  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 “Proclaims the midnight hour, “Hast thou a heart to see her?” In the 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 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 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, “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! 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 Whom erst his arm had thrust Down the bitumen pit. |
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