swept thro’ the moonless sky
And moaned among the pillared sepulchres.
And in the pauses of its sweep
They heard the heavy rain
Beat on the monument above.
In silence on Oneiza’s grave
The Father and the Husband sate.

The Cryer from the Minaret
Proclaimed the midnight hour;
“Now! now!” cried Thalaba,
And o’er the chamber of the tomb
There spread a lurid gleam
Like the reflection of a sulphur fire,
And in that hideous light
Oneiza stood before them, it was She,
Her very lineaments, and such as death
Had changed them, livid cheeks, and lips of blue.
But in her eyes there dwelt
Brightness more terrible
Than all the loathsomeness of death.
“Still art thou living, wretch?”
In hollow tones she cried to Thalaba,
“And must I nightly leave my grave
“To tell thee, still in vain,
“God has abandoned thee?”

“This is not she!” the Old Man exclaimed,
“A Fiend! a manifest Fiend!”
And to the youth he held his lance,
“Strike and deliver thyself!”
“Strike her!” cried Thalaba,
And palsied of all powers
Gazed fixedly upon the dreadful form.
“Yea! strike her!” cried a voice whose tones
Flowed with such sudden healing thro’ his soul,
As when the desert shower
From death delivered him.
But unobedient to that well-known voice
His eye was seeking it,
When Moath firm of heart,
Performed the bidding; thro’ the vampire [141] corpse
He thrust his lance; it fell,
And howling with the wound
Its demon tenant fled.
A sapphire light fell on them,
And garmented with glory, in their sight
Oneiza’s Spirit stood.

“O Thalaba!” she cried,
“Abandon not thyself!
“Wouldst thou for ever lose me?... go, fulfill
“Thy quest, that in the Bowers of Paradise
“In vain I may not wait thee, O my Husband!”
To Moath then the Spirit
Turned the dark lustre of her Angel eyes,
“Short is thy destined path,
“O my dear father! to the abode of bliss.
“Return to Araby,
“There with the thought of death.
“Comfort thy lonely age,
“And Azrael the Deliverer, soon
“Shall visit thee in peace.”

They stood with earnest eyes
And arms out-reaching, when again
The darkness closed around them.
The soul of Thalaba revived;
He from the floor the quiver took
And as he bent the bow, exclaimed,
“Was it the over-ruling Providence
“That in the hour of frenzy led my hands
“Instinctively to this?
“To-morrow, and the sun shall brace anew
“The slackened cord that now sounds loose and damp,
“To-morrow, and its livelier tone will sing
“In tort vibration to the arrow’s flight.
“I ... but I also, with recovered health
“Of heart, shall do my duty.
“My Father! here I leave thee then!” he cried,
“And not to meet again
“Till at the gate of Paradise
“The eternal union of our joys commence.
“We parted last in darkness!”... and the youth
Thought with what other hopes,
But now his heart was calm,
For on his soul a heavenly hope had dawned.
The Old Man answered nothing, but he held
His garment and to the door
Of the Tomb Chamber followed him.
The rain had ceased, the sky was wild
Its black clouds broken by the storm.
And lo! it chanced that in the chasm
Of Heaven between, a star,
Leaving along its path continuous light,
Shot eastward. “See my guide!” quoth Thalaba,
And turning, he received
Old Moath’s last embrace,
And his last blessing.
It was eve,
When an old Dervise, sitting in the sun
At his cell door, invited for the night
The traveller; in the sun
He spread the plain repast
Rice and fresh grapes, and at their feet there flowed
The brook of which they drank.

So as they sate at meal,
With song, with music, and with dance,
A wedding train went by;
The veiled bride, the female slaves,
The torches of festivity,
And trump and timbrel merriment
Accompanied their way.
The good old Dervise gave
A blessing as they past.
But Thalaba looked on,
And breathed a low, deep groan, and hid his face.
The Dervise had known sorrow; and he felt
Compassion; and his words
Of pity and of piety
Opened the young man’s heart
And he told all his tale.

“Repine not, O my Son!” the Old Man replied,
“That Heaven has chastened thee.
“Behold this vine,[142] I found it a wild tree
“Whose wanton strength had swoln into
“Irregular twigs, and bold excrescencies,
“And spent itself in leaves and little rings,
“In the vain flourish of its outwardness
“Wasting the sap and strength
“That should have given forth fruit.
“But when I pruned the Tree,
“Then it grew temperate in its vain expence
“Of useless leaves, and knotted, as thou seest,
“Into these full, clear, clusters, to repay
“The hand whose foresight wounded it.
“Repine not, O my Son!
“In wisdom and in mercy Heaven inflicts,
“Like a wise Leech, its painful remedies.”

Then pausing, “whither goest thou now?” he asked.
“I know not,” answered Thalaba,
“Straight on, with Destiny my guide.”
Quoth the Old Man, “I will not blame thy trust,
“And yet methinks thy feet
“Should tread with certainty.
“In Kaf the Simorg hath his dwelling place,
“The all-knowing Bird of Ages, who hath seen
“The World, with all her children, thrice destroyed.
“Long is the thither path,
“And difficult the way, of danger full;
“But his unerring voice
“Could point to certain end thy weary search.”

Easy assent the youth
Gave to the words of wisdom; and behold
At dawn, the adventurer on his way to Kaf.
And he has travelled many a day
And many a river swum over,
And many a mountain ridge has crost
And many a measureless plain,
And now amid the wilds advanced,
Long is it since his eyes
Have seen the trace of man.

Cold! cold! ’tis a chilly clime
That the toil of the youth has reached,
And he is aweary now,
And faint for the lack of food.
Cold! cold! there is no Sun in heaven
But a heavy and uniform cloud
And the snows begin to fall.
Dost thou wish for thy deserts, O Son of Hodeirah?
Dost thou long for the gales of Arabia?
Cold! cold! his blood flows languid,
His hands are red, his lips are blue,
His feet are sore with the frost.
Cheer thee! cheer thee! Thalaba!
A little yet bear up!

All waste! no sign of life
But the track of the wolf and the bear!
No sound but the wild, wild wind
And the snow crunching under his feet!
Night is come; no moon, no stars,
Only the light of the snow!
But behold a fire in the cave of the hill
A heart-reviving fire;
And thither with strength renewed
Thalaba presses on.

He found a Woman in the cave,
A solitary Woman,
Who by the fire was spinning
And singing as she spun.
The pine boughs they blazed chearfully
And her face was bright with the flame.
Her face was as a Damsel’s face
And yet her hair was grey.
She bade him welcome with a smile
And still continued spinning
And singing as she spun.
The thread the Woman drew
Was finer than the silkworm’s,
Was finer than the gossamer.
The song she sung was low and sweet
And Thalaba knew not the words.

He laid his bow before the hearth,
For the string was frozen stiff.
He took the quiver from his neck,
For the arrow plumes were iced.
Then as the chearful fire
Revived his languid limbs,
The adventurer asked for food.
The Woman answered him,
And still her speech was song,
“The She Bear she dwells near to me,
“And she hath cubs, one, two and three.
“She hunts the deer and brings him here,
“And then with her I make good cheer,
“And she to the chase is gone
“And she will be here anon.”

She ceased from her work as she spake,
And when she had answered him,
Again her fingers twirled the thread
And again the Woman began
In low, sweet, tones to sing
The unintelligible song.

The thread she spun it gleamed like gold
In the light of the odorous fire,
And yet so wonderous thin,
That save when the light shone on it
It could not be seen by the eye.
The youth sate watching it,
And she beheld his wonder.
And then again she spake to him
And still her speech was song,
“Now twine it round thy hands I say,
“Now twine it round thy hands I pray,
“My thread is small, my thread is fine,
“But he must be
“A stronger than thee,
“Who can break this thread of mine!”

And up she raised her bright blue eyes
And sweetly she smiled on him,
And he conceived no ill.
And round and round his right hand,
And round and round his left,
He wound the thread so fine.
And then again the Woman spake,
And still her speech was song,
“Now thy strength, O Stranger, strain,
“Now then break the slender chain.”

Thalaba strove, but the thread
Was woven by magic hands,
And in his cheek the flush of shame
Arose, commixt with fear.
She beheld and laughed at him,
And then again she sung,
“My thread is small, my thread is fine,
“But he must be
“A stronger than thee
“Who can break this thread of mine.”

And up she raised her bright blue eyes
And fiercely she smiled on him,
“I thank thee, I thank thee, Hodeirah’s Son!
“I thank thee for doing what can’t be undone,
“For binding thyself in the chain I have spun!”
Then from his head she wrenched
A lock of his raven hair,
And cast it in the fire
And cried aloud as it burnt,
“Sister! Sister! hear my voice!
“Sister! Sister! come and rejoice,
“The web is spun,
“The prize is won,
“The work is done,
“For I have made captive Hoderiah’s Son.”

Borne in her magic car
The Sister Sorceress came,
Khawla, the fiercest of the Sorcerer brood.
She gazed upon the youth,
She bade him break the slender thread,
She laughed aloud for scorn,
She clapt her hands for joy.

The She Bear from the chase came in,
She bore the prey in her bloody mouth,
She laid it at Maimuna’s feet,
And she looked up with wistful eyes
As if to ask her share.
“There! there!” quoth Maimuna
And pointing to the prisoner youth
She spurned him with her foot,
And bade her make her meal.
But soon their mockery failed them
And anger and shame arose,
For the She Bear fawned on Thalaba
And quietly licked his hand.

The grey haired Sorceress stamped the ground
And called a Spirit up,
“Shall we bear the Enemy
“To the dungeon dens below?”

SPIRIT.

Woe! woe! to our Empire woe!
If ever he tread the caverns below.

MAIMUNA.

Shall we leave him fettered here
With hunger and cold to die?

SPIRIT.

Away from thy lonely dwelling fly!
Here I see a danger nigh
That he should live and thou shouldst die.

MAIMUNA.

Whither must we bear the foe?

SPIRIT.

To Mohareb’s island go,
There shalt thou secure the foe,
There prevent thy future woe.

Then in the Car they threw
The fettered Thalaba,
And took their seats, and set
Their feet upon his neck,
Maimuna held the reins
And Khawla shook the scourge
And away![143] away! away!
They were no steeds of mortal race
That drew the magic car
With the swiftness of feet and of wings.
The snow-dust rises behind them,
The ice-rocks splinters fly,
And hark! in the valley below
The sound of their chariot wheels
And they are far over the mountains.
Away! away! away!
The Demons of the air
Shout their joy as the Sisters pass,
The Ghosts of the Wicked that wander by night
Flit over the magic car.
Away! away! away!
Over the hills and the plains
Over the rivers and rocks,
Over the sands of the shore;
The waves of ocean heave
Under the magic steeds,
With unwet hoofs they trample the deep
And now they reach the Island coast,
And away to the city the Monarch’s abode.
Open fly the city gates,
Open fly the iron doors
The doors of the palace court.
Then stopt the charmed car.
The Monarch heard the chariot wheels
And forth he came to greet
The Mistress whom he served.
He knew the captive youth,
And Thalaba beheld
Mohareb in [144] the robes of royalty,
Whom erst his arm had thrust
Down the bitumen pit.

The Ninth Book.

THALABA THE DESTROYER.

THE NINTH BOOK.

“Go up, my Sister Maimuna,
“Go up, and read the stars!”

Lo! on the terrace of the topmost tower
She stands; her darkening eyes,
Her fine face raised to heaven,
Her white hair flowing like the silver streams
That streak the northern night.

They hear her coming tread,
They lift their asking eyes,
Her face is serious, her unwilling lips
Slow to the tale of ill.
“What hast thou read? what hast thou read?”
Quoth Khawla in alarm.
“Danger ... death ... judgement!” Maimuna replied.

“Is that the language of the lights of Heaven?”
Exclaimed the sterner Witch.
“Creatures of Allah, they perform his will.
“And with their lying menaces would daunt
“Our credulous folly.... Maimuna,
“I never liked this uncongenial lore!
“Better befits to make the sacrifice
“Of Divination; so shall I
“Be mine own Oracle.
“Command the victims thou, O King!
“Male and female they must be,
“Thou knowest the needful rites.
“Meanwhile I purify the place.”

The Sultan went; the Sorceress rose,
And North and South and East and West
She faced the points of Heaven,
And ever where she turned
She laid her hand upon the wall,
And up she looked and smote the air,
And down she stooped and smote the floor,
“To Eblis and his servants
“I consecrate the place,
“Let none intrude but they!
“Whatever hath the breath of life,
“Whatever hath the sap of life,
“Let it be blasted and die!”

Now all is prepared;
Mohareb returns,
The Circle is drawn,
The Victims have bled,
The Youth and the Maid.
She in the circle holds in either hand
Clenched by the hair, a head,
The heads of the Youth and the Maid.
“Go out ye lights!” quoth Khawla,
And in darkness began the spell.

With spreading arms she whirls around
Rapidly, rapidly
Ever around and around;
And loudly she calls the while
“Eblis! Eblis!”
Loudly, incessantly,
Still she calls “Eblis! Eblis!”
Giddily, giddily, still she whirls,
Loudly, incessantly, still she calls;
The motion is ever the same,
Ever around and around;
The calling is still the same
Still it is “Eblis! Eblis!”
And her voice is a shapeless yell,
And dizzily rolls her brain,
And now she is full of the Fiend.
She stops, she rocks, she reels!
Look! look! she appears in the darkness!
Her flamy hairs curl up
All living, like the Meteor’s locks of light!
Her eyes are like the sickly Moon!

It is her lips that move,
Her tongue that shapes the sound,
But whose is the Voice that proceeds?
“Ye may hope and ye may fear,
“The danger of his stars is near.
“Sultan! if he perish, woe!
“Fate has written one death-blow
“For Mohareb and the Foe?
“Triumph! triumph! only she
“That knit his bonds can set him free.”

She spake the Oracle,
And senselessly she fell.
They knelt in care beside her,
Her Sister and the King.
They sprinkled her palms with water,
They wetted her nostrils with blood.
She wakes as from a dream,
She asks the uttered Voice,
But when she heard, an anger and a grief
Darkened her wrinkling brow.
“Then let him live in long captivity!”
She answered: but Mohareb’s quickened eye
Perused her sullen countenance
That lied not with the lips.
A miserable man!
What boots it, that, in central caves
The Powers of Evil at his Baptism pledged
The Sacrament of Hell?
His death secures them now.
What boots it that they gave
Abdaldar’s guardian ring,
When thro’ another’s life
The blow may reach his own?

He sought the dungeon cell
Where Thalaba was laid.
’Twas the grey morning twilight, and the voice
Of Thalaba in prayer,
With words of hallowed import, smote
The King’s alarmed sense.
The grating of the heavy hinge
Roused not the Arabian youth;
Nor lifted he his earthward face
At sound of coming feet.
Nor did Mohareb with unholy voice
Disturb the duty: silent, spirit-awed,
Envious, heart-humbled, he beheld
The dungeon-peace of piety
Till Thalaba, the perfect rite performed,
Raised his calm eye; then spake the Island-Chief.
“Arab! my guidance thro’ the dangerous Cave,
“Thy service overpaid,
“An unintended friend in enmity.
“The hand that caught thy ring
“Received and bore me to the scene I sought.
“Now know me grateful. I return
“That amulet, thy only safety here.”

Artful he spake, with show of gratitude
Veiling the selfish deed.
Locked in the magic chain
The powerless hand of Thalaba
Received again the Spell.
Remembering then with what an ominous faith
First he drew on the gem,
The Youth repeats his words of augury;
“In God’s name and the Prophet’s! be its power
“Good, let it serve the holy! if for evil
“God and my faith shall hallow it.
“Blindly the wicked work
“The righteous will of Heaven!”

So Thalaba received again
The written ring of gold.

Thoughtful awhile Mohareb stood
And eyed the captive youth.
Then, building skilfully the sophist speech,
Thus he began. “Brave art thou, Thalaba!
“And wherefore are we foes!... for I would buy
“Thy friendship at a princely price, and make thee
“To thine own welfare wise.
“Hear me! in Nature are two hostile Gods,
“Makers and Masters of existing things,
“Equal in power:... nay hear me patiently!...
“Equal ... for look around thee! the same Earth
“Bears fruit and poison; where the Camel finds
“His fragrant [145] food, the horned Viper there
“Sucks in the juice of death; the Elements
“Now serve the use of man, and now assert
“Dominion o’er his weakness; dost thou hear
“The sound of merriment and nuptial song?
“From the next house proceeds the mourner’s cry
“Lamenting o’er the dead. Sayest thou that Sin
“Entered the world of Allah? that the Fiend
“Permitted for a season, prowls for prey?
“When to thy tent the venomous serpent creeps
“Dost thou not crush the reptile? even so,
“Besure, had Allah crushed his Enemy,
“But that the power was wanting. From the first,
“Eternal as themselves their warfare is,
“To the end it must endure. Evil and Good....
“What are they Thalaba but words? in the strife
“Of Angels, as of men, the weak are guilty;
“Power must decide. The Spirits of the Dead
“Quitting their mortal mansion, enter not,
“As falsely ye are preached, their final seat
“Of bliss, or bale; nor in the sepulchre
“Sleep they the long long sleep: each joins the host
“Of his great Leader, aiding in the war
“Whose fate involves his own.
“Woe to the vanquished then!
“Woe to the sons of man who followed him!
“They with their Leader, thro’ eternity,
“Must howl in central fires.
“Thou Thalaba hast chosen ill thy part,
“If choice it may be called, where will was not,
“Nor searching doubt, nor judgement wise to weigh.
“Hard is the service of the Power beneath
“Whose banners thou wert born; his discipline
“Severe, yea cruel; and his wages, rich
“Only in promise; who has seen the pay?
“For us ... the pleasures of the world are ours,
“Riches and rule, the kingdoms of the Earth.
“We met in Babylon adventurers both,
“Each zealous for the hostile Power he served:
“We meet again; thou feelest what thou art,
“Thou seest what I am, the Sultan here,
“The Lord of Life and Death.
“Abandon him who has abandoned thee,
“And be as I am, great among mankind!”

The Captive did not, hasty to confute
Break of that subtle speech,
But when the expectant silence of the King
Looked for his answer, then spake Thalaba.
“And this then is thy faith! this monstrous creed!
“This lie against the Sun and Moon and Stars
“And Earth and Heaven! blind man who canst not see
“How all things work the best! who wilt not know
“That in the Manhood of the World, whate’er
“Of folly marked its Infancy, of vice
“Sullied its Youth, ripe Wisdom shall cast off,
“Stablished in good, and knowing evil safe.
“Sultan Mohareb, yes, ye have me here
“In chains; but not forsaken, tho’ opprest:
“Cast down, but not destroyed. Shall danger daunt,
“Shall death dismay his soul, whose life is given
“For God and for his brethren of mankind?
“Alike rewarded, in that noble cause,
“The Conquerors and the Martyrs palm above
“Beam with one glory. Hope ye that my blood
“Can quench the dreaded flame? and know ye not
“That leagued against you are the Just and Wise,
“And all Good Actions of all ages past,
“Yea your own Crimes, and Truth, and God in Heaven!”

“Slave!” quoth Mohareb, and his lips
Quivered with eager wrath.
“I have thee! thou shalt feel my power,
“And in thy dungeon loathsomeness
“Rot piece-meal, limb from limb!”
And out the Tyrant rushes,
And all impatient of the thoughts
That cankered in his heart,
Seeks in the giddiness of boisterous sport
Short respite from the avenging power within.

What Woman is she
So wrinkled and old,
That goes to the wood?
She leans on her staff
With a tottering step,
She tells her bead-strings slow
Thro’ fingers dulled by age.
The wanton boys bemock her.
The babe in arms that meets her
Turns round with quick affright
And clings to his nurse’s neck.

Hark! hark! the hunter’s cry
Mohareb gone to the chase!
The dogs with eager yell
Are struggling to be free;
The hawks in frequent stoop
Token their haste for flight;
And couchant on the saddle-bow,
With tranquil eyes and talons sheathed
The ounce expects his liberty.

Propt on the staff that shakes
Beneath her trembling weight,
The Old Woman sees them pass.
Halloa! halloa!
The game is up!
The dogs are loosed
The deer bounds over the plain,
The lagging dogs behind
Follow from afar!
But lo! the Falcon o’er his head.
Hovers with hostile [146] wings,
And buffets him with blinding strokes!
Dizzy with the deafening strokes
In blind and interrupted course,
Poor beast be struggles on;
And now the dogs are nigh!
How his heart pants! you see
The panting of his heart;
And tears like human tears
Roll down, along the big veins, fever-swoln;
And now the death-sweat [147] darkens his dun hide!
His fear, his groans, his agony, his death,
Are the sport and the joy and the triumph!

Halloa! another prey,
The nimble Antelope!
The Ounce [148] is freed; one spring
And his talons are sheathed in her shoulders,
And his teeth are red in her gore.
There came a sound from the wood,
Like the howl of the winter wind at night
Around a lonely dwelling,
The Ounce whose gums were warm in his prey
He hears the summoning sound.
In vain his master’s voice
No longer dreaded now,
Calls and recalls with threatful tone.
Away to the forest he goes,
For that Old Woman had laid
Her shrivelled finger on her shrivelled lips,
And whistled with a long, long breath,
And that long breath was the sound
Like the howl of the winter wind at night
Around a lonely dwelling.

Mohareb knew her not,
As to the chase he went,
The glance of his proud eye
Passing in scorn o’er age and wretchedness.
She stands in the depth of the wood,
And panting to her feet
Fawning and fearful creeps the charmed ounce.
Well mayst thou fear, and vainly dost thou fawn!
Her form is changed, her visage new,
Her power, her heart the same!
It is Khawla that stands in the wood.

She knew the place where the mandrake grew,
And round the neck of the ounce,
And round the mandrake’s head
She tightens the ends of her cord.
Her ears are closed with wax,
And her prest finger fastens them,
Deaf as the Adder, when with grounded head
And circled form, her avenues of sound
Barred safely, one slant eye
Watches the charmer’s lips
Waste on the wind his [149] baffled witchery.
The spotted ounce so beautiful
Springs forceful from the scourge:
The dying plant all agony,
Feeling its life-strings crack,
Uttered the unimaginable groan
That none can hear and live.

Then from her victim servant Khawla loosed
The precious poison, next with naked hand
She plucked the boughs of the manchineel.
Then of the wormy wax she took,
That from the perforated [150] tree forced out,
Bewrayed its insect-parent’s work within.

In a cavern of the wood she sits
And moulds the wax to human form,
And as her fingers kneaded it,
By magic accents, to the mystic shape
Imparted with the life of Thalaba,
In all its passive powers
Mysterious sympathy.
With the Mandrake and the Manchineel
She builds her pile accurst.
She lays her finger to the pile,
And blue and green, the flesh
Glows with emitted fire,
A fire [151] to kindle that strange fuel meet.
Before the fire she placed the imaged wax,
“There [152] waste away!” the Enchantress cried,
“And with thee waste Hodeirah’s Son!”

Fool! fool! go thaw the everlasting ice,
Whose polar mountains bound the human reign.
Blindly the wicked work
The righteous will of Heaven!
The doomed Destroyer wears Abdaldar’s ring!
Against the danger of his horoscope
Yourselves have shielded him!
And on the sympathizing wax
The unadmitted flames play powerlessly,
As the cold moon-beam on a plain of snow.

“Curse thee! curse thee!” cried the fiendly woman,
“Hast thou yet a spell of safety?”
And in the raging flames
She cast the imaged wax.
It lay amid the flames,
Like Polycarp of old,
When by the glories of the burning stake
O’er vaulted, his grey hairs
Curled, life-like, to the fire
That haloed round his saintly brow.

“Wherefore is this!” cried Khawla, and she stamped
Thrice on the cavern floor,
“Maimuna! Maimuna!”
Thrice on the floor she stamped,
Then to the rocky gateway glanced
Her eager eyes, and Maimuna was there.
“Nay Sister, nay!” quoth she, “Mohareb’s life
“Is linked with Thalaba’s!
“Nay Sister, nay! the plighted oath!
“The common Sacrament!”

“Idiot!” said Khawla, “one must die, or all!
“Faith kept with him were treason to the rest.
“Why lies the wax, like marble, in the fire?
“What powerful amulet
“Protects Hodeirah’s son?”

Cold, marble-cold, the wax
Lay on the raging pile,
Cold in that white intensity of fire.
The Bat that with her hooked and leathery wings
Clung to the cave-roof, loosed her hold,
Death-sickening with the heat;
The Toad who to the darkest nook had crawled
Panted fast with fever pain;
The Viper from her nest came forth
Leading her quickened brood,
Who sportive with the warm delight, rolled out
Their thin curls, tender as the tendril rings,
Ere the green beauty of their brittle youth
Grows brown, and toughens in the summer sun.
Cold, marble-cold, the wax
Lay on the raging pile,
The silver quivering of the element
O’er its pale surface shedding a dim gloss.

Amid the red and fiery smoke,
Watching the strange portent,
The blue-eyed Sorceress and her Sister stood,
Seeming a ruined Angel by the side
Of Spirit born in Hell.
At length raised Maimuna her thoughtful eyes,
“Whence Sister was the wax
“The work of the worm, or the bee?
“Nay then I marvel not!
“It were as wise to bring from Ararat
“The fore-world’s [153] wood to build the magic pile,
“And feed it from the balm bower, thro’ whose veins
“The Martyr’s blood sends such a virtue out,
“That the fond Mother from beneath its shade
“Wreathes the Cerastes [154] round her playful child.
“This the eternal, universal strife!
“There is a grave-wax,[155]... I have seen the Gouls
“Fight for the dainty at their banquetting.”...

“Excellent witch!” quoth Khawla; and she went
To the cave arch of entrance, and scowled up,
Mocking the blessed Sun,
“Shine thou in Heaven, but I will shadow Earth!
“Thou wilt not shorten day,
“But I will hasten darkness!” Then the Witch
Began a magic song,
One long low tone thro’ teeth half-closed,
Thro’ lips slow-moving muttered slow,
One long-continued breath,
Till to her eyes a darker yellowness
Was driven, and fuller swoln the prominent veins
On her loose throat grew black.
Then looking upward thrice she breathed
Into the face of Heaven,
The baneful breath infected Heaven;
A mildewing mist it spread
Darker and darker; so the evening sun
Poured his unentering glory on the mist,
And it was night below.

“Bring now the wax,” quoth Khawla, “for thou knowest
“The mine that yields it!” forth went Maimuna,
In mist and darkness went the Sorceress forth.
And she has reached the place of Tombs,
And in their sepulchres the dead
Feel [156] feet unholy trampling over them.

Thou startest Maimuna,
Because the breeze is in thy lilted locks!
Is Khawla’s spell so weak?
Sudden came the breeze and strong;
The mist that in the labouring lungs was felt
So heavy late, flies now before the gale,
Thin as an Infant’s breath
Seen in the sunshine of an autumn frost.
Sudden it came and soon its work was done,
And suddenly it ceased;
Cloudless and calm it left the firmament,
And beautiful in the blue sky
Arose the summer Moon.

She heard the quickened action of her blood,
She felt the fever in her cheeks.
Daunted, yet desperate, in a tomb
Entering, with impious hand she traced
Circles, and squares, and trines,
And magic characters,
Till riven by her charms the grave
Yawned and disclosed its dead,
Maimuna’s eyes were opened, and she saw
The secrets of the grave.

There sate a Spirit in the vault,
In shape, in hue, in lineaments like life,
And by him couched, as if intranced,
The hundred-headed Worm that never dies.

“Nay Sorceress! not to-night!” the Spirit cried,
“The flesh in which I sinned may rest to-night
“From suffering; all things, even I to-night,
“Even the Damned repose!”

The flesh of Maimuna
Crept on her bones with terror, and her knees
Trembled with their trembling weight.
“Only this sabbath! and at dawn the Worm
“Will wake, and this poor flesh must grow to meet
“The gnawing of his hundred [157] poison-mouths!
“God! God! Is there no mercy after death?”

Soul-struck she rushed away,
She fled the place of Tombs,
She cast herself upon the earth,
All agony and tumult and despair.
And in that wild and desperate agony
Sure Maimuna had died the utter death,
If aught of evil had been possible
On this mysterious night;
For this was that most holy [158] night
When all created things know and adore
The Power that made them; insects, beasts, and birds,
The water-dwellers, herbs and trees and stones,
Yea Earth and Ocean and the infinite Heaven
With all its worlds. Man only does not know
The universal sabbath, does not join
With Nature in her homage. Yet the prayer
Flows from the righteous with intenser love,
A holier calm succeeds, and sweeter dreams
Visit the slumbers of the penitent.

Therefore on Maimuna the elements,
Shed healing; every breath she breathed was balm.
Was not a flower but sent in incense up
Its richest odours, and the song of birds
Now, like the music of the Seraphim,
Entered her soul, and now
Made silence aweful by their sudden pause.
It seemed as if the quiet moon
Poured quietness, its lovely light
Was like the smile of reconciling Heaven.

Is it the dew of night
That down her glowing cheek
Shines in the moon-beam? oh! she weeps ... she weeps
And the Good Angel that abandoned her
At her hell-baptism, by her tears drawn down
Resumes his charge, then Maimuna
Recalled to mind the double oracle;
Quick as the lightening flash
Its import glanced upon her, and the hope
Of pardon and salvation rose,
As now she understood
The lying prophecy of truth.
She pauses not, she ponders not,
The driven air before her fanned the face
Of Thalaba, and he awoke and saw
The Sorceress of the silver locks.

One more permitted spell!
She takes the magic chain.
With the wide eye of wonder, Thalaba
Watches her snowy fingers round and round
Wind the loosening chain.
Again he hears the low sweet voice,
The low sweet voice so musical,
That sure it was not strange,
If in those unintelligible tones
Was more than human potency,
That with such deep and undefined delight,
Filled the surrendered soul.
The work is done, the song is ceased;
He wakes as from a dream of Paradise
And feels his fetters gone, and with the burst
Of wondering adoration praises God.

Her charm has loosed the chain it bound,
But massy walls and iron gates
Confine Hodeirah’s son.
Heard ye not, Genii of the Air, her spell,
That o’er her face there flits
The sudden flush of fear?
Again her louder lips repeat the charm,
Her eye is anxious, her cheek pale,
Her pulse plays fast and feeble.
Nay Maimuna! thy power has ceased,
And the wind scatters now
The voice that ruled it late.

“Pray for me, Thalaba,” she cried,
“For death and judgement are at hand!”
All night in agony,
She feared the instant blow of Hell’s revenge.
At dawn the sound of gathering multitudes
Led to the prison bars her dreading eye.
What spectacle invites
The growing multitude,
That torrent-like they roll along?
Boys and grey-headed age; the Mother comes
Leading her child, who at arm’s length
Outstripping her, looks back
And bids her hasten more.

Why does the City pour her thousands forth?
What glorious pageantry
Makes her streets desolate, and silences
Her empty dwellings? comes the bridal pomp,
And have the purveyors of imperial lust
Torn from their parents arms again
The virgin beauties of the land?
Will elephants in gilded cages bear
The imprisoned victims? or may yet their eyes
With a last look of liberty, behold
Banners and guards and silk-arched palanquins.
The long procession, and the gorgeous pomp
Of their own sacrifice?
On the house tops and in the windows ranged
Face above face, they wait
The coming spectacle;
The trees are clustered, and below the dust
Thro’ the thronged populace
Can find no way to rise.

He comes! the Sultan! hark the swelling horn,
The trumpet’s spreading blair,
The timbrel tinkling as its silver bells
Twinkle aloft, and the shrill cymbal’s sound,
Whose broad brass flashes in the morning sun
Accordant light and music! closing all
The heavy Gong is heard,
That falls like thunder on the dizzy ear.

On either hand the thick-wedged crowd
Fall from the royal path.
Recumbent in the palanquin he casts
On the wide tumult of the waving throng
A proud and idle eye.
Now in his tent alighted, he receives
Homage and worship. The slave multitude
With shouts of blasphemy adore
Him, father of his people! him their Lord!
Great King, all-wise, all-mighty, and all-good!
Whose smile was happiness, whose frown was death,
Their present Deity!

With silken cords his slaves
Wave the silk [159] fan, that waving o’er his head
Freshens the languid air.
Others the while shower o’er his robes
The rose’s treasured sweets,
Rich odours burn before him, ambergrese,
Sandal and aloe wood,
And thus inhaling the voluptuous air
He sits to watch the agony,
To hear the groan of death.

At once all sounds are hushed,
All eyes take one direction, for he comes,
The object he of this day’s festival,
Of all this expectation and this joy,
The Christian captive. Hark! so silently
They stand, the clanking of his chain is heard.
And he has reached the place of suffering now.
And as the death’s-men round his ancles bind
The cords and to the gibbet swing him up,
The Priests begin their song, the song of praise,
The hymn of glory to their Devil-God.

Then Maimuna grew pale, as thro the bars
She saw the Martyr pendant by the feet,
His gold locks hanging downwards, and she cried,
“This is my Sister’s deed!
“O Thalaba, for us,
“Not for his faith the red-haired Christian dies.
“She wants the foam [160] that in his agony,
“Last from his lips shall fall,
“The deadliest poison that the Devils know.
“Son of Hodeirah, thou and I
“Shall prove its deadly force!”

And lo! the Executioners begin
And beat his belly with alternate blows.
And these are human that look on;...
The very women that would shrink
And shudder if they saw a worm
Crushed by the careless tread,
They clap their hands for joy
And lift their children up
To see the Christian die.

Convulsing Nature with her tortures drunk
Ceases to suffer now.
His eye-lids tremble, his lips quake,
But like the quivering of a severed limb
Move no responsive pang.
Now catch the exquisite poison! for it froths
His dying lips,... and Khawla holds the bowl.

Enough the Island crimes had cried to Heaven,
The measure of their guilt was full,
The hour of wrath was come.
The poison burst the bowl,
It fell upon the earth.
The Sorceress shrieked and caught Mohareb’s robe
And called the whirlwind and away!
For lo! from that accursed venom springs,
The Upas Tree of Death.

Thalaba the Destroyer

About This Book

THALABA THE DESTROYER.

THE EIGHTH BOOK.

The Ninth Book.

THALABA THE DESTROYER.

THE NINTH BOOK.