Book IX

"Go up, my Sister Maimuna,"Go up, and read the stars!"

Lo! on the terrace of the topmost towerShe stands; her darkening eyes,Her fine face raised to heaven,Her white hair flowing like the silver streamsThat streak the northern night.

They hear her coming tread,They lift their asking eyes,Her face is serious, her unwilling lipsSlow to the tale of ill."What hast thou read? what hast thou read?"Quoth Khawla in alarm."Danger ... death ... judgement!" Maimuna replied.

"Is that the language of the lights of Heaven?"Exclaimed the sterner Witch."Creatures of Allah, they perform his will."And with their lying menaces would daunt"Our credulous folly.... Maimuna,"I never liked this uncongenial lore!"Better befits to make the sacrifice"Of Divination; so shall I"Be mine own Oracle."Command the victims thou, O King!"Male and female they must be,"Thou knowest the needful rites."Meanwhile I purify the place."

The Sultan went; the Sorceress rose,And North and South and East and WestShe faced the points of Heaven,And ever where she turnedShe laid her hand upon the wall,And up she looked and smote the air,And down she stooped and smote the floor,"To Eblis and his servants"I consecrate the place,"Let none intrude but they!"Whatever hath the breath of life,"Whatever hath the sap of life,"Let it be blasted and die!"

Now all is prepared;Mohareb returns,The Circle is drawn,The Victims have bled,The Youth and the Maid.She in the circle holds in either handClenched by the hair, a head,The heads of the Youth and the Maid."Go out ye lights!" quoth Khawla,And in darkness began the spell.

With spreading arms she whirls aroundRapidly, rapidlyEver around and around;And loudly she calls the while"Eblis! Eblis!"Loudly, incessantly,Still she calls "Eblis! Eblis!"Giddily, giddily, still she whirls,Loudly, incessantly, still she calls;The motion is ever the same,Ever around and around;The calling is still the sameStill it is "Eblis! Eblis!"And her voice is a shapeless yell,And dizzily rolls her brain,And now she is full of the Fiend.She stops, she rocks, she reels!Look! look! she appears in the darkness!Her flamy hairs curl upAll living, like the Meteor's locks of light!Her eyes are like the sickly Moon!

It is her lips that move,Her tongue that shapes the sound,But whose is the Voice that proceeds?"Ye may hope and ye may fear,"The danger of his stars is near."Sultan! if he perish, woe!"Fate has written one death-blow"For Mohareb and the Foe?"Triumph! triumph! only she"That knit his bonds can set him free."

She spake the Oracle,And senselessly she fell.They knelt in care beside her,Her Sister and the King.They sprinkled her palms with water,They wetted her nostrils with blood.She wakes as from a dream,She asks the uttered Voice,But when she heard, an anger and a griefDarkened her wrinkling brow."Then let him live in long captivity!"She answered: but Mohareb's quickened eyePerused her sullen countenanceThat lied not with the lips.A miserable man!What boots it, that, in central cavesThe Powers of Evil at his Baptism pledgedThe Sacrament of Hell?His death secures them now.What boots it that they gaveAbdaldar's guardian ring,When thro' another's lifeThe blow may reach his own?

He sought the dungeon cellWhere Thalaba was laid.'Twas the grey morning twilight, and the voiceOf Thalaba in prayer,With words of hallowed import, smoteThe King's alarmed sense.The grating of the heavy hingeRoused not the Arabian youth;Nor lifted he his earthward faceAt sound of coming feet.Nor did Mohareb with unholy voiceDisturb the duty: silent, spirit-awed,Envious, heart-humbled, he beheldThe dungeon-peace of pietyTill Thalaba, the perfect rite performed,Raised his calm eye; then spake the Island-Chief."Arab! my guidance thro' the dangerous Cave,"Thy service overpaid,"An unintended friend in enmity."The hand that caught thy ring"Received and bore me to the scene I sought."Now know me grateful. I return"That amulet, thy only safety here."

Artful he spake, with show of gratitudeVeiling the selfish deed.Locked in the magic chainThe powerless hand of ThalabaReceived again the Spell.Remembering then with what an ominous faithFirst he drew on the gem,The Youth repeats his words of augury;"In God's name and the Prophet's! be its power"Good, let it serve the holy! if for evil"God and my faith shall hallow it."Blindly the wicked work"The righteous will of Heaven!"

So Thalaba received againThe written ring of gold.

Thoughtful awhile Mohareb stoodAnd eyed the captive youth.Then, building skilfully the sophist speech,Thus he began. "Brave art thou, Thalaba!"And wherefore are we foes!... for I would buy"Thy friendship at a princely price, and make thee"To thine own welfare wise."Hear me! in Nature are two hostile Gods,"Makers and Masters of existing things,"Equal in power:... nay hear me patiently!..."Equal ... for look around thee! the same Earth"Bears fruit and poison; where the Camel finds"His fragrant food, the horned Viper there"Sucks in the juice of death; the Elements"Now serve the use of man, and now assert"Dominion o'er his weakness; dost thou hear"The sound of merriment and nuptial song?"From the next house proceeds the mourner's cry"Lamenting o'er the dead. Sayest thou that Sin"Entered the world of Allah? that the Fiend"Permitted for a season, prowls for prey?"When to thy tent the venomous serpent creeps"Dost thou not crush the reptile? even so,"Besure, had Allah crushed his Enemy,"But that the power was wanting. From the first,"Eternal as themselves their warfare is,"To the end it must endure. Evil and Good...."What are they Thalaba but words? in the strife"Of Angels, as of men, the weak are guilty;"Power must decide. The Spirits of the Dead"Quitting their mortal mansion, enter not,"As falsely ye are preached, their final seat"Of bliss, or bale; nor in the sepulchre"Sleep they the long long sleep: each joins the host"Of his great Leader, aiding in the war"Whose fate involves his own."Woe to the vanquished then!"Woe to the sons of man who followed him!"They with their Leader, thro' eternity,"Must howl in central fires."Thou Thalaba hast chosen ill thy part,"If choice it may be called, where will was not,"Nor searching doubt, nor judgement wise to weigh."Hard is the service of the Power beneath"Whose banners thou wert born; his discipline"Severe, yea cruel; and his wages, rich"Only in promise; who has seen the pay?"For us ... the pleasures of the world are ours,"Riches and rule, the kingdoms of the Earth."We met in Babylon adventurers both,"Each zealous for the hostile Power he served:"We meet again; thou feelest what thou art,"Thou seest what I am, the Sultan here,"The Lord of Life and Death."Abandon him who has abandoned thee,"And be as I am, great among mankind!"

The Captive did not, hasty to confuteBreak of that subtle speech,But when the expectant silence of the KingLooked for his answer, then spake Thalaba."And this then is thy faith! this monstrous creed!"This lie against the Sun and Moon and Stars"And Earth and Heaven! blind man who canst not see"How all things work the best! who wilt not know"That in the Manhood of the World, whate'er"Of folly marked its Infancy, of vice"Sullied its Youth, ripe Wisdom shall cast off,"Stablished in good, and knowing evil safe."Sultan Mohareb, yes, ye have me here"In chains; but not forsaken, tho' opprest:"Cast down, but not destroyed. Shall danger daunt,"Shall death dismay his soul, whose life is given"For God and for his brethren of mankind?"Alike rewarded, in that noble cause,"The Conquerors and the Martyrs palm above"Beam with one glory. Hope ye that my blood"Can quench the dreaded flame? and know ye not"That leagued against you are the Just and Wise,"And all Good Actions of all ages past,"Yea your own Crimes, and Truth, and God in Heaven!"

"Slave!" quoth Mohareb, and his lipsQuivered with eager wrath."I have thee! thou shalt feel my power,"And in thy dungeon loathsomeness"Rot piece-meal, limb from limb!"And out the Tyrant rushes,And all impatient of the thoughtsThat cankered in his heart,Seeks in the giddiness of boisterous sportShort respite from the avenging power within.

What Woman is sheSo wrinkled and old,That goes to the wood?She leans on her staffWith a tottering step,She tells her bead-strings slowThro' fingers dulled by age.The wanton boys bemock her.The babe in arms that meets herTurns round with quick affrightAnd clings to his nurse's neck.

Hark! hark! the hunter's cryMohareb gone to the chase!The dogs with eager yellAre struggling to be free;The hawks in frequent stoopToken their haste for flight;And couchant on the saddle-bow,With tranquil eyes and talons sheathedThe ounce expects his liberty.

Propt on the staff that shakesBeneath her trembling weight,The Old Woman sees them pass.Halloa! halloa!The game is up!The dogs are loosedThe deer bounds over the plain,The lagging dogs behindFollow from afar!But lo! the Falcon o'er his head.Hovers with hostile wings,And buffets him with blinding strokes!Dizzy with the deafening strokesIn blind and interrupted course,Poor beast be struggles on;And now the dogs are nigh!How his heart pants! you seeThe panting of his heart;And tears like human tearsRoll down, along the big veins, fever-swoln;And now the death-sweat darkens his dun hide!His fear, his groans, his agony, his death,Are the sport and the joy and the triumph!

Halloa! another prey,The nimble Antelope!The Ounce is freed; one springAnd 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 nightAround a lonely dwelling,The Ounce whose gums were warm in his preyHe hears the summoning sound.In vain his master's voiceNo longer dreaded now,Calls and recalls with threatful tone.Away to the forest he goes,For that Old Woman had laidHer shrivelled finger on her shrivelled lips,And whistled with a long, long breath,And that long breath was the soundLike the howl of the winter wind at nightAround a lonely dwelling.

Mohareb knew her not,As to the chase he went,The glance of his proud eyePassing in scorn o'er age and wretchedness.She stands in the depth of the wood,And panting to her feetFawning 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 headShe 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 headAnd circled form, her avenues of soundBarred safely, one slant eyeWatches the charmer's lipsWaste on the wind his baffled witchery.The spotted ounce so beautifulSprings forceful from the scourge:The dying plant all agony,Feeling its life-strings crack,Uttered the unimaginable groanThat none can hear and live.

Then from her victim servant Khawla loosedThe precious poison, next with naked handShe plucked the boughs of the manchineel.Then of the wormy wax she took,That from the perforated tree forced out,Bewrayed its insect-parent's work within.

In a cavern of the wood she sitsAnd moulds the wax to human form,And as her fingers kneaded it,By magic accents, to the mystic shapeImparted with the life of Thalaba,In all its passive powersMysterious sympathy.With the Mandrake and the ManchineelShe builds her pile accurst.She lays her finger to the pile,And blue and green, the fleshGlows with emitted fire,A fire to kindle that strange fuel meet.Before the fire she placed the imaged wax,"There 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 workThe righteous will of Heaven!The doomed Destroyer wears Abdaldar's ring!Against the danger of his horoscopeYourselves have shielded him!And on the sympathizing waxThe 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 flamesShe cast the imaged wax.It lay amid the flames,Like Polycarp of old,When by the glories of the burning stakeO'er vaulted, his grey hairsCurled, life-like, to the fireThat haloed round his saintly brow.

"Wherefore is this!" cried Khawla, and she stampedThrice on the cavern floor,"Maimuna! Maimuna!"Thrice on the floor she stamped,Then to the rocky gateway glancedHer 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 waxLay on the raging pile,Cold in that white intensity of fire.The Bat that with her hooked and leathery wingsClung to the cave-roof, loosed her hold,Death-sickening with the heat;The Toad who to the darkest nook had crawledPanted fast with fever pain;The Viper from her nest came forthLeading her quickened brood,Who sportive with the warm delight, rolled outTheir thin curls, tender as the tendril rings,Ere the green beauty of their brittle youthGrows brown, and toughens in the summer sun.Cold, marble-cold, the waxLay on the raging pile,The silver quivering of the elementO'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 sideOf Spirit born in Hell.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 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 round her playful child."This the eternal, universal strife!"There is a grave-wax,... I have seen the Gouls"Fight for the dainty at their banquetting."...

"Excellent witch!" quoth Khawla; and she wentTo 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 WitchBegan 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 yellownessWas driven, and fuller swoln the prominent veinsOn her loose throat grew black.Then looking upward thrice she breathedInto the face of Heaven,The baneful breath infected Heaven;A mildewing mist it spreadDarker and darker; so the evening sunPoured 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 deadFeel 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 feltSo heavy late, flies now before the gale,Thin as an Infant's breathSeen 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 skyArose the summer Moon.

She heard the quickened action of her blood,She felt the fever in her cheeks.Daunted, yet desperate, in a tombEntering, with impious hand she tracedCircles, and squares, and trines,And magic characters,Till riven by her charms the graveYawned and disclosed its dead,Maimuna's eyes were opened, and she sawThe 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 Damned repose!"

The flesh of MaimunaCrept on her bones with terror, and her kneesTrembled 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 poison-mouths!"God! God! 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 agonySure Maimuna had died the utter death,If aught of evil had been possibleOn this mysterious night;For this was that most holy nightWhen all created things know and adoreThe Power that made them; insects, beasts, and birds,The water-dwellers, herbs and trees and stones,Yea Earth and Ocean and the infinite HeavenWith all its worlds. Man only does not knowThe universal sabbath, does not joinWith Nature in her homage. Yet the prayerFlows from the righteous with intenser love,A holier calm succeeds, and sweeter dreamsVisit 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 upIts richest odours, and the song of birdsNow, like the music of the Seraphim,Entered her soul, and nowMade silence aweful by their sudden pause.It seemed as if the quiet moonPoured quietness, its lovely lightWas like the smile of reconciling Heaven.

Is it the dew of nightThat down her glowing cheekShines in the moon-beam? oh! she weeps ... she weepsAnd the Good Angel that abandoned herAt her hell-baptism, by her tears drawn downResumes his charge, then MaimunaRecalled to mind the double oracle;Quick as the lightening flashIts import glanced upon her, and the hopeOf pardon and salvation rose,As now she understoodThe lying prophecy of truth.She pauses not, she ponders not,The driven air before her fanned the faceOf Thalaba, and he awoke and sawThe Sorceress of the silver locks.

One more permitted spell!She takes the magic chain.With the wide eye of wonder, ThalabaWatches her snowy fingers round and roundWind 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 tonesWas 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 ParadiseAnd feels his fetters gone, and with the burstOf wondering adoration praises God.

Her charm has loosed the chain it bound,But massy walls and iron gatesConfine Hodeirah's son.Heard ye not, Genii of the Air, her spell,That o'er her face there flitsThe 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 nowThe voice that ruled it late.

"Pray for me, Thalaba," she cried,"For death and judgement are at hand!"All night in agony,She feared the instant blow of Hell's revenge.At dawn the sound of gathering multitudesLed to the prison bars her dreading eye.What spectacle invitesThe growing multitude,That torrent-like they roll along?Boys and grey-headed age; the Mother comesLeading her child, who at arm's lengthOutstripping her, looks backAnd bids her hasten more.

Why does the City pour her thousands forth?What glorious pageantryMakes her streets desolate, and silencesHer empty dwellings? comes the bridal pomp,And have the purveyors of imperial lustTorn from their parents arms againThe virgin beauties of the land?Will elephants in gilded cages bearThe imprisoned victims? or may yet their eyesWith a last look of liberty, beholdBanners and guards and silk-arched palanquins.The long procession, and the gorgeous pompOf their own sacrifice?On the house tops and in the windows rangedFace above face, they waitThe coming spectacle;The trees are clustered, and below the dustThro' the thronged populaceCan find no way to rise.

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

On either hand the thick-wedged crowdFall from the royal path.Recumbent in the palanquin he castsOn the wide tumult of the waving throngA proud and idle eye.Now in his tent alighted, he receivesHomage and worship. The slave multitudeWith shouts of blasphemy adoreHim, 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 slavesWave the silk fan, that waving o'er his headFreshens the languid air.Others the while shower o'er his robesThe rose's treasured sweets,Rich odours burn before him, ambergrese,Sandal and aloe wood,And thus inhaling the voluptuous airHe 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 silentlyThey 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 bindThe cords and to the gibbet swing him up,The Priests begin their song, the song of praise,The hymn of glory to their Devil-God.

Then Maimuna grew pale, as thro the barsShe 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 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 beginAnd beat his belly with alternate blows.And these are human that look on;...The very women that would shrinkAnd shudder if they saw a wormCrushed by the careless tread,They clap their hands for joyAnd lift their children upTo see the Christian die.

Convulsing Nature with her tortures drunkCeases to suffer now.His eye-lids tremble, his lips quake,But like the quivering of a severed limbMove no responsive pang.Now catch the exquisite poison! for it frothsHis 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 robeAnd called the whirlwind and away!For lo! from that accursed venom springs,The Upas Tree of Death.