  THE TENTH BOOK.Alone, beside a rivulet it stands The Upas Thro’ barren banks the barren waters flow, The fish that meets them in the unmingling sea Floats poisoned on the waves. Tree grows not near, nor bush, nor flower, nor herb, The Earth has lost its parent powers of life And the fresh dew of Heaven that there descends, Steams in rank poison up. Before the appointed Youth and Maimuna Saw the first struggle of the dying throng, Crash sunk their prison wall! The whirlwind wrapt them round; Borne in the Chariot of the Winds Ere there was time to fear, their way was past, And lo! again they stand In the cave-dwelling of the blue-eyed Witch. Then came the weakness of her natural age At once on Maimuna; The burthen of her years Fell on her, and she knew That her repentance in the sight of God Had now found favour, and her hour was come. Her death was like the righteous; “Turn my face “To Mecca!” in her languid eyes. The joy of certain hope Lit a last lustre, and in death The smile was on her cheek. No faithful No tongue reported her good deeds, For her no mourners wailed and wept, No Iman o’er her perfumed corpse, For her soul’s health intoned the prayer; No column Implored the passing traveller To say a requiem for the dead. Thalaba laid her in the snow, And took his weapons from the hearth, And then once more the youth began His weary way of solitude. The breath of the East is in his face And it drives the sleet and the snow. The air is keen, the wind is keen, His limbs are aching with the cold, His eyes are aching His very heart is cold, His spirit chilled within him. He looks on If ought of life be near, But all is sky and the white wilderness, And here and there a solitary pine, Its branches broken by the weight of snow. His pains abate, his senses dull With suffering, cease to suffer. Languidly, languidly, Thalaba drags along, A heavy weight is on his lids, His limbs move slow with heaviness, And he full fain would sleep. Not yet, not yet, O Thalaba! Thy hour of rest is come; Not yet may the Destroyer sleep The comfortable sleep, His journey is not over yet, His course not yet fulfilled;... Run thou thy race, O Thalaba! The prize is at the goal. It was a Cedar-tree That woke him from the deadly drowsiness; Its broad, round-spreading The snow, rose upward in a point to heaven, And standing in their strength erect, Defied the baffled storm. He knew the lesson Nature gave, And he shook off his heaviness, And hope revived within him. Now sunk the evening sun, A broad, red, beamless orb, Adown the glowing sky; Thro’ the red light the snow-flakes fell, like fire. Louder grows the biting wind, And it drifts the dust of the snow. The snow is clotted in his hair, The breath of Thalaba Is iced upon his lips. He looks around, the darkness, The dizzy floating of the snow, Close in his narrow view. At length thro’ the thick atmosphere a light Not distant far appears. He doubting other wiles of enmity, With mingled joy and quicker step, Bends his way thitherward. It was a little, lowly dwelling place, Amid a garden, whose delightful air Felt mild and fragrant, as the evening wind Passing in summer o’er the coffee-groves Of Yemen and its blessed bowers of balm. A Fount of Fire that in the centre played, Rolled all around its wonderous rivulets And fed the garden with the heat of life. Every where magic! the Arabian’s heart Yearned after human intercourse. A light!... the door unclosed!... All silent ... he goes in. There lay a Damsel sleeping on a couch, His step awoke her, and she gazed at him With pleased and wondering look, Fearlessly, like a yearling child Too ignorant to fear. With words of courtesy The young intruder spake. At the sound of his voice a joy Kindled her bright black eyes; She rose and took his hand, But at the touch the smile forsook her cheek, “Oh! it is cold!” she cried, “I thought I should have felt it warm like mine, “But thou art like the rest!” Thalaba stood mute awhile And wondering at her words: “Cold? Lady!” then he said; “I have travelled long “In this cold wilderness, “Till life is almost spent!” LAILA. Art thou a Man then? THALABA. I did not think Sorrow and toil could so have altered me, That I seem otherwise. LAILA. And thou canst be warm Sometimes? life-warm as I am? THALABA. Surely Lady As others are, I am, to heat and cold Subject like all, you see a Traveller, Bound upon hard adventure, who requests Only to rest him here to-night, to-morrow He will pursue his way. LAILA. Oh ... not to-morrow! Not like a dream of joy, depart so soon! And whither wouldst thou go? for all around Is everlasting winter, ice and snow, Deserts unpassable of endless frost. THALABA. He who has led me here will still sustain me Thro’ cold and hunger. “Hunger?” Laila cried; She clapt her lilly hands, And whether from above or from below It came, sight could not see, So suddenly the floor was spread with food. LAILA. Why dost thou watch with hesitating eyes The banquet? ’tis for thee! I bade it come. THALABA. Whence came it? LAILA. Matters it from whence it came My father sent it: when I call, he hears. Nay ... thou hast fabled with me! and art like The forms that wait upon my solitude, Human to eye alone;... thy hunger would not Question so idly else. THALABA. I will not eat! It came by magic! fool to think that aught But fraud and danger could await me here! Let loose my cloak!... LAILA. Begone then, insolent! Why dost thou stand and gaze upon my face? Aye! watch the features well that threaten thee With fraud and danger! in the wilderness They shall avenge me,... in the hour of want Rise on thy view, and make thee feel How innocent I am: And this remembered cowardice and insult With a more painful shame will burn thy cheek Than now beats mine in anger! THALABA. Mark me Lady! Many and restless are my enemies; My daily paths have been beset with snares Till I have learnt suspicion, bitter sufferings Teaching the needful vice, if I have wronged you, And yours should be the face of innocence, I pray you pardon me! in the name of God, And of his Prophet, I partake your food. LAILA. Lo now! thou wert afraid of sorcery, And yet hast said a charm! THALABA. A charm? LAILA. And wherefore? Is it not not delicate food? what mean thy words? I have heard many spells and many names That rule the Genii and the Elements, But never these. THALABA. How! never heard the names Of God and of the Prophet? LAILA. Never ... nay now Again that troubled eye? thou art a strange man And wonderous fearful ... but I must not twice Be charged with fraud! if thou suspectest still, Depart and leave me! THALABA. And you do not know The God that made you? LAILA. Made me, man! my Father Made me. He made this dwelling, and the grove, And yonder fountain-fire, and every morn He visits me, and takes the snow, and moulds Women and men, like thee; and breathes into them Motion, and life, and sense,... but to the touch They are chilling cold, and ever when night closes They melt away again, and leave me here Alone and sad. Oh then how I rejoice When it is day and my dear Father comes, And chears me with kind words and kinder looks! My dear, dear, Father! were it not for him, I am so weary of this loneliness, That I should wish I also were of snow That I might melt away, and cease to be. THALABA. And have you always had your dwelling here Amid this solitude of snow? LAILA. I think so. I can remember with unsteady feet Tottering from room to room, and finding pleasure In flowers and toys and sweetmeats, things that long Have lost their power to please; that when I see them Raise only now a melancholy wish I were the little trifler once again That could be pleased so lightly! THALABA. Then you know not Your Father’s art? LAILA. No. I besought him once To give me power like his, that where he went I might go with him: but he shook his head, And said it was a power too dearly bought, And kist me with the tenderness of tears. THALABA. And wherefore has he hidden you thus far From all the ways of humankind? LAILA. ’Twas fear, Fatherly fear and love. He read And saw a danger in my destiny, And therefore placed me here amid the snows, And laid a spell that never human eye, If foot of man by chance should reach the depth Of this wide waste, shall see one trace of grove, Garden, or dwelling-place, or yonder fire, That thaws and mitigates the frozen sky. And more than this, even if the enemy Should come, I have a guardian here. THALABA. A guardian? LAILA. ’Twas well that when my sight unclosed upon thee There was no dark suspicion in thy face. Else I had called his succour! wilt thou see him? But if a Woman can have terrified thee, How wilt thou bare his unrelaxing brow And lifted lightnings? THALABA. Lead me to him, Lady! She took him by the hand And thro’ the porch they past. Over the garden and the grove The fountain streams of fire Poured a broad light like noon. A broad unnatural light That made the Rose’s blush of beauty pale, And dimmed the rich Geranium’s scarlet blaze. The various verdure of the grove Now wore one undistinguishable grey, Checqured with blacker shade. Suddenly Laila stopt, “I do not think thou art the enemy,” She said, “but He will know! “If thou hast meditated wrong “Stranger, depart in time.... “I would not lead thee to thy death!” The glance of Laila’s eye Turned anxiously toward the Arabian youth. “So let him pierce my heart,” cried Thalaba, “If it hide thought to harm you!” LAILA. ’Tis a figure, Almost I fear to look at!... yet come on. ’Twill ease me of a heaviness that seems To sink my heart; and thou mayest dwell here then. In safety;... for thou shalt not go to-morrow, Nor on the after, nor the after day, Nor ever! it was only solitude That made my misery here,... And now that I can see a human face, And hear a human voice.... Oh no! thou wilt not leave me! THALABA. Alas I must not rest! The star that ruled at my nativity Shone with a strange and blasting influence. O gentle Lady! I should draw upon you A killing curse. LAILA. But I will ask my Father To save you from all danger, and you know not The wonders he can work, and when I ask It is not in his power to say me nay. Perhaps thou knowest the happiness it is To have a tender father? THALABA. He was one Whom like a loathsome leper I have tainted With my contagious destiny. At evening He kist me as he wont, and laid his hands Upon my head, and blest me ere I slept. His dying groan awoke me, for the Murderer Had stolen upon our sleep! for me was meant The midnight blow of death; my father died, The brother play-mates of my infancy, The baby at the breast, they perished all, All in that dreadful hour: but I was saved To remember and revenge. She answered not, for now Emerging from the o’er-arched avenue The finger of her upraised hand Marked where the Guardian of the garden stood. It was a brazen And swelling vein and muscle, true to life: The left knee bending on, The other straight, firm planted, and his hand Lifted on high to hurl The Lightning that it grasped. When Thalaba approached, The charmed Image knew Hodeirah’s son, And hurled the lightning at the dreaded foe. The Ring! the saviour Ring! Full in his face the lightning-bolt was driven, The scattered fire recoiled. Like the flowing of a summer gale he felt Its ineffectual force, His countenance was not changed, Nor a hair of his head was singed. He started and his glance Turned angrily upon the Maid, The sight disarmed suspicion ... breathless, pale, Against a tree she stood. Her wan lips quivering, and her eye Upraised, in silent supplicating fear. She started with a scream of joy Seeing her Father there, And ran and threw her arms around his neck, “Save me!” she cried, “the Enemy is come! “Save me! save me! Okba!” “Okba!” repeats the youth, For never since that hour When in the Tent the Spirit told his name, Had Thalaba let slip The memory of his Father’s murderer; “Okba!”... and in his hand He graspt an arrow-shaft. And he rushed on to strike him. “Son of Hodeirah!” the Old Man replied, “My hour is not yet come.” And putting forth his hand Gently he repelled the Youth. “My hour is not yet come! “But thou mayest shed this innocent Maiden’s blood, “That vengeance God allows thee.” Around her Father’s neck Still Laila’s hands were clasped. Her face was turned to Thalaba, A broad light floated o’er its marble paleness, As the wind waved the fountain fire. Her large, dilated eye in horror raised Watched his every movement. “Not upon her,” said he, “Not upon her Hodeirah’s blood cries out “For vengeance!” and again his lifted arm Threatened the Sorcerer, Again withheld it felt The barrier that no human strength could burst. “Thou dost not aim the blow more eagerly,” Okba replied, “than I would rush to meet it! “But that were poor revenge. “O Thalaba, thy God “Wreaks on the innocent head “His vengeance;... I must suffer in my child! “Why dost thou pause to strike thy victim? Allah “Permits, commands the deed.” “Liar!” quoth Thalaba. And Laila’s wondering eye Looked up, all anguish to her Father’s face, “By Allah and the Prophet,” he replied, “I speak the words of truth. “Misery, misery, “That I must beg mine enemy to speed “The inevitable vengeance now so near! “I read it in her horoscope, “Her birth-star warned me of Hodeirah’s race. “I laid a spell, and called a Spirit up. “He answered one must die “Laila or Thalaba.... “Accursed Spirit! even in truth “Giving a lying hope! “Last, I ascended the seventh Heaven “And on the everlasting “In characters of light, “I read her written doom. “The years that it has gnawn me! and the load “Of sin that it has laid upon my soul! “Curse on this hand that in the only hour “The favouring stars allowed “Reeked with other blood than thine. “Still dost thou stand and gaze incredulous? “Young man, be merciful, and keep her not “Longer in agony!” Thalaba’s unbelieving frown Scowled on the Sorcerer, When in the air the rush of wings was heard And Azrael stood among them. In equal terror at the sight The Enchanter, the Destroyer stood, And Laila, the victim maid. “Son of Hodeirah!” said the Angel of Death, “The accursed fables not. “When from the Eternal Hand I took “The yearly “Her name was written there. “This is the hour, and from thy hands “Commissioned to receive the Maid I come.” “Hear me O Angel!” Thalaba replied, “To avenge my Father’s death, “To work the will of Heaven, “To root from earth the accursed sorcerer race, “I have dared danger undismayed, “I have lost all my soul held dear, “I am cut off from all the ties of life, “Unmurmuring; for whate’er awaits me still, “Pursuing to the end the enterprize, “Peril or pain, I bear a ready heart. “But strike this Maid! this innocent! “Angel, I dare not do it.” “Remember,” answered Azrael, “all thou sayest “Is written down for judgement! every word “In the balance of “So be it!” said the Youth. “He who can read the secrets of the heart “Will judge with righteousness! “This is no doubtful path, “The voice of God within me cannot lie.... “I will not harm the innocent.” He said, and from above, As tho’ it were the Voice of Night, The startling answer came. “Son of Hodeirah, think again! “One must depart from hence, “Laila, or Thalaba; “She dies for thee, or thou for her, “It must be life for life! “Son of Hodeirah, weigh it well, “While yet the choice is thine!” He hesitated not, But looking upward spread his hands to Heaven, “Oneiza, in thy bower of Paradise “Receive me, still unstained!” “What!” exclaimed Okba, “darest thou disobey, “Abandoning all claim “To Allah’s longer aid?” The eager exultation of his speech Earthward recalled the thoughts of Thalaba. “And dost thou triumph, Murderer? dost thou deem “Because I perish, that the unsleeping lids “Of Justice shall be closed upon thy crime? “Poor, miserable man! that thou canst live “With such beast-blindness in the present joy “When o’er thy head the sword of God “Hangs for the certain stroke!” “Servant of Allah, thou hast disobeyed, “God hath abandoned thee, “This hour is mine!” cried Okba, And shook his Daughter off, And drew the dagger from his vest. And aimed the deadly blow. All was accomplished. Laila rushed between To save the saviour Youth. She met the blow and sunk into his arms, And Azrael from the hands Received her parting soul. |
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