Thalaba the Destroyer.

by Robert Southey.

_PREFACE_

In the continuation of the Arabian Tales, the Domdaniel is mentioned; a Seminary for evil Magicians under the Roots of the Sea. From this seed the present Romance has grown. Let me not be supposed to prefer the metre in which it is written, abstractedly considered, to the regular blank verse; the n.o.blest measure, in my judgement, of which our admirable language is capable. For the following Poem I have preferred it, because it suits the varied subject; it is the _Arabesque_ ornament of an Arabian tale.

The dramatic sketches of Dr. Sayer, a volume which no lover of poetry will recollect without pleasure, induced me when a young versifier, to practise in this metre. I felt that while it gave the poet a wider range of expression, it satisfied the ear of the reader. It were easy to make a parade of learning by enumerating the various feet which it admits; it is only needful to observe that no two lines are employed in _sequence_ which can be read into one. Two six-syllable lines (it will perhaps be answered) compose an Alexandrine: the truth is that the Alexandrine, when harmonious, is composed of two six-syllable lines.

One advantage this metre a.s.suredly possesses; the dullest reader cannot distort it into discord: he may read it with a _prose mouth_, but its flow and fall will still be perceptible. Verse is not enough favoured by the English reader: perhaps this is owing to the obtrusiveness, the regular Jews-harp _twing-tw.a.n.g_, of what has been foolishly called heroic measure. I do not wish the _improvisatore_ tune, but something that denotes the sense of harmony, something like the accent of feeling; like the tone which every Poet necessarily gives to Poetry.

The First Book.

_THALABA THE DESTROYER._

_THE FIRST BOOK._

How beautiful is night!

A dewy freshness fills the silent air, No mist obscures, no little cloud Breaks the whole serene of heaven: In full-orbed glory the majestic moon Rolls thro the dark blue depths.

Beneath her steady ray The desert circle spreads, Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky.

How beautiful is night!

Who at this untimely hour Wanders o'er the desert sands?

No station is in view, No palm-grove islanded amid the waste.

The mother and her child, The widow and the orphan at this hour Wander o'er the desert sands.

Alas! the setting sun Saw Zeinab in her bliss, Hodeirah's wife beloved.

Alas! the wife beloved, The fruitful mother late, Whom when the daughters of Arabia named They wished their lot like her's; She wanders o'er the desert sands A wretched widow now, The fruitful mother of so fair a race, With only one preserved, She wanders o'er the wilderness.

No tear relieved the burthen of her heart; Stunned with the heavy woe she felt like one Half-wakened from a midnight dream of blood.

But sometimes when her boy Would wet her hand with tears, And looking up to her fixed countenance, Amid his bursting sobs Say the dear name of MOTHER, then would she Utter a feeble groan.

At length collecting, Zeinab turned her eyes To heaven, exclaiming, "praised be the Lord!

"He gave,[1] he takes away, "The Lord our G.o.d is good!"

"Good is he?" cried the boy, "Why are my brethren and my sisters slain?

"Why is my father killed?

"Did ever we neglect our prayers, "Or ever lift a hand unclean to heaven?

"Did ever stranger from our tent "Unwelcomed turn away?

"Mother, he is not good!"

Then Zeinab beat her breast in agony, "O G.o.d forgive my child!

"He knows not what he says!

"Thou know'st I did not teach him thoughts like these, "O Prophet, pardon him!"

She had not wept till that a.s.suaging prayer....

The fountains of her eyes were opened then, And tears relieved her heart.

She raised her swimming eyes to Heaven, "Allah, thy will be done!

"Beneath the dispensation of thy wrath "I groan, but murmur not.

"The Day of the Trial will come, "When I shall understand how profitable "It is to suffer now."

Young Thalaba in silence heard reproof, His brow in manly frowns was knit, With manly thoughts his heart was full.

"Tell me who slew my father?" cried the boy.

Zeinab replied and said, "I knew not that there lived thy father's foe.

"The blessings of the poor for him "Went daily up to Heaven, "In distant lands the traveller told his praise.

"I did not think there lived "Hodeirah's enemy."

"But I will hunt him thro' the earth!"

Young Thalaba exclaimed.

"Already I can bend my father's bow, "Soon will my arm have strength "To drive the arrow-feathers to his heart."

Zeinab replied, "O Thalaba, my child, "Thou lookest on to distant days, "And we are in the desert far from men!"

Not till that moment her afflicted heart Had leisure for the thought.

She cast her eyes around, Alas! no tents were there Beside the bending sands; No palm tree rose to spot the wilderness.

The dark blue sky closed round And rested[2] like a dome Upon the circling waste.

She cast her eyes around, Famine and Thirst were there.

Then the mother bowed her head, And wept upon her child.

... Sudden a cry of wonder From Thalaba aroused her, She raised her head, and saw Where high in air a stately palace rose.

Amid a grove embowered Stood the prodigious pile, Trees of such ancient majesty Towered not on Yemen's happy hills, Nor crowned the stately brow of Lebanon.

Fabric so vast, so lavishly enriched, For Idol, or for Tyrant, never yet Raised the slave race of men In Rome, nor in the elder Babylon, Nor old Persepolis, Nor where the family of Greece Hymned Eleutherian Jove.

Here studding azure[3] tablatures And rayed with feeble light, Star-like the ruby and the diamond shone: Here on the golden towers The yellow moon-beam lay; Here with white splendour floods the silver wall.

Less wonderous pile and less magnificent Sennamar[4] built at Hirah, tho' his art Sealed with one stone the ample edifice And made its colours, like the serpents skin Play with a changeful beauty: him, its Lord Jealous lest after-effort might surpa.s.s The now unequalled palace, from its height Dashed on the pavement down.

They entered, and through aromatic paths Wondering they went along.

At length upon a mossy bank Beneath a tall mimosa's shade That o'er him bent its living canopy, They saw a man reclined.

Young he appeared, for on his cheek there shone The morning glow of health, And the brown beard curled close around his chin.

He slept, but at the sound Of coming feet awakening, fixed his eyes In wonder, on the wanderer and her child.

"Forgive us," Zeinab cried, "Distress hath made us bold.

"Relieve the widow and the fatherless.

"Blessed are they who succour the distrest "For them hath G.o.d appointed Paradise."

He heard, and he looked up to heaven, And tears ran down his cheeks: "It is a human voice!

"I thank thee, O my G.o.d!

"How many an age has past "Since the sweet sounds have visited mine ear!

"I thank thee, O my G.o.d, "It is a human voice!"

To Zeinab turning then he cried "O mortal who art thou "Whose gifted eyes have pierced "The shadow of concealment that hath wrapt "These bowers, so many an age, "From eye of mortal man?