XIV.

The youth replied, « Nor wandering traveller, Nor robber of the night,

Nor skill'd in spells am J.

I seek the Angels here,

Haruth and Maruth. Stranger, in thy turn,
Why wander'st thou in Babylon,
And who art thou, the questioner ?>>

XV.

The man was fearless, and the temper'd pride Which toned the voice of Thalaba Displeas'd not him, himself of haughty heart. Heedless he answer'd, « Knowest thou Their cave of punishment ?>>

XVI.

THALABA.

Vainly I seek it.

STRANGER.

Art thou firm of foot

To tread the ways of danger?

THALABA.

Point the path!

STRANGER.

Young Arab! if thou hast a heart can beat Evenly in danger; if thy bowels yearn not With human fears, at scenes where undisgraced The soldier, tried in battle, might look back And tremble, follow me!-for I am bound Into that cave of horrors.

XVII.

Thalaba

Gazed on his comrade: he was young, of port Stately and strong; belike his face had pleas'd A woman's eye, but the youth read in it Unrestrain'd passions, the obdurate soul Bold in all evil daring; and it taught, By Nature's irresistible instinct, doubt Well-tim'd and wary. Of himself assur'd, Fearless of man, and confident in faith, << Lead on!» cried Thalaba. Mohareb led the way! And through the ruin'd streets, And through the farther gate, They pass'd in silence on.

XVIII.

What sound is borne on the wind?
Is it the storm that shakes
The thousand oaks of the forest?

But Thalaba's long locks

Flow down his shoulders moveless, and the wind
In his loose mantle raises not one fold.
Is it the river's roar

Dash'd down some rocky descent?
Along the level plain
Euphrates glides unheard.
What sound disturbs the night,

Loud as the summer forest in the storm,

As the river that roars among rocks?

XIX.

And what the heavy cloud

That hangs upon the vale,

Thick as the mist o'er a well-water'd plain Settling at evening when the cooler air Lets its day-vapours fall;

Black as the sulphur-cloud,

That through Vesuvius, or from Hecla's mouth, Rolls up, ascending from the infernal fires.

XX.

From Ait's bitumen lake 15
That heavy cloud asbends;

That everlasting roar
From where its gushing springs
Boil their black billows up.
Silent the Arab youth,

Along the verge of that wide lake,
Follow'd Mohareb's way,

Toward a ridge of rocks that bank'd its side.
There from a cave, with torrent force,
And everlasting roar,

The black bitumen roll'd.

The moon-light lay upon the rocks;
Their crags were visible,
The shade of jutting cliffs,

And where broad lichens whiten'd some smooth spot,

And where the ivy hung
Its flowing tresses down.
A little way within the cave

The moonlight fell, glossing the sable tide
That gush'd tumultuous out.

A little way it entered, then the rock
Arching its entrance, and the winding way,
Darken'd the unseen depths.

Young Arab! when she wrote upon thy brow 17

The meeting of to-night;
Else surely had thy name

This hour been blotted from the Book of Life!»>

XXV.

So saying, from beneath

His cloak a bag he drew:

«Young Arab! thou art brave,» he cried, « But thus to rush on danger unprepar'd, As lions spring upon the hunter's spear, Is blind, brute courage. Zohak keeps the cave, Giantly tyrant of primeval days. Force cannot win the passage.» Thus he said, And from his wallet drew a human hand,

Shrivell'd, and dry, and black,
And fitting as he spake

A taper in its hold,

Pursued: « A murderer on the stake had died;
I drove the Vulture from his limbs, and lopt
The hand that did the murder, and drew up
The tendon-strings to close its
grasp,

And in the sun and wind
Parch'd it, nine weeks expos'd.
The Taper,--but not here the place to impart,
Nor hast thou done the rites,
That fit thee to partake the mystery.
Look! it burns clear, but with the air around,
Its dead ingredients mingle deathiness.
This when the Keeper of the Cave shall feel,
Maugre the doom of Heaven,

The salutary spell 19

Shall lull his penal agony to sleep, And leave the passage free.»

XXVI.

Thalaba answer'd not.

Nor was there time for answer now,

For lo! Mohareb leads,
And o'er the vaulted cave,

Trembles the accursed taper's feeble light.
There where the narrowing chasm
Rose loftier in the hill,

Stood Zohak, wretched man, condemn'd to keep
His Cave of punishment.
His was the frequent scream

Which far away the prowling Jackal heard,
And howl'd in terror back:
For from his shoulders grew
Two snakes of monster size,
Which ever at his head
Aim'd eager their keen teeth
To satiate raving hunger with his brain.

18

He, in the eternal conflict, oft would seize Their swelling necks, and in his giant grasp Bruise them, and rend their flesh with bloody nails, And howl for agony,

Feeling the pangs he gave, for of himself
Inseparable parts, his torturers grew.

XXVII.

To him approaching now,
Mohareb held the wither'd arm,
The taper of enchanted power.

The unhallow'd spell in hand unholy held
Now minister'd to mercy; heavily

And grappled with him breast to breast. Sinewy and large of limb Mohareb was, Broad-shoulder'd, and his joints Knit firm, and in the strife

Of danger practis'd well.

Time had not thus matur'd young Thalaba:
But now the enthusiast mind,

The inspiration of his soul,
Pour'd vigour like the strength

Of madness through his frame. Mohareb reels before him! he right on, With knee, with breast, with arm, Presses the staggering foe!

And now upon the brink

Of that tremendous spring,

There with fresh impulse, and a rush of force,
He thrust him from his hold.
The upwhirling flood receiv'd
Mohareb, then, absorb'd,
Engulph'd him in the abyss.

XXXIX.

Thalaba's breath came fast,
And, panting, he breath'd out

A broken prayer of thankfulness.
At length he spake and said,
«Haruth and Maruth! are ye here?
Or has that evil guide misled my search?
I, Thalaba, the Servant of the Lord,
Invoke you. Hear ine, Angels! so may Heaven
Accept and mitigate your penitence.

I go to root from earth the Sorcerer brood, Tell me the needful Talisman!»>

XL.

Thus as he spake, recumbent on the rock
Beyond the black abyss,

Their forms grew visible.

A settled sorrow sate upon their brows, Sorrow alone, for trace of guilt and shame Now nought remained; and gradual as by prayer The sin was purged away,

Their robe of glory, purified of stain, 23
Resum'd the lustre of its native light.

XLI.

In awe the youth receiv'd the answering voice, «Son of Hodeirah! thou hast prov'd it here; The Talisman is Faith.>>

BOOK VI.

Then did I see a pleasant Paradise,

Full of sweet flowers and daintiest delights, Such as on earth man could not more devise With pleasures choice to feed his cheerful sprights; Not that which Merlin by his magic slights Made for the gentle squire to entertain His fair Belphoebe, could this garden stain. SPENSER, Ruins of Time.

So from the inmost cavern, Thalaba Retrod the windings of the rock. Still on the ground the giant limbs Of Zohak were outstretch'd;

Far over the plain

Away went the bridleless steed;

With the dew of the morning his fetlocks were wet,
The foam froth'd his limbs in the journey of noon,
Nor stay'd he till over the westerly heaven
The shadows of evening had spread.
Then on a shelter'd 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.

VI.

Heavy and dark the eve:

The Moon was hid on high,

A dim light only tinged the mist That cross'd her in the path of Heaven. All living sounds had ceased, Only the flow of waters near was heard, A low and lulling melody.

VII.

Fasting, yet not of want
Percipient, he on that mysterious steed
Had reach'd his resting place,
For expectation kept his nature up.
Now as the flow of waters near

Awoke a feverish thirst,
Led by the sound, he moved
To seek the grateful wave.

VIII.

A meteor in the hazy air
Play'd before his path;
Before him now it roll'd

A globe of living 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
Sway'd by the heavy wind;

Anon to Thalaba it moved

And wrapp'd him in its pale innocuous fire: Now, in the darkness drown'd,

Left him with eyes bedimm'd

And now, emerging,2 spread the scene to sight.

IX.

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 intensely cold

Tempts to a copious draught.
There was a virtue in the wave;

His limbs, that, stiff with toil,

Dragg'd heavy, from the copious draught received Lightness and supple strength.

O'erjoy'd, and deeming the benignant Power, Who sent the reinless steed, Had bless'd the healing waters to his use, He laid him down to sleep; Lull'd by the soothing and incessant sound, The flow of many waters, blending oft With shriller tones, and deep low murmurings, Which from the fountain caves

In mingled melody

Like faery music, heard at midnight, came.

X.

The sounds which 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
Wander'd a thousand streams;
They in their endless flow 3 had channell'd deep
The rocky soil o'er which they ran,