THALABA THE DESTROYER.

THE SECOND BOOK.

Not in the desert
Son of Hodeirah
Wert thou abandoned!
The coexistent fire,
That in the Dens of Darkness burnt for thee,
Burns yet, and yet shall burn.

In the Domdaniel caverns
Under the Roots of the Ocean,
Met the Masters of the Spell.
Before them in the vault,
Blazing unfuelled from the floor of rock,
Ten magic flames arose.
“Burn mystic fires!” Abdaldar cried,
“Burn whilst Hodeirah’s dreaded race exist.
“This is the appointed hour,
“The hour that shall secure these dens of night.”

“Dim they burn,” exclaimed Lobaba,
“Dim they burn, and now they waver!
“Okba lifts the arm of death,
“They waver,... they go out!

“Curse on his hasty hand!”
Khawla exclaimed in wrath,
The woman-fiend exclaimed,
“Curse on his hasty hand, the fool hath failed!
“Eight only are gone out.”

A Teraph [22] stood against the cavern side,
A new-born infant’s head,
That Khawla at his hour of birth had seized
And from the shoulders wrung.
It stood upon a plate of gold,
An unclean Spirit’s name inscribed beneath.
The cheeks were deathy dark,
Dark the dead skin upon the hairless skull;
The lips were bluey pale;
Only the eyes had life,
They gleamed with demon light.

“Tell me!” quoth Khawla, “is the Fire gone out
“That threats the Masters of the Spell?”
The dead lips moved and spake,
“The Fire still burns that threats
“The Masters of the Spell.”

“Curse on thee, Okba!” Khawla cried,
As to the den the Sorcerer came,
He bore the dagger in his hand
Hot from the murder of Hodeirah’s race.
“Behold those unextinguished flames!
“The fire still burns that threats
“The Masters of the Spell!
“Okba, wert thou weak of heart?
“Okba, wert thou blind of eye?
“Thy fate and ours were on the lot,
“And we believed the lying stars
“That said thy hand might seize the auspicious hour!
“Thou hast let slip the reins of Destiny,...
“Curse thee, curse thee, Okba!”

The Murderer answering said,
“O versed in all enchanted lore,
“Thou better knowest Okba’s soul.
“Eight blows I struck, eight home-driven blows,
“Needed no second stroke
“From this envenomed blade.
“Ye frown at me as if the will had failed,
“As if ye did not know
“My double danger from Hodeirah’s race,
“The deeper hate I feel,
“The stronger motive that inspired my arm!
“Ye frown as if my hasty fault,
“My ill-directed blow
“Had spared the enemy,
“And not the stars that would not give,
“And not your feeble spells
“That could not force, the sign
“Which of the whole was he!
“Did ye not bid me strike them all?
“Said ye not root and branch should be destroyed?
“I heard Hodeirah’s dying groan,
“I heard his Children’s shriek of death,
“And sought to consummate the work,
“But o’er the two remaining lives
“A cloud unpierceable had risen,
“A cloud that mocked my searching eyes.
“I would have probed it with the dagger-point,
“The dagger was repelled,
“A Voice came forth and cried
“Son of Perdition, cease! thou canst not change
“What in the Book of Destiny is written.”

Khawla to the Teraph turned,
“Tell me where the Prophet’s hand
“Hides our destined enemy?”
The dead lips spake again,
“I view the seas, I view the land,
“I search the ocean and the earth!
“Not on Ocean is the Boy,
“Not on Earth his steps are seen.”

“A mightier power than we,” Lobaba cried,
“Protects our destined foe!
“Look! look! one fire burns dim!
“It quivers! it goes out!”

It quivered, it was quenched.
One flame alone was left,
A pale blue flame that trembled on the earth,
A hovering light upon whose shrinking edge
The darkness seemed to press.
Stronger it grew, and spread
Its lucid swell around,
Extending now where all the ten had stood,
With lustre more than all.
At that protentous sight,
The children of Evil trembled
And Terror smote their souls.
Over the den the fire
Its fearful splendour cast,
The broad base rolling up in wavy streams,
Bright as the summer lightning when it spreads
Its glory o’er the midnight heaven.
The Teraphs eyes were dimmed,
That like two twinkling stars
Shone in the darkness late.
The Sorcerers on each other gazed,
And every face all pale with fear,
And ghastly in that light was seen
Like a dead man’s by the sepulchral lamp.

Even Khawla fiercest of the enchanter brood
Not without effort drew
Her fear suspended breath.
Anon a deeper rage
Inflamed her reddening eye.
“Mighty is thy power, Mohammed!”
Loud in blasphemy she cried,
“But Eblis [23] would not stoop to man
“When Man fair statured as the stately palm,
“From his Creator’s hand
“Was undefiled and pure.
“Thou art mighty, O Son of Abdallah!
“But who is he of woman born
“That shall vie with the might of Eblis?
“That shall rival the Prince of the Morning?”

She said, and raised her skinny hand
As in defiance to high Heaven,
And stretched her long lean finger forth
And spake aloud the words of power.
The Spirits heard her call,
And lo! before her stands
Her Demon Minister.
“Spirit!” the Enchantress cried,
“Where lives the Boy coeval with whose life
“Yon magic fire must burn?”
DEMON.
Mistress of the mighty Spell,
Not on Ocean, not on Earth.
Only eyes that view
Allah’s glory throne,
See his hiding-place.
From some believing Spirit, ask and learn.

“Bring the dead Hodeirah here,”
Khawla cried, “and he shall tell.”
The Demon heard her bidding, and was gone.
A moment passed, and at her feet
Hodeirah’s corpse was laid.
His hand still held the sword he grasped in death,
The blood not yet had clotted on his wound.

The Sorceress looked and with a smile
That kindled to more fiendishness
Her hideous features, cried,
“Where Hodeirah is thy soul?
“Is it in the [24]Zemzem well?
“Is it in the Eden groves?
“Waits it for the judgement-blast
“In the trump of Israfil?
“Is it plumed with silver wings
“Underneath the throne of God?
“Even if beneath his throne
“Hodeirah, thou shalt hear,
“Thou shalt obey my voice!”

She said, and muttered charms that Hell in fear
And Heaven in horror heard.
Soon the stiff eye-balls rolled,
The muscles with convulsive motion shook,
The white lips quivered. Khawla saw, her soul
Exulted, and she cried,
“Prophet! behold my power!
“Not even death secures
“Thy slaves from Khawla’s Spell!
“Where Hodeirah is thy child?”

Hodeirah groaned and closed his eyes,
As if in the night and the blindness of death
He would have hid himself.

“Speak to my question!” she exclaimed,
“Or in that mangled body thou shall live
“Ages of torture! answer me!
“Where can we find the Boy?”

“God! God! Hodeirah cried,
“Release me from this life,
“From this intolerable agony!”

“Speak!” cried the Sorceress; and she snatched
A Viper from the floor,
And with the living reptile lashed [25] his neck.
Wreathed, round him with the blow,
The Reptile tighter drew her folds
And raised her wrathful head,
And fixed into his face
Her deadly teeth, and shed
Poison in every wound.
In vain! for Allah heard Hodeirah’s prayer,
And Khawla on a corpse
Had wrecked her baffled rage.
The fated fire moved on
And round the Body wrapt its funeral flames.
The flesh and bones in that portentous pile
Consumed; the Sword alone,
Circled with fire was left.

Where is the Boy for whose hand it is destined?
Where the Destroyer who one day shall wield
The Sword that is circled with fire?
Race accursed, try your charms!
Masters of the mighty Spell,
Mutter o’er your words of power!
Ye can shatter the dwellings of man,
Ye can open the womb of the rock,
Ye can shake the foundations of earth,
But not the Word of God:
But not one letter can ye change
Of what his Will hath written!

Who shall seek thro’ Araby
Hodeirah’s dreaded son?
They mingle the Arrows [26] of Chance
The lot of Abdaldar is drawn.
Thirteen moons must wax and wane
Ere the Sorcerer quit his quest.
He must visit every tribe
That roam the desert wilderness,
Or dwell beside perennial streams;
Nor leave a solitary tent unsearched
Till he has found the Boy,
The hated Boy whose blood alone
Can quench that dreaded fire.

A crystal ring Abdaldar bore,
The powerful gem [27] condensed
Primeval dews that upon Caucasus
Felt the first winter’s frost.
Ripening there it lay beneath
Rock above rock, and mountain ice up-piled
On mountain, till the incumbent mass assumed,
So huge its bulk, the Ocean’s azure hue.

With this he sought the inner den
Where burnt the eternal flame.
Like waters gushing from some channelled rock
Full thro’ a narrow opening, from a chasm
The eternal flame streamed up.
No eye beheld the fount
Of that up-flowing flame,
That blazed self-nurtured, and for ever, there.
It was no mortal element: the Abyss
Supplied it, from the fountains at the first
Prepared. In the heart of earth it lives and glows
Her vital heat, till at the day decreed,
The voice of God shall let its billows loose,
To deluge o’er with no abating flood
The consummated World;
That thenceforth thro’ the air must roll,
The penal Orb of Fire.

Unturbaned and unsandalled there,
Abdaldar stood before the flame,
And held the Ring beside, and spake
The language that the Elements obey.
The obedient flame detatched a portion forth,
That, in the crystal entering, was condensed,
Gem of the gem, its living Eye of fire.
When the hand that wears the spell
Shall touch the destined Boy,
Then shall that Eye be quenched,
And the freed Element
Fly to its sacred and remembered Spring.

Now go thy way Abdaldar!
Servant of Eblis,
Over Arabia
Seek the Destroyer!
Over the sands of the scorching Tchama,
Over the waterless mountains of Naïd,
In Arud pursue him; and Yemen the happy,
And Hejaz, the country beloved by believers.
Over Arabia
Servant of Eblis,
Seek the Destroyer.

From tribe to tribe, from town to town,
From tent to tent, Abdaldar past.
Him every morn the all-beholding Eye
Saw from his couch, unhallowed by a prayer,
Rise to the scent of blood,
And every night lie down.
That rankling hope within him, that by day
Goaded his steps, still stinging him in sleep,
And startling him with vain accomplishment
From visions still the same.
Many a time his wary hand
To many a youth applied the Ring,
And still the dagger in his mantle hid
Was ready for the deed.

At length to the cords of a tent
That were stretched by an Island of Palms
In the desolate sea of the sands,
The weary traveller came.
Under a shapely palm,
Herself as shapely, there a Damsel stood.
She held her ready robe
And looked towards a Boy,
Who from the tree above
With one hand clinging to its trunk,
Cast with the other down the clustered dates.

The Wizard approached the Tree,
He leaned on his staff, like a way-faring man,
And the sweat of his travel was seen on his brow.
He asks for food, and lo!
The Damsel proffers him her lap of dates.
And the Stripling descends, and runs into the tent
And brings him forth water, the draught of delight.

Anon the Master of the tent,
The Father of the family
Came forth, a man in years, of aspect mild.
To the stranger approaching he gave
The friendly saluting of peace,
And bade the skin be spread.
Before the tent they spread the [28] skin,
Under a Tamarind’s shade,
That bending forward, stretched
Its boughs of beauty far.
They brought the Traveller rice,
With no false colours [29] tinged to tempt the eye,
But white as the new-fallen snow,
When never yet the sullying Sun
Hath seen its purity,
Nor the warm Zephyr touched and tainted it.
The dates of the grove before their guest
They laid, and the luscious fig,
And water from the well.
The Damsel from the Tamarind tree
Had plucked its acid fruit
And steeped it in water long;
And whoso drank of the cooling [30] draught
He would not wish for wine.
This to the guest the Damsel brought,
And a modest pleasure kindled her cheek,
When raising from the cup his moistened lips
The Stranger smiled, and praised, and drank again.

Whither is gone the Boy?
He had pierced the Melon’s pulp
And closed with wax the wound,
And he had duly gone at morn
And watched its ripening rind,
And now all joyfully he brings
The treasure now matured.
His dark eyes sparkle with a boy’s delight.
As he pours out its liquid [31] lusciousness
And proffers to the guest.

Abdaldar ate, and he was satisfied:
And now his tongue discoursed
Of regions far remote,
As one whose busy feet had travelled long.
The Father of the family,
With a calm eye and quiet smile,
Sate pleased to hearken him.
The Damsel who removed the meal,
She loitered on the way
And listened with full [32]hands
A moment motionless.
All eagerly the Boy
Watches the Traveller’s lips,
And still the wily man
With seemly kindness to the eager Boy
Directs his winning tale.
Ah, cursed man! if this be he,
If thou hast found the object of thy search,
Thy hate, thy bloody aim,
Into what deep damnation wilt thou plunge
Thy miserable soul!
Look! how his eye delighted watches thine!
Look! how his open lips
Gasp at the winning tale!
And nearer now he comes
To lose no word of that delightful talk.
Then, as in familiar mood,
Upon the Stripling’s arm
The Sorcerer laid his hand,
And the fire of the Crystal fled.

Whilst the sudden shoot of joy
Made pale Abdaldar’s cheek,
The Master’s voice was heard:
“It is the hour [33] of prayer,...
“My children, let us purify ourselves
“And praise the Lord our God!”
The Boy the water brought,
After the law [34] they purified themselves,
And bent their faces to the earth in prayer.

All, save Abdaldar; over Thalaba
He stands, and lifts the dagger to destroy.
Before his lifted arm received
Its impulse to descend,
The Blast of the Desert came.
Prostrate in prayer, the pious family
Felt not the Simoom [35] pass.
They rose, and lo! the Sorcerer lying dead,
Holding the dagger in his blasted hand.

The Third Book.

THALABA THE DESTROYER.

THE THIRD BOOK.

THALABA.

Oneiza, look! the dead man has a ring,...
Should it be buried with him?

ONEIZA.

Oh yes ... yes!
A wicked man! all that he has must needs
Be wicked too!

THALABA.

But see,... the sparkling stone!
How it has caught the glory of the Sun,
And streams it back again in lines of light!

ONEIZA.

Why do you take it from him Thalaba?...
And look at it so near?... it may have charms
To blind, or poison ... throw it in the grave!...
I would not touch it!

THALABA.

And around its rim
Strange letters,...

ONEIZA.

Bury it.... Oh! bury it!

THALABA.

It is not written as the Koran is;
Some other tongue perchance ... the accursed man
Said he had been a traveller.

MOATH.

coming from the tent.

Thalaba,
What hast thou there?

THALABA.

A ring the dead man wore,
Perhaps my father, you can read its meaning.

MOATH.

No Boy,... the letters are not such as ours.
Heap the sand over it! a wicked man
Wears nothing holy.

THALABA.

Nay! not bury it!
It may be that some traveller who shall enter
Our tent, may read them: or if we approach
Cities where strangers dwell and learned men,
They may interpret.

MOATH.

It were better hid
Under the desert sands. This wretched man,
Whom God hath smitten in the very purpose
And impulse of his unpermitted crime,
Belike was some Magician, and these lines
Are of the language that the Demons use.

ONEIZA.

Bury it! bury it ... dear Thalaba!

MOATH.

Such cursed men there are upon the earth,
In league and treaty with the Evil powers,
The covenanted enemies of God
And of all good, dear purchase have they made
Of rule, and riches, and their life-long sway,
Masters, yet slaves of Hell. Beneath the Roots
Of Ocean, the Domdaniel caverns lie:
Their impious meeting; there they learn the words
Unutterable by man who holds his hope
Of Heaven, there brood the Pestilence, and let
The Earthquake loose.

THALABA.

And he who would have killed me
Was one of these?

MOATH.

I know not, but it may be
That on the Table of Destiny, thy name
Is written their Destroyer, and for this
Thy life by yonder miserable man
So sought; so saved by interfering Heaven.

THALABA.

His ring has some strange power then?

MOATH.

Every gem,[36]
So sages say, has virtue; but the science
Of difficult attainment, some grow pale
Conscious of poison,[37] or with sudden shade
Of darkness, warn the wearer; same preserve
From spells, or blunt the hostile weapon’s [38] edge.
Some open rocks and mountains, and lay bare
Their buried treasures; others make the sight
Strong to perceive the presence of all Beings
Thro’ whose pure substance the unaided eye
Passes, like empty air ... and in yon stone
I deem some such misterious quality.

THALABA.

My father, I will wear it.

MOATH.

Thalaba!

THALABA.

In God’s name, and the Prophet’s! be its power
Good, let it serve the righteous: if for evil,
God and my trust in him shall hallow it.

So Thalaba drew on
The written ring of gold.
Then in the hollow grave
They laid Abdaldar’s corpse,
And levelled over him the desert dust.

The Sun arose, ascending from beneath
The horizon’s circling line.
As Thalaba to his ablutions went,
Lo! the grave open, and the corpse exposed!
It was not that the winds of night
Had swept away the sands that covered it,
For heavy with the undried dew
The desert dust was dark and close around;
And the night air had been so moveless calm,
It had not from the grove
Shaken a ripe date down.

Amazed to hear the tale
Forth from the tent came Moath and his child.
Awhile the thoughtful man surveyed the corpse
Silent with downward eyes,
Then turning spake to Thalaba and said,
“I have heard that there are places by the abode
“Of holy men, so holily possessed,
“That if a corpse be buried there, the ground
“With a convulsive effort shakes it out,[39]
“Impatient of pollution. Have the feet
“Of Prophet or Apostle blest this place?
“Ishmael, or Houd, or Saleh, or than all,
“Mohammed, holier name? or is the man
“So foul with magic and all blasphemy,
“That Earth [40] like Heaven rejects him? it is best
“Forsake the station. Let us strike our tent.
“The place is tainted ... and behold
“The Vulture [41] hovers yonder, and his scream
“Chides us that we still we scare him from his banquet.
“So let the accursed one
“Find fitting sepulchre.”

Then from the pollution of death
With water they made themselves pure,
And Thalaba drew up
The fastening of the cords,
And Moath furled the tent,
And from the grove of palms Oneiza led
The Camels, ready to receive their load.

The dews had ceased to steam
Towards the climbing Sun,
When from the Isle of Palms they went their way.
And when the Sun had reached his southern height,
As back they turned their eyes,
The distant Palms arose
Like to the top-sails of some far-off fleet
Distinctly seen, where else
The Ocean bounds had blended with the sky.
And when the eve came on
The sight returning reached the grove no more.
They planted the pole of their tent,
And they laid them down to repose.

At midnight Thalaba started up,
For he felt that the ring on his finger was moved.
He called on Allah aloud,
And he called on the Prophet’s name.
Moath arose in alarm,
“What ails thee Thalaba?” he cried,
“Is the Robber of night at hand?”
“Dost thou not see,” the youth exclaimed,
“A Spirit in the Tent?”
Moath looked round and said,
“The moon beam shines in the Tent,
“I see thee stand in the light,
“And thy shadow is black on the ground.”

Thalaba answered not.
“Spirit!” he cried, “what brings thee here?
“In the name of the Prophet, speak,
“In the name of Allah, obey!”

He ceased, and there was silence in the Tent.
“Dost thou not hear?” quoth Thalaba.
The listening man replied,
“I hear the wind, that flaps
“The curtain of the Tent.

“The Ring! the Ring!” the youth exclaimed.
“For that the Spirit of Evil comes,
“By that I see, by that I hear.
“In the name of God, I ask thee
“Who was he that slew my Father?”

DEMON.

Master of the powerful Ring!
Okba, the wise Magician, did the deed.

THALABA.

Where does the Murderer dwell?

DEMON.

In the Domdaniel caverns
Under the Roots of the Ocean.

THALABA.

Why were my Father and my brethren slain?

DEMON.

We knew from the race of Hodeirah
The destined destroyer would come.

THALABA.

Bring me my father’s sword.

DEMON.

A fire surrounds the fated-sword,
No Spirit or Magician’s hand
Can pierce that guardian flame.

THALABA.

Bring me his bow and his arrows.

Distinctly Moath heard his voice, and She
Who thro’ the Veil of Separation, watched
All sounds in listening terror, whose suspense
Forbade the aid of prayer.
They heard the voice of Thalaba;
But when the Spirit spake, the motionless air
Felt not the subtle sounds,
Too fine for mortal sense.

On a sudden the rattle of arrows was heard,
And the quiver was laid at the feet of the youth,
And in his hand they saw Hodeirah’s Bow.
He eyed the Bow, he twanged the string,
And his heart bounded to the joyous tone.
Anon he raised his voice, and cried
“Go thy way, and never more,
“Evil Spirit, haunt our tent!
“By the virtue of the Ring,
“By Mohammed’s holier might,
“By the holiest name of God,
“Thee and all the Powers of Hell
“I adjure and I command
“Never more to trouble us!”

Nor ever from that hour
Did rebel Spirit on the Tent intrude,
Such virtue had the Spell.

And peacefully the vernal years
Of Thalaba past on.
Till now without an effort he could bend
Hodeirah’s stubborn Bow.
Black were his eyes and bright,
The sunny hue of health
Glowed on his tawny cheek,
His lip was darkened by maturing life;
Strong were his shapely limbs, his stature tall;
He was a comely youth.

Compassion for the child
Had first old Moath’s kindly heart possessed,
An orphan, wailing in the wilderness.
But when he heard his tale, his wonderous tale,
Told by the Boy with such eye-speaking truth,
Now with sudden bursts of anger,
Now in the agony of tears,
And now in flashes of prophetic joy.
What had been pity became reverence,
And like a sacred trust from Heaven
The old man cherished him.
Now with a father’s love,
Child of his choice, he loved the Boy,
And like a father to the Boy was dear.
Oneiza called him brother, and the youth,
More fondly than a brother, loved the maid,
The loveliest of Arabian maidens she.
How happily the years
Of Thalaba went by!

It was the wisdom and the will of Heaven
That in a lonely tent had cast
The lot of Thalaba.
There might his soul develope best
Its strengthening energies;
There might he from the world
Keep his heart pure and uncontaminate,
Till at the written hour he should be found
Fit servant of the Lord, without a spot.

Years of his youth, how rapidly ye fled
In that beloved solitude!
Is the morn fair, and does the freshening breeze
Flow with cool current o’er his cheek?
Lo! underneath the broad-leaved sycamore
With lids half closed he lies,
Dreaming of days to come.
His dog [42] beside him, in mute blandishment,
Now licks his listless hand,
Now lifts an anxious and expectant eye
Courting the wonted caress.

Or comes the Father [43] of the Rains
From his Caves in the uttermost West,
Comes he in darkness and storms?
When the blast is loud,
When the waters fill
The Travellers tread in the sands,
When the pouring shower
Streams adown the roof,
When the door-curtain hangs in heavier folds,
When the outstrained tent flags loosely,
Comfort is within,
The embers chearful glow,
The sound of the familiar voice,
The song that lightens toil.
Under the common shelter on dry sand
The quiet Camels ruminate their food;
From Moath falls the lengthening cord,
As patiently the old Man
Intwines the strong palm-fibers;[44] by the hearth
The Damsel shakes the coffee-grains,
That with warm fragrance fill the tent;
And while with dextrous fingers, Thalaba
Shapes the green basket,[45] haply at his feet
Her favourite kidling gnaws the twig,
Forgiven plunderer, for Oneiza’s sake!

Or when the winter torrent rolls
Down the deep-channelled rain-course, foamingly,
Dark with its mountain spoils,
With bare feet pressing the wet sand
There wanders Thalaba,
The rushing flow, the flowing roar,
Filling his yielded faculties;
A vague, a dizzy, a tumultuous joy.
... Or lingers it a vernal brook [46]
Gleaming o’er yellow sands?
Beneath the lofty bank reclined,
With idle eye he views its little waves,
Quietly listening to the quiet flow;
While in the breathings of the stirring gale
The tall canes bend above,
Floating like streamers on the wind
Their lank uplifted leaves.

Nor rich,[47] nor poor, was Moath; God had given
Enough, and blest him with a mind content.
No hoarded [48] gold disquieted his dreams;
But ever round his station he beheld
Camels that knew his voice,
And home-birds, grouping at Oneiza’s call,
And goats that, morn and eve,
Came with full udders to the Damsel’s hand.
Dear child! the Tent beneath whose shade they dwelt
That was her work; and she had twined
His girdle’s many-hues;
And he had seen his robe
Grow in Oneiza’s loom.[49]
How often with a memory-mingled joy
That made her Mother live before his sight,
He watched her nimble finders thread the woof!
Or at the hand-mill [50] when she knelt and toiled,
Tost the thin cake on spreading palm,
Or fixed it on the glowing oven’s side
With bare [51] wet arm, in safe dexterity.

’Tis the cool evening hour:
The Tamarind from the dew
Sheaths [52] its young fruit, yet green.
Before their Tent the mat is spread,
The old man’s aweful voice
Intones [53] the holy Book.
What if beneath no lamp-illumined dome,
Its marble walls [54] bedecked with flourished truth,
Azure and gold adornment? sinks the Word
With deeper influence from the Imam’s voice,
Where in the day of congregation, crowds
Perform the duty task?
Their Father is their Priest,
The Stars of Heaven their point [55] of prayer,
And the blue Firmament
The glorious Temple, where they feel
The present Deity.

Yet thro’ the purple glow of eve
Shines dimly the white moon.
The slackened bow, the quiver, the long lance,
Rest on the pillar [56] of the Tent.
Knitting light palm-leaves [57] for her brother’s brow
The dark-eyed damsel sits;
The Old Man tranquilly
Up his curled pipe inhales
The tranquillizing herb.
So listen they the reed [58] of Thalaba,
While his skilled fingers modulate
The low, sweet, soothing, melancholy tones,
Or if he strung the pearls [59] of Poetry
Singing with agitated face
And eloquent arms, and sobs that reach the heart,
A tale [60] of love and woe;
Then, if the brightening Moon that lit his face
In darkness favoured her’s,
Oh! even with such a look, as, fables say,
The mother Ostrich [61] fixes on her egg,
Till that intense affection
Kindle its light of life,
Even in such deep and breathless tenderness
Oneiza’s soul is centered on the youth,
So motionless with such an ardent gaze,
Save when from her full eyes
Quickly she wipes away the gushing tears
That dim his image there.

She called him brother: was it sister-love
That made the silver rings
Round her smooth ankles [62] and her twany arms,
Shine daily brightened? for a brother’s eye
Were her long fingers [63] tinged,
As when she trimmed the lamp,
And thro’ the veins and delicate skin
The light shone rosy? that the darkened lids [64]
Gave yet a softer lustre to her eye?
That with such pride she tricked
Her glossy tresses, and on holy day
Wreathed the red flower-crown [65] round their jetty waves?
How happily the years
Of Thalaba went by!

Yet was the heart of Thalaba
Impatient of repose;
Restless he pondered still
The task for him decreed,
The mighty and mysterious work announced.
Day by day with youthful ardour
He the call of Heaven awaits,
And oft in visions o’er the Murderer’s head
He lifts the avenging arm,
And oft in dreams he sees
The Sword that is circled with fire.

One morn as was their wont, in sportive mood
The youth and damsel bent Hodeirah’s bow,
For with no feeble hand nor erring aim
Oneiza could let loose the obedient shaft.
With head back-bending, Thalaba
Shot up the aimless arrow high in air,
Whose line in vain the aching sight pursued
Lost in the depth of heaven.
“When will the hour arrive,” exclaimed the youth,
“That I shall aim these fated shafts
“To vengeance long delayed?
“Have I not strength, my father, for the deed?
“Or can the will of Providence
“Be mutable like man?
“Shall I never be called to the task?”

“Impatient boy!” quoth Moath, with a smile:
“Impatient Thalaba!” Oneiza cried,
And she too smiled, but in her smile
A mild reproachful melancholy mixed.

Then Moath pointed where a cloud
Of Locusts, from the desolated fields
Of Syria, winged their way.
“Lo! how created things
“Obey the written doom!”

Onward they came, a dark continuous cloud
Of congregated myriads numberless,
The rushing of whose wings was as the sound
Of a broad river, headlong in its course
Plunged from a mountain summit, or the roar
Of a wild ocean in the autumn storm,
Shattering its billows on a shore of rocks.
Onward they came, the winds impelled them on,
Their work was done, their path of [66] ruin past,
Their graves were ready in the wilderness.
“Behold the mighty army!” Moath cried,
“Blindly they move, impelled
“By the blind Element.
“And yonder Birds our welcome visitants,
“Lo! where they soar above the embodied host,
“Pursue their way, and hang upon their rear,
“And thin their spreading flanks,
“Rejoicing o’er their banquet! deemest thou
“The scent of water, on the Syrian mosque
“Placed with priest-mummery, and the jargon-rites
“That fool the multitude, has led them here
“From far Khorasan?[67] Allah who decreed
“Yon tribe the plague and punishment of man,
“These also hath he doomed to meet their way:
“Both passive instruments
“Of his all-acting will,
“Sole mover he, and only spring of all.”

While thus he spake, Oneiza’s eye looks up
Where one towards her flew,
Satiate, for so it seemed, with sport and food.
The Bird flew over her,
And as he past above,
From his relaxing grasp a Locust fell....
It fell upon the Maiden’s robe,
And feebly there it stood, recovering slow.

The admiring girl surveyed
His out-spread sails of green.
His gauzy underwings,
One closely to the grass green body furled,
One ruffled in the fall, and half unclosed.
She viewed his jet-orbed eyes
His glossy gorget bright
Green-glittering in the sun;
His plumy pliant horns
That, nearer as she gazed,
Bent tremblingly before her breath.
She viewed his yellow-circled front
With lines mysterious veined;
“And knowest thou what is written here,
“My father?” said the Maid.
“Look Thalaba! perchance these lines
“Are in the letters of the Ring,
“Nature’s own language written here.”

The youth bent down, and suddenly
He started, and his heart
Sprung, and his cheek grew red,
For the mysterious [68] lines were legible,
When the sun shall be darkened at noon,
Son of Hodeirah, depart.
And Moath looked, and read the lines aloud;
The Locust shook his wings and fled,
And they were silent all.

Who then rejoiced but Thalaba?
Who then was troubled but the Arabian Maid?
And Moath sad of heart,
Tho’ with a grief supprest, beheld the youth
Sharpen his arrows now,
And now new-plume their shafts,
Now to beguile impatient hope
Feel every sharpened point.

“Why is that anxious look,” Oneiza cried,
“Still upwards cast at noon?
“Is Thalaba aweary of our tent?”
“I would be gone,” the youth replied,
“That I might do my task,
“And full of glory to the tent return
“Whence I should part no more.”

But on the noontide sun,
As anxious and as oft Oneiza’s eye
Was upward glanced in fear.
And now as Thalaba replied, her cheek
Lost its fresh and lively hue,
For in the Sun’s bright edge
She saw, or thought she saw, a little speck.
The sage Astronomer
Who with the love of science full
Trembled that day at every passing cloud,
He had not seen it, ’twas a speck so small.

Alas! Oneiza sees the spot increase!
And lo! the ready Youth
Over his shoulder the full quiver slings
And grasps the slackened bow.
It spreads, and spreads, and now
Has shaddowed half the Sun,
Whose crescent-pointed horns
Now momently decrease.

The day grows dark, the Birds retire to rest;
Forth from her shadowy haunt
Flies the large-headed [69] Screamer of the night.
Far off the affrighted African,
Deeming his God deceased,
Falls on his knees in prayer,
And trembles as he sees
The fierce Hyena’s eyes
Glare in the darkness of that dreadful noon.

Then Thalaba exclaimed, “Farewell,
“My father! my Oneiza!” the Old Man
Felt his throat swell with grief.
“Where wilt thou go my Child?” he cried,
“Wilt thou not wait a sign
“To point thy destined way?”
“God will conduct me!” said the noble youth,
He said and from the Tent
In the depth of the darkness departed.
They heard his parting steps,
The quiver rattling as he past away.

Thalaba the Destroyer

About This Book

THALABA THE DESTROYER.

THE SECOND BOOK.

The Third Book.

THALABA THE DESTROYER.

THE THIRD BOOK.