“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.