  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 “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 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 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 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 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 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 Before the fire she placed the imaged wax, “There “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 “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 “This the eternal, universal strife! “There is a grave-wax, “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 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.< |
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