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.