  THE SIXTH BOOK.So from the inmost cavern, Thalaba Retrod the windings of the rock. Still on the ground the giant limbs Of Zohak were outstretched; The spell of sleep had ceased And his broad eyes were glaring on the youth: Yet raised he not his arm to bar the way, Fearful to rouse the snakes Now lingering o’er their meal. Oh then, emerging from that dreadful cave, How grateful did the gale of night Salute his freshened sense! How full of lightsome joy, Thankful to Heaven, he hastens by the verge Of that bitumen lake, Whose black and heavy fumes, Surge heaving after surge, Rolled like the billowy and tumultuous sea. The song of many a bird at morn Aroused him from his rest. Lo! by his side a courser stood! More animate of eye, Of form more faultless never had he seen, More light of limbs and beautiful in strength, Among the race whose blood, Pure and unmingled, from the royal steeds Of The chosen Arab’s eye Glanced o’er his graceful shape, His rich caparisons, His crimson trappings gay. But when he saw the mouth Uncurbed, the unbridled neck, Then flushed his cheek, and leapt his heart, For sure he deemed that Heaven had sent The Courser, whom no erring hand should guide. And lo! the eager Steed Throws his head and paws the ground, Impatient of delay! Then up leapt Thalaba And away went the self-governed steed. Far over the plain Away went the bridleless steed; With the dew of the morning his fetlocks were wet, The foam frothed his limbs in the journey of noon, Nor stayed he till over the westerly heaven The shadows of evening had spread. Then on a sheltered bank The appointed Youth reposed, And by him laid the docile courser down. Again in the grey of the morning Thalaba bounded up, Over hill, over dale Away goes the bridleless steed. Again at eve he stops Again the Youth descends. His load discharged, his errand done, Then bounded the courser away. Heavy and dark the eve; The Moon was hid on high, A dim light only tinged the mist That crost her in the path of Heaven. All living sounds had ceased, Only the flow of waters near was heard, A low and lulling melody. Fasting, yet not of want Percipient, he on that mysterious steed Had reached his resting place, For expectation kept his nature up. The flow of waters now Awoke a feverish thirst: Led by the sound, he moved To seek the grateful wave. A meteor in the hazy air Played before his path; Before him now it rolled A globe of livid fire; And now contracted to a steady light, As when the solitary hermit prunes His lamp’s long undulating flame: And now its wavy point Up-blazing rose, like a young cypress-tree Swayed by the heavy wind; Anon to Thalaba it moved, And wrapped him in its pale innocuous fire: Now in the darkness drowned Left him with eyes bedimmed, And now emerging Led by the sound, and meteor-flame Advanced the Arab youth. Now to the nearest of the many rills He stoops; ascending steam Timely repels his hand, For from its source it sprung, a boiling tide. A second course with better hap he tries, The wave intensly cold Tempts to a copious draught. There was a virtue in the wave, His limbs that stiff with toil, Dragged heavy, from the copious draught received Lightness and supple strength. O’erjoyed, and deeming the benignant Power Who sent the reinless steed, Had blessed the healing waters to his use He laid him down to sleep; Lulled by the soothing and incessant sound, The flow of many waters, blending oft With shriller tones and deep low murmurings That from the fountain caves In mingled melody Like faery music, heard at midnight, came. The sounds that last he heard at night Awoke his sense at morn. A scene of wonders lay before his eyes. In mazy windings o’er the vale Wandered a thousand streams; They in their endless flow The rocky soil o’er which they ran, Veining its thousand islet stones, Like clouds that freckle o’er the summer sky, The blue etherial ocean circling each And insulating all. A thousand shapes they wore, those islet stones, And Nature with her various tints Varied anew their thousand forms: For some were green with moss, Some rich with yellow lichen’s gold, Or ruddier tinged, or grey, or silver-white, Or sparkling sparry radiance to the sun. Here gushed the fountains up, Alternate light and blackness, like the play Of sunbeams, on the warrior’s burnished arms. Yonder the river rolled, whose bed, Their labyrinthine lingerings o’er Received the confluent rills. This was a wild and wonderous scene, Strange and beautiful, as where By Oton-tala, like a sea The hundred sources of Hoangho burst. High mountains closed the vale, Bare rocky mountains, to all living things Inhospitable, on whose sides no herb Rooted, no insect fed, no bird awoke Their echoes, save the Eagle, strong of wing, A lonely plunderer, that afar Sought in the vales his prey. Thither towards those mountains, Thalaba Advanced, for well he weened that there had Fate Destined the adventures end. Up a wide vale winding amid their depths, A stony vale between receding heights Of stone, he wound his way. A cheerless place! the solitary Bee Whose buzzing was the only sound of life Flew there on restless wing, Seeking in vain one blossom, where to fix. Still Thalaba holds on, The winding vale now narrows on his way, And steeper of ascent Rightward and leftward rise the rocks, And now they meet across the vale. Was it the toil of human hands That hewed a passage in the rock, Thro’ whose rude portal-way The light of heaven was seen? Rude and low the portal-way, Beyond the same Went winding up the wilds. Still a bare, silent, solitary glen, A fearful silence and a solitude That made itself be felt. And steeper now the ascent, A rugged path, that tired The straining muscles, toiling slowly up. At length again a rock Stretched o’er the narrow vale. There also was a portal hewn, But gates of massy iron barred the way, Huge, solid, heavy-hinged. There hung a horn beside the gate, Ivory-tipt and brazen mouthed, He took the ivory tip, And thro’ the brazen mouth he breathed; From rock to rock rebounding rung the blast, Like a long thunder peal! The gates of iron, by no human arm Unfolded, turning on their hinges slow, Disclosed the passage of the rock. He entered, and the iron gates Fell to, and closed him in. It was a narrow winding way, Dim lamps suspended from the vault Lent to the gloom an agitated light. Winding it pierced the rock, A long descending path By gates of iron closed; There also hung the horn beside Of ivory tip and brazen mouth, Again he took the ivory tip And gave the brazen mouth his voice again. Not now in thunder spake the horn, But poured a sweet and thrilling melody: The gates flew open, and a flood of light Rushed on his dazzled eyes. Was it to earthly Eden lost so long, The youth had found the wonderous way? But earthly Eden boasts No terraced palaces, No rich pavilions bright with woven Like these that in the vale Rise amid odorous groves. The astonished Thalaba Doubting as tho’ an unsubstantial dream Beguiled his passive sense, A moment closed his eyes; Still they were there ... the palaces and groves, And rich pavilions glittering golden light. And lo! a man, reverend in comely age Advancing meets the youth. “Favoured of Fortune,” he exclaimed, “Go taste the joys of Paradise! “The reinless steed that ranges o’er the world “Brings hither those alone for lofty deeds “Marked by their horoscope; permitted here “A foretaste of the full beatitude, “That in heroic acts they may go on “More ardent, eager to return and reap “Endless enjoyment here, their destined meed. “Favoured of Fortune thou, “Go taste the joys of Paradise!” This said, he turned away, and left The Youth in wonder mute; For Thalaba stood mute And passively received The mingled joy that flowed on every sense. Where’er his eye could reach Fair structures, rain bow-hued, arose; And rich pavilions thro’ the opening woods Gleamed from their waving curtains sunny gold; And winding thro’ the verdant vale Flowed streams of liquid light; And fluted cypresses reared up Their living obelisks; And broad-leaved O’er-arched delightful walks, Where round their trunks the thousand-tendril’d vine Wound up and hung the bows with greener wreaths, And clusters not their own. Wearied with endless beauty did his eyes Return for rest? beside him teems the earth With tulips, like the ruddy And here the lily hangs her head of snow, And here amid her sable Shines the red eye-spot, like one brightest star The solitary twinkler of the night, And here the rose expands Her paradise Then on his ear what sounds Of harmony arose! Far music and the distance-mellowed song From bowers of merriment; The waterfall remote; The murmuring of the leafy groves; The single nightingale Perched in the Rosier by, so richly toned, That never from that most melodious bird, Singing a love-song to his brooding mate, Did Thracian shepherd by the grave Of Orpheus Tho’ there the Spirit of the Sepulchre All his own power infuse, to swell The incense that he loves. And oh! what odours the voluptuous vale Scatters from jasmine bowers. From yon rose wilderness, From clustered henna, and from orange groves That with such perfumes fill the breeze, As Peris to their Sister bear, When from the summit of some lofty tree She hangs encaged, the captive of the Dives. They from their pinions shake The sweetness of celestial flowers, And as her enemies impure From that impervious poison far away Fly groaning with the torment, she the while Inhales her fragrant Such odours flowed upon the world When at Mohammed’s nuptials, word Went forth in Heaven to roll The everlasting gates of Paradise Back on their living hinges, that its gales Might visit all below; the general bliss Thrilled every bosom, and the family Of man, for once Full of the joy, yet still awake To wonder, on went Thalaba; On every side the song of mirth, The music of festivity, Invite the passing youth. Wearied at length with hunger and with heat He enters in a banquet room, Where round a fountain brink, On silken Instant thro’ all his frame Delightful coolness spread; The playing fount refreshed The agitated air; The very light came cooled thro’ silvering panes Of pearly Or where the wine-vase Rosy as rising morn, or softer gleam Of saffron, like the sunny evening mist: Thro’ every hue, and streaked by all The flowing fountain played. Around the water-edge Vessels of wine, alternate placed, Ruby and amber, tinged its little waves. From golden goblets there The guests sate quaffing the delicious juice Of Shiraz’ golden grape. But Thalaba took not the draught For rightly he knew had the Prophet forbidden That beverage the mother Nor did the urgent guests Proffer a second time the liquid fire For in the youth’s strong eye they saw No moveable resolve. Yet not uncourteous, Thalaba Drank the cool draught of innocence, That fragrant from its dewy Came purer than it left its native bed. And he partook the odorous fruits, For all rich fruits were there. Water-melons rough of rind, Whose pulp the thirsty lip Dissolved into a draught: Pistachios from the heavy-clustered trees Of Malavert, or Haleb’s fertile soil, And Casbin’s That many a week endure The summer sun intense, Till by its powerful fire All watery particles exhaled, alone The strong essential sweetness ripens there. Here cased in ice, the A topaz, crystal-set: Here on a plate of snow The sunny orange rests, And still the aloes and the sandal-wood From golden censers o’er the banquet room Diffuse their dying sweets. Anon a troop of females formed the dance Their ancles bound with That made the modulating harmony. Transparent Gave all their harlot limbs, That writhed, in each immodest gesture skilled. With earnest eyes the banqueters Fed on the sight impure; And Thalaba, he gazed, But in his heart he bore a talisman Whose blessed Alchemy To virtuous thoughts refined The loose suggestions of the scene impure. Oneiza’s image swam before his sight, His own Arabian Maid. He rose, and from the banquet room he rushed, And tears ran down his burning cheek, And nature for a moment woke the thought And murmured, that from all domestic joys Estranged, he wandered o’er the world A lonely being, far from all he loved. Son of Hodeirah, not among thy crimes That murmur shall be written! From tents of revelry, From festal bowers, to solitude he ran, And now he reached where all the rills Of that well-watered garden in one tide Rolled their collected waves. A straight and stately bridge Stretched its long arches o’er the ample stream. Strong in the evening and distinct its shade Lay on the watry mirror, and his eye Saw it united with its parent pile One huge fantastic fabric. Drawing near, Loud from the chambers Sounds of carousal came and song, And unveiled women bade the advancing youth Come merry-make with them. Unhearing or unheeding, Thalaba Past o’er with hurried pace, And plunged amid the forest solitude. Deserts of Araby! His soul returned to you. He cast himself upon the earth And closed his eyes, and called The voluntary vision up. A cry as of distress Aroused him; loud it came, and near! He started up, he strung his bow, He plucked the arrow forth. Again a shriek ... a woman’s shriek! And lo! she rushes thro’ the trees, Her veil all rent, her garments torn! He follows close, the ravisher.... Even on the unechoing grass She hears his tread, so close! “Prophet save me! save me God! “Help! help!” she cried to Thalaba, Thalaba drew the bow. The unerring arrow did its work of death. He turned him to the woman, and beheld His own Oneiza, his Arabian Maid. |
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