XX.

This said, he turn'd away, and left

The Youth in wonder mute;

For Thalaba stood mute,
And passively receiv'd

The mingled joy which flow'd on every sense.
Where'er his eye could reach,

Fair structures, rainbow-hued, arose;
And rich pavilions through the opening woods
Gleam'd from their waving curtains sunny gold;
And winding through the verdant vale,
Flow'd streams of liquid light;

And fluted cypresses rear'd up
Their living obelisks;

And broad-leav'd plane-trees in long colonnades 7
O'er-arch'd delightful walks,

Where round their trunks the thousand-tendril'd vine
Wound up and hung the boughs with greener wreaths,
And clusters not their own.

Wearied with endless beauty, did his eyes
Return for rest? beside him teems the earth
With tulips, like the ruddy evening streak'd; 8
And here the lily hangs her head of snow;

And here amid her sable cup 9

Shines the red eye-spot, like one brightest star,
The solitary twinkler of the night;

And here the rose expands
Her paradise of leaves. 10

And oh! what odours the voluptuous vale
Scatters from jasmine bowers,
From yon rose wilderness,

From cluster'd henna, and from orange groves,
That with such perfumes fill the breeze

As Peris to their Sister bear, When from the summit of some lofty tree She hangs encaged, the captive of the Dives. They from their pinions shake The sweetness of celestial flowers,

And, as her enemies impure From that impervious poison far away Fly groaning with the torment, she the while Inhales her fragrant food. 12 Such odours flow'd upon the world, When at Mahommed's nuptials, word Went forth in Heaven, to roll The everlasting gates of Paradise

Back on their living hinges, that its gales Might visit all below; the general bliss Thrill'd every bosom, and the family Of man, for once, partook one common joy. 13

XXIII.

Full of the joy, yet still awake
To wonder, on went Thalaba;
On every side the song of mirth,
The music of festivity,

Invite the passing youth.

Wearied at length with hunger and with heat,
He enters in a banquet room,

Where round a fountain brink,
On silken carpets sate the festive train, 14
Instant through all his frame
Delightful coolness spread;
The playing fount refresh'd
The agitated air;

The very light came cool'd through silvering panes
Of pearly shell, 15 like the pale moon-beam tinged;
Or where the wine-vase 16 fill'd the aperture,
Rosy as rising morn, or softer gleam
Of saffron, like the sunny evening mist:
Through every hue, and streak'd by all,
The flowing fountain play'd.
Around the water-edge
Vessels of wine, alternate placed,
Ruby and amber, tinged its little waves.
From golden goblets there 17

The guests sate quaffing the delicious juice
Of Shiraz' golden grape.

XXIV.

But Thalaba took not the draught;

For rightly he knew had the Prophet forbidden
That beverage, the mother of sins. 18
Nor did the urgent guests
Proffer a second time the liquid fire;
For in the youth's strong eye they saw
No moveable resolve.

Yet not uncourteous, Thalaba
Drank the cool draught of innocence,
That fragrant from its dewy vase 19
Came purer than it left its native bed.
And he partook the odorous fruits,
For all rich fruits were there.
Water-melons rough of rind,
Whose pulp the thirsty lip
Dissolved into a draught:
Pistachios from the heavy-cluster'd trees
Of Malavert, or Haleb's fertile soil,
And Casbin's luscious grapes of amber hue, 20
That many a week endure
The summer sun intense,
Till by its powerful fire

All watery particles exhal'd, alone The strong essential sweetness ripens there. Here cased in ice, the apricot, 1

A topaz, crystal-set :

Here, on a plate of snow,

The sunny orange rests;

And still the aloes and the sandal-wood, From golden censors, o'er the banquet room Diffuse their dying sweets.

XXV.
Anon a troop of females form'd the dance,
Their ancles bound with bracelet-bells, 22
That made the modulating harmony.
Transparent garments to the greedy eye 23
Gave all their harlot limbs,

Which writhed, in each immodest gesture skill'd.

XXVI.

With earnest eyes the banqueters

Fed on the sight impure;
And Thalaba, he gazed,

But in his heart he bore a talisman,
Whose blessed alchemy

To virtuous thoughts refined
The loose suggestions of the scene impure.
Oneiza's image swam before his sight,
His own Arabian Maid.

He rose, and from the banquet room he rush'd,
And tears ran down his burning cheek;
And nature for a moment woke the thought,
And murmured, that, from all domestic joys
Estranged, he wandered o'er the world
A lonely being, far from all he lov'd.
Son of Hodeirali, not among thy crimes
That momentary murmur shall be written!

XXVII.

From tents of revelry,

From festal bowers, to solitude he ran;
And now he reach'd where all the rills
Of that well-watered garden in one tide
Roll'd their collected waves.

A straight and stately bridge
Stretch'd its long arches o'er the ample stream.
Strong in the evening, and distinct its shade
Lay on the watery mirror, and his eye
Saw it united with its parent pile,
One huge fantastic fabric. Drawing near,
Loud from the chambers of the bridge below, 24
Sounds of carousal came and song;
And unveil'd women bade the advancing youth
Come merry-make with them!
Unhearing, or unheeding, Thalaba
Past o'er with hurried pace,

And plunged amid the forest solitude.

XXVIII.

Deserts of Araby!

His soul return'd to you.

He cast himself upon the earth,
And clos'd his eyes, and call'd
The voluntary vision up.
A cry, as of distress,

Arous'd him; loud it came and near!
He started up, he strung his bow,
He pluck'd the arrow forth.
Again a shriek...a woman's shriek!
And lo! she rushes through the trees,
Her veil all rent, her garments torn!
He follows close, the ravisher...
Even on the unechoing grass
She hears his tread, so near!
« Prophet, save me! save me, God!
Help! help!» she cried to Thalaba;
Thalaba drew the bow:

The unerring arrow did its work of death. He turn'd him to the woman, and beheld. His own Oneiza, his Arabian Maid.

BOOK VII.

Now all is done; bring home the Bride again. Bring home the triumph of our victory! Bring home with you the glory of her gain, With joyance bring her, and with jollity. Never had man more joyful day than this, Whom Heaven would heap with bliss. SPENSER'S Epithalamium.

I.

FROM fear, and from amazement, and from joy, At length the Arabian Maid recovering speech, Threw around Thalaba her arms, and cried,

« My father! O my father!»... Thalaba In wonder lost, yet fearful to inquire, Bent down his cheek on hers, And their tears met, and mingled as they fell.

II. ONEIZA.

At night they seiz'd me, Thalaba! in my sleep,... Thou wert not near,.. and yet when in their Grasp I woke, my shriek of terror called on thee. My father could not save me,-an old man! And they were strong and many,-O my God, The hearts they must have had to hear his prayers, And yet to leave him childless!

THALABA.

We will seek him:

We will return to Araby.

ONEIZA. Alas!

We should not find him, Thalaba! our tent
Is desolate! the wind hath heaped the sands
Within its door, the lizard's track is left
Fresh on the untrodden dust; prowling by night
The tiger, as he passes, hears no breath
Of man, and turns to search its solitude.
Alas! he strays a wretched wanderer
Seeking his child! old man, he will not rest,-
He cannot rest,-his sleep is misery,-

His dreams are of my wretchedness, my wrongs,-
O Thalaba! this is a wicked place!
Let us be gone!

And gently drew him forward, and they went Towards the mountain chain.

III.

It was broad moonlight, and obscure or lost
The garden beauties lay,

But the great boundary rose, distinctly marked.
These were no little hills,

No sloping uplands lifting to the sun Their vineyards, with fresh verdure, and the shade Of ancient woods, courting the loiterer To win the easy ascent: stone mountains these, Desolate rock on rock,

The burthens of the earth

Whose snowy summits met the morning beam When night was in the vale, whose feet were fix'd In the world's foundations. Thalaba survey'd The heights precipitous,

Impending crags, rocks unascendible,
And summits that had tir'd the eagle's wing;
<< There is no way!» he cried.
Paler Oneiza grew,

And hung upon his arm a feebler weight.

Silent and calm the river rolled along,
And at the verge arriv'd

Of that fair garden, o'er a rocky bed
Towards the mountain-base,

Still full and silent, held its even way. But farther as they went its deepening sound Louder and louder in the distance rose, As if it forced its stream Struggling with crags along a narrow pass. And lo! where raving o'er a hollow course The ever-flowing tide

Foams in a thousand whirlpools! there adown
The perforated rock

Plunge the whole waters; so precipitous,
So fathomless a fall,

That their earth-shaking roar came deadened up
Like subterranean thunders.

Varying their verdure to the gale,
With silver glitter caught
His meditating eye.
Then to Oneiza turn'd the youth,
And gave his father's bow,
And o'er her shoulders slung

The quiver arrow-stor`d.

Me other weapon suits ;» said he,
«Bear thou the Bow: dear Maid,
The days return upon me, when these shafts,
True to thy guidance, from the lofty palm
Brought down the cluster, and thy gladden'd eye,
Exulting, turn'd to seek the voice of praise.

Oh! yet again, Oneiza, we shall share
Our desert-joys!» So saying, to the bank
He mov'd, and stooping low,

With double grasp, hand below hand, he clench'd,
And from its watery soil
Uptore the poplar trunk.

Then off he shook the clotted earth,

And broke away the head
And boughs, and lesser roots;

And lifting it aloft,

With that the youth and Arab Maid
Toward the centre of the garden past.
It chanced that Aloadin had convok'd
The garden habitants,

And with the assembled throng Oneiza mingled, and the Appointed Youth.

Unmark'd they mingled, or if one With busier finger to his neighbour notes The quiver'd Maid, « haply,» he says, «Some daughter of the Homerites, 4 Or one who yet remembers with delight Her native tents of Himiar!» Nay!» rejoins His comrade, « a love-pageant! for the man Mimies with that fierce eye and knotty club Some savage lion-tamer, she forsooth Must play the heroine of the years of old !»

XIV.

Radiant with gems upon his throne of gold
Sate Aloadin; o'er the Sorcerer's head
Hovered a Bird, and in the fragrant air
Waved his wide winnowing wings,
A living canopy.

Large as the hairy Cassowar
Was that o'ershadowing Bird;

So huge his talons, in their grasp

The Eagle would have hung a helpless prey. llis beak was iron, and his plumes Glittered like burnish'd gold,

And his eyes glow'd, as though an inward fire Shone through a diamond orb.

XV.

The blinded multitude

Ador'd the Sorcerer,

« Children of Earth,» he cried,

« Whom I have guided here

By easier passage than the gate of Death;
The infidel Sultan, to whose lands
My mountains reach their roots,
Blasphemes and threatens me.
Strong are his armies, many are his guards,
Yet may a dagger find him.
Children of Earth, I tempt ye not
With the vain promise of a bliss unseen,

With tales of a hereafter heaven
Whence never Traveller hath returned!
Have ye not tasted of the cup of joy,
That in these groves of happiness
For ever over-mantling tempts
The ever-thirsty lip?

Who is there here that by a deed
Of danger will deserve

The eternal joys of actual paradise? »

XX.

Amid the vale below

Tents rose, and streamers play'd,

And javelins sparkled in the sun,

And multitudes encamp'd,

Swarm'd, far as eye could follow, o'er the plain. There in his war-pavilion sate

In council with his Chiefs

The Sultan of the Land.

Before his presence there a Captain led
Oneiza and the Appointed Youth.

XXI.

« Obedient to our Lord's command,» said he, « We past toward the mountains, and began The ascending strait; when suddenly Earth shook, And darkness, like the midnight, fell around, And fire and thunder came from Heaven As though the Retribution day were come. After the terror ceas'd, and when with hearts Somewhat assur'd, again we ventur'd on, This youth and woman met us on the way. They told us, that from Aloadin's haunt They came, on whom the judgment-stroke hath fallen, He and his sinful Paradise at once Destroy'd by them, the agents they of Heaven. Therefore I brought them hither to repeat The tale before thy presence; that as search Shall prove it false or faithful, to their merit Thou mayest reward them.»>

« Be it done to us,»

Thalaba answer'd, « as the truth shall prove!»>

XXII.

The Sultan while he spake

Fix'd on him the proud eye of sovereignty;
« If thou hast play'd with us,
By Allah and by Ali, Death shall seal
The lying lips for ever! if the thing
Be as thou sayest it, Arab, thou shalt stand
Next to ourself!»

Hark! while he speaks, the cry,
The lengthening cry, the increasing shout
Of joyful multitudes!
Breathless and panting to the tent
The bearer of good tidings comes,
«O Sultan, live for ever! be thy foes
Like Aloadin all!

The wrath of God hath smitten him.»

XXIV.

Then in the purple robe

They vested Thalaba,

And hung around his neck the golden chain,
And bound his forehead with the diadem,
And on the royal steed
They led him through the camp,
And heralds went before and cried,
<< Thus shall the Sultan reward
The man who serves him well! »6

XXV.

When from the pomp of triumpli

And presence of the King
Thalaba sought the tent allotted him,
Thoughtful the Arabian Maid beheld
His animated eye,

His cheek inflam'd with pride.
« Oneiza!» cried the youth,

«The King hath done according to his word,
And made me in the land

Next to himself be nam'd!—

But why that serious melancholy smile?— Oneiza, when I heard the voice that gave me Honour, and wealth, and fame, the instant thought Arose to fill my joy, that thou wouldst hear The tidings, and be happy.»

ONEIZA.

Thalaba,

Thou wouldst not have me mirthful! am I not An orphan,- among strangers?

THALABA.

But with me!

ONEIZA.

My Father,

THALABA.

Nay, be comforted! last night

To what wert thou expos'd! in what a peril The morning found us!--safety, honour, wealth, These now are ours. This instant who thou wert The Sultan ask'd. I told him from our childhood We had been plighted;-was I wrong, Oneiza? And when he said with bounties he would heap Our nuptials,-wilt thou blame me if I blest His will, that bade me fix the marriage day?-In tears, my love?

ONEIZA.

REMEMBER, DESTINY

HATH MARK'D THEE FROM MANKIND!

THALABA.

Perhaps when Aloadin was destroy'd

The mission ceas'd; else would wise Providence With its rewards and blessings strew my path Thus for accomplish'd service?

ONEIZA.

Thalaba!

THALAGA.

Or if haply not, yet whither should I go? Is it not prudent to abide in peace

Till I am summon'd?

ONEIZA.

Take me to the Deserts!