Halloa! another prey, The nimble Antelope!

The Ounce[148] is freed; one spring And his talons are sheathed in her shoulders, And his teeth are red in her gore.

There came a sound from the wood, Like the howl of the winter wind at night Around a lonely dwelling, The Ounce whose gums were warm in his prey He hears the summoning sound.

In vain his master's voice No longer dreaded now, Calls and recalls with threatful tone.

Away to the forest he goes, For that Old Woman had laid Her shrivelled finger on her shrivelled lips, And whistled with a long, long breath, And that long breath was the sound Like the howl of the winter wind at night Around a lonely dwelling.

Mohareb knew her not, As to the chase he went, The glance of his proud eye Pa.s.sing in scorn o'er age and wretchedness.

She stands in the depth of the wood, And panting to her feet Fawning and fearful creeps the charmed ounce.

Well mayst thou fear, and vainly dost thou fawn!

Her form is changed, her visage new, Her power, her heart the same!

It is Khawla that stands in the wood.

She knew the place where the mandrake grew, And round the neck of the ounce, And round the mandrake's head She tightens the ends of her cord.

Her ears are closed with wax, And her prest finger fastens them, Deaf as the Adder, when with grounded head And circled form, her avenues of sound Barred safely, one slant eye Watches the charmer's lips Waste on the wind his[149] baffled witchery.

The spotted ounce so beautiful Springs forceful from the scourge: The dying plant all agony, Feeling its life-strings crack, Uttered the unimaginable groan That none can hear and live.

Then from her victim servant Khawla loosed The precious poison, next with naked hand She plucked the boughs of the manchineel.

Then of the wormy wax she took, That from the perforated[150] tree forced out, Bewrayed its insect-parent's work within.

In a cavern of the wood she sits And moulds the wax to human form, And as her fingers kneaded it, By magic accents, to the mystic shape Imparted with the life of Thalaba, In all its pa.s.sive powers Mysterious sympathy.

With the Mandrake and the Manchineel She builds her pile accurst.

She lays her finger to the pile, And blue and green, the flesh Glows with emitted fire, A fire[151] to kindle that strange fuel meet.

Before the fire she placed the imaged wax, "There[152] waste away!" the Enchantress cried, "And with thee waste Hodeirah's Son!"

Fool! fool! go thaw the everlasting ice, Whose polar mountains bound the human reign.

Blindly the wicked work The righteous will of Heaven!

The doomed Destroyer wears Abdaldar's ring!

Against the danger of his horoscope Yourselves have shielded him!

And on the sympathizing wax The unadmitted flames play powerlessly, As the cold moon-beam on a plain of snow.

"Curse thee! curse thee!" cried the fiendly woman, "Hast thou yet a spell of safety?"

And in the raging flames She cast the imaged wax.

It lay amid the flames, Like Polycarp of old, When by the glories of the burning stake O'er vaulted, his grey hairs Curled, life-like, to the fire That haloed round his saintly brow.

"Wherefore is this!" cried Khawla, and she stamped Thrice on the cavern floor, "Maimuna! Maimuna!"

Thrice on the floor she stamped, Then to the rocky gateway glanced Her eager eyes, and Maimuna was there.

"Nay Sister, nay!" quoth she, "Mohareb's life "Is linked with Thalaba's!

"Nay Sister, nay! the plighted oath!

"The common Sacrament!"

"Idiot!" said Khawla, "one must die, or all!

"Faith kept with him were treason to the rest.

"Why lies the wax, like marble, in the fire?

"What powerful amulet "Protects Hodeirah's son?"

Cold, marble-cold, the wax Lay on the raging pile, Cold in that white intensity of fire.

The Bat that with her hooked and leathery wings Clung to the cave-roof, loosed her hold, Death-sickening with the heat; The Toad who to the darkest nook had crawled Panted fast with fever pain; The Viper from her nest came forth Leading her quickened brood, Who sportive with the warm delight, rolled out Their thin curls, tender as the tendril rings, Ere the green beauty of their brittle youth Grows brown, and toughens in the summer sun.

Cold, marble-cold, the wax Lay on the raging pile, The silver quivering of the element O'er its pale surface shedding a dim gloss.

Amid the red and fiery smoke, Watching the strange portent, The blue-eyed Sorceress and her Sister stood, Seeming a ruined Angel by the side Of Spirit born in h.e.l.l.

At length raised Maimuna her thoughtful eyes, "Whence Sister was the wax "The work of the worm, or the bee?

"Nay then I marvel not!

"It were as wise to bring from Ararat "The fore-world's[153] wood to build the magic pile, "And feed it from the balm bower, thro' whose veins "The Martyr's blood sends such a virtue out, "That the fond Mother from beneath its shade "Wreathes the Cerastes[154] round her playful child.

"This the eternal, universal strife!

"There is a grave-wax,[155]... I have seen the Gouls "Fight for the dainty at their banquetting."...

"Excellent witch!" quoth Khawla; and she went To the cave arch of entrance, and scowled up, Mocking the blessed Sun, "Shine thou in Heaven, but I will shadow Earth!

"Thou wilt not shorten day, "But I will hasten darkness!" Then the Witch Began a magic song, One long low tone thro' teeth half-closed, Thro' lips slow-moving muttered slow, One long-continued breath, Till to her eyes a darker yellowness Was driven, and fuller swoln the prominent veins On her loose throat grew black.

Then looking upward thrice she breathed Into the face of Heaven, The baneful breath infected Heaven; A mildewing mist it spread Darker and darker; so the evening sun Poured his unentering glory on the mist, And it was night below.

"Bring now the wax," quoth Khawla, "for thou knowest "The mine that yields it!" forth went Maimuna, In mist and darkness went the Sorceress forth.

And she has reached the place of Tombs, And in their sepulchres the dead Feel[156] feet unholy trampling over them.

Thou startest Maimuna, Because the breeze is in thy lilted locks!

Is Khawla's spell so weak?

Sudden came the breeze and strong; The mist that in the labouring lungs was felt So heavy late, flies now before the gale, Thin as an Infant's breath Seen in the sunshine of an autumn frost.

Sudden it came and soon its work was done, And suddenly it ceased; Cloudless and calm it left the firmament, And beautiful in the blue sky Arose the summer Moon.

She heard the quickened action of her blood, She felt the fever in her cheeks.

Daunted, yet desperate, in a tomb Entering, with impious hand she traced Circles, and squares, and trines, And magic characters, Till riven by her charms the grave Yawned and disclosed its dead, Maimuna's eyes were opened, and she saw The secrets of the grave.

There sate a Spirit in the vault, In shape, in hue, in lineaments like life, And by him couched, as if intranced, The hundred-headed Worm that never dies.

"Nay Sorceress! not to-night!" the Spirit cried, "The flesh in which I sinned may rest to-night "From suffering; all things, even I to-night, "Even the d.a.m.ned repose!"

The flesh of Maimuna Crept on her bones with terror, and her knees Trembled with their trembling weight.

"Only this sabbath! and at dawn the Worm "Will wake, and this poor flesh must grow to meet "The gnawing of his hundred[157] poison-mouths!

"G.o.d! G.o.d! Is there no mercy after death?"

Soul-struck she rushed away, She fled the place of Tombs, She cast herself upon the earth, All agony and tumult and despair.

And in that wild and desperate agony Sure Maimuna had died the utter death, If aught of evil had been possible On this mysterious night; For this was that most holy[158] night When all created things know and adore The Power that made them; insects, beasts, and birds, The water-dwellers, herbs and trees and stones, Yea Earth and Ocean and the infinite Heaven With all its worlds. Man only does not know The universal sabbath, does not join With Nature in her homage. Yet the prayer Flows from the righteous with intenser love, A holier calm succeeds, and sweeter dreams Visit the slumbers of the penitent.

Therefore on Maimuna the elements, Shed healing; every breath she breathed was balm.

Was not a flower but sent in incense up Its richest odours, and the song of birds Now, like the music of the Seraphim, Entered her soul, and now Made silence aweful by their sudden pause.

It seemed as if the quiet moon Poured quietness, its lovely light Was like the smile of reconciling Heaven.

Is it the dew of night That down her glowing cheek Shines in the moon-beam? oh! she weeps ... she weeps And the Good Angel that abandoned her At her h.e.l.l-baptism, by her tears drawn down Resumes his charge, then Maimuna Recalled to mind the double oracle; Quick as the lightening flash Its import glanced upon her, and the hope Of pardon and salvation rose, As now she understood The lying prophecy of truth.

She pauses not, she ponders not, The driven air before her fanned the face Of Thalaba, and he awoke and saw The Sorceress of the silver locks.

One more permitted spell!

She takes the magic chain.

With the wide eye of wonder, Thalaba Watches her snowy fingers round and round Wind the loosening chain.

Again he hears the low sweet voice, The low sweet voice so musical, That sure it was not strange, If in those unintelligible tones Was more than human potency, That with such deep and undefined delight, Filled the surrendered soul.

The work is done, the song is ceased; He wakes as from a dream of Paradise And feels his fetters gone, and with the burst Of wondering adoration praises G.o.d.

Her charm has loosed the chain it bound, But ma.s.sy walls and iron gates Confine Hodeirah's son.

Heard ye not, Genii of the Air, her spell, That o'er her face there flits The sudden flush of fear?

Again her louder lips repeat the charm, Her eye is anxious, her cheek pale, Her pulse plays fast and feeble.

Nay Maimuna! thy power has ceased, And the wind scatters now The voice that ruled it late.