Thalaba the Destroyer Part 7

It was the wisdom and the will of Heaven That in a lonely tent had cast The lot of Thalaba.

There might his soul develope 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.

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

Is the morn fair, and does the freshening breeze Flow with cool current o'er his cheek?

Lo! underneath the broad-leaved sycamore With lids half closed he lies, Dreaming of days to come.

His dog[42] beside him, in mute blandishment, Now licks his listless hand, Now lifts an anxious and expectant eye Courting the wonted caress.

Or comes the Father[43] 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 Travellers tread in the sands, When the pouring shower Streams adown the roof, When the door-curtain hangs in heavier folds, When the outstrained tent flags loosely, Comfort is within, The embers chearful glow, The sound of the familiar voice, The song that lightens toil.

Under the common shelter on dry sand The quiet Camels ruminate their food; From Moath falls the lengthening cord, As patiently the old Man Intwines the strong palm-fibers;[44] by the hearth The Damsel shakes the coffee-grains, That with warm fragrance fill the tent; And while with dextrous fingers, Thalaba Shapes the green basket,[45] haply at his feet Her favourite kidling gnaws the twig, Forgiven plunderer, for Oneiza's sake!

Or when the winter torrent rolls Down the deep-channelled 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[46]

Gleaming o'er yellow sands?

Beneath the lofty bank reclined, With idle eye he views its little waves, Quietly listening to the quiet flow; While in the breathings of the stirring gale The tall canes bend above, Floating like streamers on the wind Their lank uplifted leaves.

Nor rich,[47] nor poor, was Moath; G.o.d had given Enough, and blest him with a mind content.

No h.o.a.rded[48] gold 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 That was her work; and she had twined His girdle's many-hues; And he had seen his robe Grow in Oneiza's loom.[49]

How often with a memory-mingled joy That made her Mother live before his sight, He watched her nimble finders thread the woof!

Or at the hand-mill[50] when she knelt and toiled, Tost the thin cake on spreading palm, Or fixed it on the glowing oven's side With bare[51] wet arm, in safe dexterity.

'Tis the cool evening hour: The Tamarind from the dew Sheaths[52] its young fruit, yet green.

Before their Tent the mat is spread, The old man's aweful voice Intones[53] the holy Book.

What if beneath no lamp-illumined dome, Its marble walls[54] bedecked with flourished 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[55] of prayer, And the blue Firmament The glorious Temple, where they feel The present Deity.

Yet thro' the purple glow of eve Shines dimly the white moon.

The slackened bow, the quiver, the long lance, Rest on the pillar[56] of the Tent.

Knitting light palm-leaves[57] for her brother's brow The dark-eyed damsel sits; The Old Man tranquilly Up his curled pipe inhales The tranquillizing herb.

So listen they the reed[58] of Thalaba, While his skilled fingers modulate The low, sweet, soothing, melancholy tones, Or if he strung the pearls[59] of Poetry Singing with agitated face And eloquent arms, and sobs that reach the heart, A tale[60] of love and woe; Then, if the brightening Moon that lit his face In darkness favoured her's, Oh! even with such a look, as, fables say, The mother Ostrich[61] fixes on her egg, Till that intense affection Kindle its light of life, Even in such deep and breathless tenderness Oneiza's soul is centered on the youth, So motionless with such an ardent gaze, Save when from her full eyes Quickly she wipes away the gushing tears That dim his image there.

She called him brother: was it sister-love That made the silver rings Round her smooth ankles[62] and her twany arms, Shine daily brightened? for a brother's eye Were her long fingers[63] tinged, As when she trimmed the lamp, And thro' the veins and delicate skin The light shone rosy? that the darkened lids[64]

Gave yet a softer l.u.s.tre to her eye?

That with such pride she tricked Her glossy tresses, and on holy day Wreathed the red flower-crown[65] round their jetty waves?

How happily the years Of Thalaba went by!

Yet was the heart of Thalaba Impatient of repose; Restless he pondered still The task for him decreed, The mighty and mysterious work announced.

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.

One morn as was their wont, in sportive mood The youth and damsel bent 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," exclaimed the youth, "That I shall aim these fated shafts "To vengeance long delayed?

"Have I not strength, my father, for the deed?

"Or can the will of Providence "Be mutable like man?

"Shall I never be called to the task?"

"Impatient boy!" quoth Moath, with a smile: "Impatient Thalaba!" Oneiza cried, And she too smiled, but in her smile A mild reproachful melancholy mixed.

Then Moath pointed where a cloud Of Locusts, from the desolated fields Of Syria, winged their way.

"Lo! how created things "Obey the written doom!"

Onward they came, a dark continuous cloud Of congregated myriads numberless, The rushing of whose wings was as the sound Of a broad river, headlong in its course Plunged from a mountain summit, or the roar Of a wild ocean in the autumn storm, Shattering its billows on a sh.o.r.e of rocks.

Onward they came, the winds impelled them on, Their work was done, their path of[66] ruin past, Their graves were ready in the wilderness.

"Behold the mighty army!" Moath cried, "Blindly they move, impelled "By the blind Element.

"And yonder Birds our welcome visitants, "Lo! where they soar above the embodied host, "Pursue their way, and hang upon their rear, "And thin their spreading flanks, "Rejoicing o'er their banquet! deemest thou "The scent of water, on the Syrian mosque "Placed with priest-mummery, and the jargon-rites "That fool the mult.i.tude, has led them here "From far Khorasan?[67] Allah who decreed "Yon tribe the plague and punishment of man, "These also hath he doomed to meet their way: "Both pa.s.sive instruments "Of his all-acting will, "Sole mover he, and only spring of all."

While thus he spake, Oneiza's eye looks up Where one towards her flew, Satiate, for so it seemed, with sport and food.

The Bird flew over her, And as he past above, From his relaxing grasp a Locust fell....

It fell upon the Maiden's robe, And feebly there it stood, recovering slow.

The admiring girl surveyed His out-spread sails of green.

His gauzy underwings, One closely to the gra.s.s green body furled, One ruffled in the fall, and half unclosed.

She viewed his jet-orbed eyes His glossy gorget bright Green-glittering in the sun; His plumy pliant horns That, nearer as she gazed, Bent tremblingly before her breath.

She viewed his yellow-circled front With lines mysterious veined; "And knowest thou what is written here, "My father?" said the Maid.

"Look Thalaba! perchance these lines "Are in the letters of the Ring, "Nature's own language written here."

The youth bent down, and suddenly He started, and his heart Sprung, and his cheek grew red, For the mysterious[68] lines were legible, WHEN THE SUN SHALL BE DARKENED AT NOON, SON OF HODEIRAH, DEPART.

And Moath looked, and read the lines aloud; The Locust shook his wings and fled, And they were silent all.

Who then rejoiced but Thalaba?

Who then was troubled but the Arabian Maid?

And Moath sad of heart, Tho' with a grief supprest, beheld the youth Sharpen his arrows now, And now new-plume their shafts, Now to beguile impatient hope Feel every sharpened point.

"Why is that anxious look," Oneiza cried, "Still upwards cast at noon?

"Is Thalaba aweary of our tent?"

"I would be gone," the youth replied, "That I might do my task, "And full of glory to the tent return "Whence I should part no more."

But on the noontide sun, As anxious and as oft Oneiza's eye Was upward glanced in fear.

And now as Thalaba replied, her cheek Lost its fresh and lively hue, For in the Sun's bright edge She saw, or thought she saw, a little speck.

The sage Astronomer Who with the love of science full Trembled that day at every pa.s.sing cloud, He had not seen it, 'twas a speck so small.

Alas! Oneiza sees the spot increase!

And lo! the ready Youth Over his shoulder the full quiver slings And grasps the slackened bow.

It spreads, and spreads, and now Has shaddowed half the Sun, Whose crescent-pointed horns Now momently decrease.

The day grows dark, the Birds retire to rest; Forth from her shadowy haunt Flies the large-headed[69] Screamer of the night.

Far off the affrighted African, Deeming his G.o.d deceased, Falls on his knees in prayer, And trembles as he sees The fierce Hyena's eyes Glare in the darkness of that dreadful noon.

Then Thalaba exclaimed, "Farewell, "My father! my Oneiza!" the Old Man Felt his throat swell with grief.

"Where wilt thou go my Child?" he cried, "Wilt thou not wait a sign "To point thy destined way?"

"G.o.d will conduct me!" said the n.o.ble youth, He said and from the Tent In the depth of the darkness departed.

They heard his parting steps, The quiver rattling as he past away.

The Fourth Book.