Compassion for the child

Had first old Moath's kindly heart possess'd,

An orphan, wailing in the wilderness. But when he heard his tale, his wonderous tale, Told by the Boy with such eye-speaking truth, Now with sudden bursts of anger,

Now in the agony of tears,

And now with flashes of prophetic joy,
What had been pity became reverence then,
And, like a sacred trust from Heaven,

The Old Man cherish'd him.
Now, with a father's love,
Child of his choice, he lov'd the Boy,
And, like a father, to the Boy was dear.
Oneiza call'd him brother; and the youth,
More fondly than a brother, lov'd the maid;
The loveliest of Arabian maidens she.

How happily the years

Of Thalaba went by!

XVI.

It was the wisdom and the will of Heaven, That, in a lonely tent, had cast

The lot of Thalaba.

There might his soul develop best

Its strengthening energies;

There might he from the world Keep his heart pure and uncontaminate, Till at the written hour he should be found Fit servant of the Lord, without a spot.

XVII.

Years of his youth, how rapidly ye fled
In that beloved solitude!

Is the morn fair, and doth the freshening breeze
Flow with cool current o'er his cheek?
Lo! underneath the broad-leav'd sycamore
With lids half-clos'd he lies,
Dreaming of days to come.

His dog beside him,7 in mute blandishment, Now licks his listless hand;

Now lifts an anxious and expectant eye, Courting the wonted caress.

XVIII.

Or comes the Fathers of the Rains
From his caves in the uttermost West,
Comes he in darkness and storms?
When the blast is loud,

When the waters fill
The Traveller's tread in the sands,
When the pouring shower
Streams adown the roof,

When the door-curtain hangs in heavier folds,
When the out-strain'd tent flags loosely,
Within there is the embers' cheerful glow,
The sound of the familiar voice,
The song that lightens toil, ..
Domestic Peace and Comfort are within.
Under the common shelter, on dry sand,
The quiet Camels ruminate their food;
From Moath falls the lengthening cord,
As patiently the Old Man

Entwines the strong palm-fibres ;9 by the hearth
The Damsel shakes the coffee-grains,
That with warm fragrance fill the tent;
And while, with dexterous fingers, Thalaba
Shapes the green basket, haply at his feet
Her favourite kidling gnaws the twig,
Forgiven plunderer, for Oneiza's sake!

XIX.

10

Or when the winter torrent rolls

Down the deep-channell'd rain-course, foamingly,
Dark with its mountain spoils,
With bare feet pressing the wet sand,
There wanders Thalaba,
The rushing flow, the flowing roar,

Filling his yielded faculties;

A vague, a dizzy, a tumultuous joy. Or lingers it a vernal brook" Gleaming o'er yellow sands? Beneath the lofty bank reclin'd, With idle eye he views its little waves, Quietly listening to the quiet flow; While, in the breathings of the stirring gale, The tali canes bend above, Floating like streamers on the wind

Their lank uplifted leaves.

XX.

Nor rich, nor poor,12 was Moath; God hath given
Enough, and blest him with a mind content.
No hoarded gold13 disquieted his dreams;
But ever round his station he beheld
Camels that knew his voice,

And home birds, grouping at Oneiza's call,
And goats that, morn and eve,

Came with full udders to the Damsel's hand. Dear child! the Tent beneath whose shade they dwelt

It was her work; and she had twin'd

His girdle's many hues;

And he had seen his rebe
Grow in Oneiza's loom, 14

How often, with a memory-mingled joy
Which made her Mother live before his sight,
He watch'd her nimble fingers thread the woof!

Or at the hand-mill, 15 when she knelt and toil'd,
Tost the thin cake on spreading palm,
Or fix'd it on the glowing oven's side
With bare wet arm, 16 and safe dexterity.

XXI.

'Tis the cool evening hour:

The Tamarind from the dew
Sheathes its young fruit, yet green. 17
Before their Tent the mat is spread,
The Old Man's awful voice

Intones the holy Book. 18

What if beneath no lamp-illumin'd dome, Its marble walls 19 bedeck'd with flourish'd truth, Azure and gold adornment! sinks the word With deeper influence from the Imam's voice, Where in the day of congregation, crowds Perform the duty-task ?

Their Father is their Priest,

The Stars of Heaven their point of

And the blue Firmament

prayer,

20

The glorious Temple, where they feel The present Deity!

XXII.

Yet through the purple glow of eve

Shines dimly the white moon.

The slacken'd bow, the quiver, the long lance,

Rest on the pillar of the Tent. 21

Knitting light palm-leaves for her brother's brow, 22

The dark-eyed damsel sits;
The Old Man tranquilly

Up his curl'd pipe inhales

The tranquillizing herb.

So listen they the reed 23 of Thalaba,
While his skill'd fingers modulate

The low, sweet, soothing, melancholy tones.
Or if he strung the pearls of Poesy, 24
Singing with agitated face

And eloquent arms, and sobs that reach the heart,
A tale of love and woe;

25

Then, if the brightening Moon, that lit his face,

In darkness favoured her's,

Wreath'd the red flower-crown round 30

Their waves of glossy jet?
How happily the years
Of Thalaba went by!

XXIV.

Yet was the heart of Thalaba
Impatient of repose;
Restless he pondered still

The task for him decreed,

The mighty and mysterious work aunounced.
Day by day, with youthful ardour,
He the call of Heaven awaits,

And oft in visions, o'er the Murderer's head,
He lifts the avenging arm;

And oft, in dreams, he sees

The Sword that is circled with fire.

XXV.

One morn, as was their wont, in sportive mood,
The youth and damsel beut Hodeirah's bow;
For with no feeble hand, nor erring aim,
Oneiza could let loose the obedient shaft.
With head back-bending, Thalaba
Shot up the aimless arrow high in air,
Whose line in vain the aching sight pursued,
Lost in the depth of Heaven.

« When will the hour arrive,» exclaim'd the youth,
« That I shall aim these fated shafts
To vengeance long delay'd?

Have I not strength, my father, for the deed?
Or can the will of Providence

Of Glow-worm on the bank,

Kindled to guide her winged paramour.

II.

A moment, and the brightening image shaped His Mother's form and features. «Go,» she cried, << To Babylon, and from the Angels learn What talisman thy task requires.>>

III.

The Spirit hung towards him when she ceas'd, As though with actual lips she would have given A mother's kiss. His arms outstretch'd, His body bending on,

His mouth unclos'd, and trembling into speech, He prest to meet the blessing... but the wind Played on his cheek: he look'd, and he beheld The darkness close. «Again! again!» he cried, «Let me again behold thee!» from the darkness His Mother's voice went forth;

<<Thou shalt behold me in the hour of death.»

IV.

Day dawns, the twilight gleam dilates,
The Sun comes forth, and, like a god,

Rides through rejoicing heaven.

Old Moath and his daughter, from their tent,
Beheld the adventurous youth
Dark moving o'er the sands,

A lessening image, trembling through their tears.

Visions of high emprize
Beguil'd his lonely road;

And if sometimes to Moath's tent
The involuntary mind recurr'd,
Fancy, impatient of all painful thoughts,
Pictur'd the bliss should welcome his return.

In dreams like these he went,
And still of every dream

Oneiza form'd a part,

And Hope and Memory made a mingled joy.

V.

In the eve he arriv'd at a Well;

The Acacia bent over its side,

Under whose long light-hanging boughs

He chose his night's abode.

There, due ablutions made, and prayers perform'd,

The youth his mantle spread,

And silently produced

His solitary meal.

The silence and the solitude recall'd Dear recollections; and with folded arms, Thinking of other days, he sate, till thought Had left him, and the Acacia's moving shade, Upon the sunny sand, Had caught his idle eye;

And his awaken'd ear

Heard the grey Lizard's chirp, The only sound of life.

VI.

As thus in vacant quietness he sate, A Traveller on a Camel reach'd the Well,

And courteous greeting gave.

The mutual salutation past,

He by the cistern, too, his garment spread, And friendly converse cheer'd the social meal.

Usurp the desolate palace, and the weeds Of Falsehood root in the aged pile of Truth. How have you heard the tale?

THALABA.

Thus-on a time

The Angels at the wickedness of man Express'd indignant wonder; that in vain Tokens and signs were given, and Prophets sent,Strange obstinacy this! a stubbornness

Of sin, they said, that should for ever bar The gates of mercy on them. Allah heard Their unforgiving pride, and bade that two Of these untempted Spirits should descend, Judges on Earth. Haruth and Maruth went, The chosen Sentencers; they fairly heard The appeals of men to their tribunal brought, And rightfully decided. At the length A Woman came before them; beautiful Zohara was as yonder Evening star, In the mild lustre 2 of whose lovely light Even now her beauty shines. They gaz'd on her With fleshly eyes, they tempted her to sin. The wily woman listen'd, and requir'd A previous price, the knowledge of the name Of God. 3 She learnt the wonder-working name, And gave it utterance, and its virtue bore her Up to the glorious Presence, and she told Before the awful Judgment-Seat her tale.

OLD MAN.

I know the rest. The accused Spirits were called:
Unable of defence, and penitent,

They own'd their crime, and heard the doom deserv'd.
Then they besought the Lord, that not for ever
His wrath might be upon them; and implor'd
That penal ages might at length restore them
Clean from offence; since then by Babylon,
In the cavern of their punishment they dwell.
Runs the conclusion so?

THALABA.

So I am taught.

OLD MAN.

The common tale! and, likely thou hast heard
How that the bold and bad, with impious rites
Intrude upon their penitence, and force,
Albeit from loathing and reluctant lips,
The sorcery-secret?

THALABA.

Is it not the truth?

OLD MAN.

Son, thou hast seen the Traveller in the sands Move through the dizzy light of hot noon-day, Huge as the giant race of elder times, 4 And his Camel, than the monstrous Elephant, Seem of a vaster bulk.

THALABA.

A frequent sight.

OLD MAN.

And hast thou never, in the twilight, fancied Familiar object into some strange shape

And form uncouth?

THALABA.

Aye! many a time.

OLD MAN.

Even 60

Things view'd at distance through the mist of fear,