Thalaba the Destroyer Part 29

He rushes to the fire, Then Khawla met the youth And leapt upon him, and with clinging arms Clasps him, and calls Mohareb now to aim The effectual vengeance. O fool! fool! he sees His Father's Sword, and who shall bar his way?

Who stand against the fury of that arm That spurns her to the earth?

She rises half, she twists around his knees, A moment ... and he vainly strives To shake her from her hold, Impatient then into her cursed breast He stamps his crushing heel, And from her body, heaving now in death Springs forward to the Sword.

The co-existent flame Knew the Destroyer; it encircled him, Rolled up his robe and gathered round his head, Condensing to intenser splendour there, His crown of glory and his light of life Hovered the irradiate wreath.

The moment Thalaba had laid his hand Upon his Father's Sword, The Living Image in the inner cave Smote the Round Altar. The Domdaniel rocked Thro' all its thundering vaults; Over the surface of the reeling Earth The alarum shock was felt: The Sorcerer brood, all, all, where'er dispersed, Perforce obeyed the summons; all, they came Compelled by h.e.l.l and Heaven, By h.e.l.l compelled to keep Their baptism-covenant, And with the union of their strength Oppose the common danger; forced by Heaven To share the common doom.

Vain are all spells! the Destroyer Treads the Domdaniel floor.

They crowd with human arms and human force To crush the single foe; Vain is all human force!

He wields his Father's Sword, The vengeance of awakened Deity!

But chief on Thalaba Mohareb prest, The language of the inspired Witch Announced one fatal blow for both, And desperate of self-safety, yet he hoped To serve the cause of Eblis, and uphold His empire true in death.

Who shall withstand his way?

Scattered before the sword of Thalaba The sorcerer throng recede And leave him s.p.a.ce for combat. Wretched man What shall the helmet or the shield avail Against Almighty anger! wretched man, Too late Mohareb finds that he has chosen The evil part! he rears his shield To meet the Arabian's sword,...

Under the edge of that fire-hardened steel The shield falls severed; his cold arm Rings with the jarring blow,...

He lifts his scymetar, A second stroke, and lo! the broken hilt Hangs from his palsied hand!

And now he bleeds! and now he flies!

And fain would hide himself amid the throng, But they feel the sword of Hodeirah, But they also fly from the ruin!

And hasten to the inner cave, And fall all fearfully Around the Giant Idol's feet, Seeking salvation from the Power they served.

It was a Living Image, by the art Of magic hands of flesh and bones composed, And human blood thro' veins and arteries That flowed with vital action. In the shape Of Eblis it was made, Its stature such and such its strength As when among the Sons of G.o.d Pre-eminent, he raised his radiant head, Prince of the Morning. On his brow A coronet of meteor flames, Flowing in points of light.

Self-poised in air before him, Hung the Round Altar, rolling like the World On its diurnal axis, like the World Checquered with sea and sh.o.r.e, The work of Demon art.

For where the sceptre in the Idol's hand Touched the Round Altar, in its answering realm Earth felt the stroke, and Ocean rose in storms, And ruining Cities shaken from their seat Crushed all their habitants.

His other arm was raised, and its spread palm Up-bore the ocean-weight Whose naked waters arched the sanctuary, Sole prop and pillar he.

Fallen on the ground around his feet The Sorcerers lay. Mohareb's quivering arms Clung to the Idol's knees; The Idol's face was pale And calm in terror he beheld The approach of the Destroyer.

Sure of his stroke, and therefore in pursuit Following, nor blind, nor hasty on his foe, Moved the Destroyer. Okba met his way, Of all that brotherhood He only fearless, miserable man, The one that had no hope.

"On me, on me," the childless Sorcerer cried, "Let fall the weapon! I am he who stole "Upon the midnight of thy Father's tent, "This is the hand that pierced Hodeirah's heart, "That felt thy brethren's and thy sister's blood "Gush round the dagger-hilt. Let fall on me "The fated sword! the vengeance hour is come!

"Destroyer, do thy work!"

Nor wile, nor weapon, had the desperate wretch, He spread his bosom to the stroke.

"Old man, I strike thee not!" said Thalaba, "The evil thou hast done to me and mine "Brought its own bitter punishment.

"For thy dear Daughter's sake I pardon thee, "As I do hope Heaven's pardon. For her sake "Repent while time is yet! thou hast my prayers "To aid thee; thou poor sinner, cast thyself "Upon the goodness of offended G.o.d!

"I speak in Laila's name, and what if now "Thou canst not think to join in Paradise "Her spotless Spirit,... hath not Allah made "Al-Araf[176] in his wisdom? where the sight "Of Heaven shall kindle in the penitent "The strong and purifying fire of hope, "Till at the day of judgement he shall see "The Mercy-Gates unfold."

The astonished man stood gazing as he spake, At length his heart was softened, and the tears Gushed, and he sobbed aloud.

Then suddenly was heard The all-beholding Prophet's aweful voice, "Thou hast done well, my Servant!

"Ask and receive thy reward!"

A deep and aweful joy Seemed to distend the heart of Thalaba; With arms in reverence crost upon his breast, Upseeking eyes suffused with transport-tears He answered to the Voice, "Prophet of G.o.d, "Holy, and good, and bountiful!

"One only earthly wish have I, to work "Thy will, and thy protection grants me that.

"Look on this Sorcerer! heavy are his crimes, "But infinite is mercy! if thy servant "Have now found favour in the sight of G.o.d, "Let him be touched with penitence, and save "His soul from utter death."

"The groans of penitence," replied the Voice "Never arise unheard!

"But for thyself prefer the prayer, "The Treasure-house of Heaven "Is open to thy will."

"Prophet of G.o.d!" then answered Thalaba, "I am alone on earth.

"Thou knowest the secret wishes of my heart!

"Do with me as thou wilt! thy will is best."

There issued forth no Voice to answer him, But lo! Hodeirah's Spirit comes to see His vengeance, and beside him, a pure form Of roseate light, the Angel mother hangs.

"My Child, my dear, my glorious, blessed Child, "My promise is performed ... fufil thy work!"

Thalaba knew that his death-hour was come, And on he leapt, and springing up, Into the Idol's heart Hilt-deep he drove the Sword.

The Ocean-Vault fell in, and all were crushed.

In the same moment at the gate Of Paradise, Oneiza's Houri-form Welcomed her Husband to eternal bliss.

END.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The Lord gave, and the Lord taketh away; blessed be the name of the Lord.----_Job._ i. 21.

I have placed a scripture phrase in the mouth of a Mohammedan; but it is a saying of Job, and there can be no impropriety in making a modern Arab speak like an ancient one. Resignation is particularly inculcated by Mohammed, and of all his precepts it is that which his followers have best observed: it is even the vice of the East. It had been easy to have made Zeinab speak from the Koran, if the tame language of the Koran could be remembered by the few who have toiled through its dull tautology. I thought it better to express a feeling of religion in that language with which our religious ideas are connected.

[2]

La mer n'est plus qu'un cercle aux yeux des Matelots, Ou le Ciel forme un dome appuye sur les flots.

_Le Nouveau Monde. par M. Le Suire._

[3] The magnificent Mosque Tauris is faced with varnished bricks of various colours, _like most fine buildings in Persia_, says Tavernier.

One of its domes is covered with white flower work upon a green ground, the other has a black ground, spotted with white stars. Gilding is also common upon Oriental buildings. At Boghar in Bactria our old traveller Jenkinson[a] saw "many houses, temples, and monuments of stone sumptuously builded and gilt."

[a] Hakluyt.

In Pegu "they consume about their Varely or idol houses great store of leafe-gold, for that they overlay all the tops of the houses with gold, and some of them are covered with gold from the top to the foote; in covering whereof there is great store of gold spent, for that every ten years they new overlay them with gold, from the top to the foote, so that with this vanetie they spend great aboundance of golde. For every ten years the rain doeth consume the gold from these houses."

_Caesar Frederick, in Hakluyt._

A waste of ornament and labour characterises all the works of the Orientalists. I have seen illuminated Persian ma.n.u.scripts that must each have been the toil of many years, every page painted, not with representations of life and manners, but usually like the curves and lines of a Turkey carpet, conveying no idea whatever, as absurd to the eye as nonsense-verses to the ear. The little of their literature that has reached us is equally worthless. Our _barbarian_ scholars have called Ferdusi the Oriental Homer. We have a specimen of his poem; the translation is said to be bad, and certainly must be unfaithful, for it is in rhyme; but the vilest copy of a picture at least represents the subject and the composition. To make this Iliad of the East, as they have sacrilegiously stiled it, a good poem, would be realizing the dreams of Alchemy, and trans.m.u.ting lead into gold.

The Arabian Tales certainly abound with genius; they have lost their metaphorical rubbish in pa.s.sing through the filter of a French translation.

[4] The Arabians call this palace one of the wonders of the world. It was built for Noman-al-Aouar, one of those Arabian Kings who reigned at Hirah. A single stone fastened the whole structure; the colour of the walls varied frequently in a day. Noman richly rewarded the architect Sennamar; but recollecting afterwards that he might build palaces equal, or superior in beauty for his rival kings, ordered that he should be thrown from the highest tower of the edifice.

_D'Herbelot._