"Pray for me, Thalaba," she cried, "For death and judgement are at hand!"

All night in agony, She feared the instant blow of h.e.l.l's revenge.

At dawn the sound of gathering mult.i.tudes Led to the prison bars her dreading eye.

What spectacle invites The growing mult.i.tude, That torrent-like they roll along?

Boys and grey-headed age; the Mother comes Leading her child, who at arm's length Outstripping her, looks back And bids her hasten more.

Why does the City pour her thousands forth?

What glorious pageantry Makes her streets desolate, and silences Her empty dwellings? comes the bridal pomp, And have the purveyors of imperial l.u.s.t Torn from their parents arms again The virgin beauties of the land?

Will elephants in gilded cages bear The imprisoned victims? or may yet their eyes With a last look of liberty, behold Banners and guards and silk-arched palanquins.

The long procession, and the gorgeous pomp Of their own sacrifice?

On the house tops and in the windows ranged Face above face, they wait The coming spectacle; The trees are cl.u.s.tered, and below the dust Thro' the thronged populace Can find no way to rise.

He comes! the Sultan! hark the swelling horn, The trumpet's spreading blair, The timbrel tinkling as its silver bells Twinkle aloft, and the shrill cymbal's sound, Whose broad bra.s.s flashes in the morning sun Accordant light and music! closing all The heavy Gong is heard, That falls like thunder on the dizzy ear.

On either hand the thick-wedged crowd Fall from the royal path.

Rec.u.mbent in the palanquin he casts On the wide tumult of the waving throng A proud and idle eye.

Now in his tent alighted, he receives Homage and worship. The slave mult.i.tude With shouts of blasphemy adore Him, father of his people! him their Lord!

Great King, all-wise, all-mighty, and all-good!

Whose smile was happiness, whose frown was death, Their present Deity!

With silken cords his slaves Wave the silk[159] fan, that waving o'er his head Freshens the languid air.

Others the while shower o'er his robes The rose's treasured sweets, Rich odours burn before him, ambergrese, Sandal and aloe wood, And thus inhaling the voluptuous air He sits to watch the agony, To hear the groan of death.

At once all sounds are hushed, All eyes take one direction, for he comes, The object he of this day's festival, Of all this expectation and this joy, The Christian captive. Hark! so silently They stand, the clanking of his chain is heard.

And he has reached the place of suffering now.

And as the death's-men round his ancles bind The cords and to the gibbet swing him up, The Priests begin their song, the song of praise, The hymn of glory to their Devil-G.o.d.

Then Maimuna grew pale, as thro the bars She saw the Martyr pendant by the feet, His gold locks hanging downwards, and she cried, "This is my Sister's deed!

"O Thalaba, for us, "Not for his faith the red-haired Christian dies.

"She wants the foam[160] that in his agony, "Last from his lips shall fall, "The deadliest poison that the Devils know.

"Son of Hodeirah, thou and I "Shall prove its deadly force!"

And lo! the Executioners begin And beat his belly with alternate blows.

And these are human that look on;...

The very women that would shrink And shudder if they saw a worm Crushed by the careless tread, They clap their hands for joy And lift their children up To see the Christian die.

Convulsing Nature with her tortures drunk Ceases to suffer now.

His eye-lids tremble, his lips quake, But like the quivering of a severed limb Move no responsive pang.

Now catch the exquisite poison! for it froths His dying lips,... and Khawla holds the bowl.

Enough the Island crimes had cried to Heaven, The measure of their guilt was full, The hour of wrath was come.

The poison burst the bowl, It fell upon the earth.

The Sorceress shrieked and caught Mohareb's robe And called the whirlwind and away!

For lo! from that accursed venom springs, The Upas Tree of Death.

The Tenth Book.

_THALABA THE DESTROYER._

_THE TENTH BOOK._

Alone, beside a rivulet it stands The Upas[161] Tree of Death.

Thro' barren banks the barren waters flow, The fish that meets them in the unmingling sea Floats poisoned on the waves.

Tree grows not near, nor bush, nor flower, nor herb, The Earth has lost its parent powers of life And the fresh dew of Heaven that there descends, Steams in rank poison up.

Before the appointed Youth and Maimuna Saw the first struggle of the dying throng, Crash sunk their prison wall!

The whirlwind wrapt them round; Borne in the Chariot of the Winds Ere there was time to fear, their way was past, And lo! again they stand In the cave-dwelling of the blue-eyed Witch.

Then came the weakness of her natural age At once on Maimuna; The burthen of her years Fell on her, and she knew That her repentance in the sight of G.o.d Had now found favour, and her hour was come.

Her death was like the righteous; "Turn my face "To Mecca!" in her languid eyes.

The joy of certain hope Lit a last l.u.s.tre, and in death The smile was on her cheek.

No faithful[162] crowded round her bier, No tongue reported her good deeds, For her no mourners wailed and wept, No Iman o'er her perfumed corpse, For her soul's health intoned the prayer; No column[163] raised by the way side Implored the pa.s.sing traveller To say a requiem for the dead.

Thalaba laid her in the snow, And took his weapons from the hearth, And then once more the youth began His weary way of solitude.

The breath of the East is in his face And it drives the sleet and the snow.

The air is keen, the wind is keen, His limbs are aching with the cold, His eyes are aching[164] with the snow, His very heart is cold, His spirit chilled within him. He looks on If ought of life be near, But all is sky and the white wilderness, And here and there a solitary pine, Its branches broken by the weight of snow.

His pains abate, his senses dull With suffering, cease to suffer.

Languidly, languidly, Thalaba drags along, A heavy weight is on his lids, His limbs move slow with heaviness, And he full fain would sleep.

Not yet, not yet, O Thalaba!

Thy hour of rest is come; Not yet may the Destroyer sleep The comfortable sleep, His journey is not over yet, His course not yet fulfilled;...

Run thou thy race, O Thalaba!

The prize is at the goal.

It was a Cedar-tree That woke him from the deadly drowsiness; Its broad, round-spreading[165] branches when they felt The snow, rose upward in a point to heaven, And standing in their strength erect, Defied the baffled storm.

He knew the lesson Nature gave, And he shook off his heaviness, And hope revived within him.

Now sunk the evening sun, A broad, red, beamless...o...b.. Adown the glowing sky; Thro' the red light the snow-flakes fell, like fire.

Louder grows the biting wind, And it drifts the dust of the snow.

The snow is clotted in his hair, The breath of Thalaba Is iced upon his lips.

He looks around, the darkness, The dizzy floating of the snow, Close in his narrow view.

At length thro' the thick atmosphere a light Not distant far appears.

He doubting other wiles of enmity, With mingled joy and quicker step, Bends his way thitherward.

It was a little, lowly dwelling place, Amid a garden, whose delightful air Felt mild and fragrant, as the evening wind Pa.s.sing in summer o'er the coffee-groves[166]

Of Yemen and its blessed bowers of balm.

A Fount of Fire that in the centre played, Rolled all around its wonderous rivulets And fed the garden with the heat of life.

Every where magic! the Arabian's heart Yearned after human intercourse.

A light!... the door unclosed!...

All silent ... he goes in.