Book VI
So from the inmost cavern, ThalabaRetrod the windings of the rock.Still on the ground the giant limbsOf Zohak were outstretched;The spell of sleep had ceasedAnd his broad eyes were glaring on the youth:Yet raised he not his arm to bar the way,Fearful to rouse the snakesNow lingering o'er their meal.
Oh then, emerging from that dreadful cave,How grateful did the gale of nightSalute his freshened sense!How full of lightsome joy,Thankful to Heaven, he hastens by the vergeOf that bitumen lake,Whose black and heavy fumes,Surge heaving after surge,Rolled like the billowy and tumultuous sea.
The song of many a bird at mornAroused him from his rest.Lo! by his side a courser stood!More animate of eye,Of form more faultless never had he seen,More light of limbs and beautiful in strength,Among the race whose blood,Pure and unmingled, from the royal steedsOf Solomon came down.
The chosen Arab's eyeGlanced o'er his graceful shape,His rich caparisons,His crimson trappings gay.But when he saw the mouthUncurbed, the unbridled neck,Then flushed his cheek, and leapt his heart,For sure he deemed that Heaven had sentThe Courser, whom no erring hand should guide.And lo! the eager SteedThrows his head and paws the ground,Impatient of delay!Then up leapt ThalabaAnd away went the self-governed steed.
Far over the plainAway went the bridleless steed;With the dew of the morning his fetlocks were wet,The foam frothed his limbs in the journey of noon,Nor stayed he till over the westerly heavenThe shadows of evening had spread.Then on a sheltered bankThe appointed Youth reposed,And by him laid the docile courser down.Again in the grey of the morningThalaba bounded up,Over hill, over daleAway goes the bridleless steed.Again at eve he stopsAgain the Youth descends.His load discharged, his errand done,Then bounded the courser away.
Heavy and dark the eve;The Moon was hid on high,A dim light only tinged the mistThat crost her in the path of Heaven.All living sounds had ceased,Only the flow of waters near was heard,A low and lulling melody.Fasting, yet not of wantPercipient, he on that mysterious steedHad reached his resting place,For expectation kept his nature up.The flow of waters nowAwoke a feverish thirst:Led by the sound, he movedTo seek the grateful wave.A meteor in the hazy airPlayed before his path;Before him now it rolledA globe of livid fire;And now contracted to a steady light,As when the solitary hermit prunesHis lamp's long undulating flame:And now its wavy pointUp-blazing rose, like a young cypress-treeSwayed by the heavy wind;Anon to Thalaba it moved,And wrapped him in its pale innocuous fire:Now in the darkness drownedLeft him with eyes bedimmed,And now emerging spread the scene to sight.
Led by the sound, and meteor-flameAdvanced the Arab youth.Now to the nearest of the many rillsHe stoops; ascending steamTimely repels his hand,For from its source it sprung, a boiling tide.A second course with better hap he tries,The wave intensly coldTempts to a copious draught.There was a virtue in the wave,His limbs that stiff with toil,Dragged heavy, from the copious draught receivedLightness and supple strength.O'erjoyed, and deeming the benignant PowerWho sent the reinless steed,Had blessed the healing waters to his useHe laid him down to sleep;Lulled by the soothing and incessant sound,The flow of many waters, blending oftWith shriller tones and deep low murmuringsThat from the fountain cavesIn mingled melodyLike faery music, heard at midnight, came.
The sounds that last he heard at nightAwoke his sense at morn.A scene of wonders lay before his eyes.In mazy windings o'er the valeWandered a thousand streams;They in their endless flow had channelled deepThe rocky soil o'er which they ran,Veining its thousand islet stones,Like clouds that freckle o'er the summer sky,The blue etherial ocean circling eachAnd insulating all.A thousand shapes they wore, those islet stones,And Nature with her various tintsVaried anew their thousand forms:For some were green with moss,Some rich with yellow lichen's gold,Or ruddier tinged, or grey, or silver-white,Or sparkling sparry radiance to the sun.Here gushed the fountains up,Alternate light and blackness, like the playOf sunbeams, on the warrior's burnished arms.Yonder the river rolled, whose bed,Their labyrinthine lingerings o'erReceived the confluent rills.
This was a wild and wonderous scene,Strange and beautiful, as whereBy Oton-tala, like a sea of stars,The hundred sources of Hoangho burst.High mountains closed the vale,Bare rocky mountains, to all living thingsInhospitable, on whose sides no herbRooted, no insect fed, no bird awokeTheir echoes, save the Eagle, strong of wing,A lonely plunderer, that afarSought in the vales his prey.
Thither towards those mountains, ThalabaAdvanced, for well he weened that there had FateDestined the adventures end.Up a wide vale winding amid their depths,A stony vale between receding heightsOf stone, he wound his way.A cheerless place! the solitary BeeWhose buzzing was the only sound of lifeFlew there on restless wing,Seeking in vain one blossom, where to fix.
Still Thalaba holds on,The winding vale now narrows on his way,And steeper of ascentRightward and leftward rise the rocks,And now they meet across the vale.Was it the toil of human handsThat hewed a passage in the rock,Thro' whose rude portal-wayThe light of heaven was seen?Rude and low the portal-way,Beyond the same ascending straitsWent winding up the wilds.
Still a bare, silent, solitary glen,A fearful silence and a solitudeThat made itself be felt.And steeper now the ascent,A rugged path, that tiredThe straining muscles, toiling slowly up.At length again a rockStretched o'er the narrow vale.There also was a portal hewn,But gates of massy iron barred the way,Huge, solid, heavy-hinged.
There hung a horn beside the gate,Ivory-tipt and brazen mouthed,He took the ivory tip,And thro' the brazen mouth he breathed;From rock to rock rebounding rung the blast,Like a long thunder peal!The gates of iron, by no human armUnfolded, turning on their hinges slow,Disclosed the passage of the rock.He entered, and the iron gatesFell to, and closed him in.It was a narrow winding way,Dim lamps suspended from the vaultLent to the gloom an agitated light.Winding it pierced the rock,A long descending pathBy gates of iron closed;There also hung the horn besideOf ivory tip and brazen mouth,Again he took the ivory tipAnd gave the brazen mouth his voice again.Not now in thunder spake the horn,But poured a sweet and thrilling melody:The gates flew open, and a flood of lightRushed on his dazzled eyes.
Was it to earthly Eden lost so long,The youth had found the wonderous way?But earthly Eden boastsNo terraced palaces,No rich pavilions bright with woven gold.Like these that in the valeRise amid odorous groves.The astonished ThalabaDoubting as tho' an unsubstantial dreamBeguiled his passive sense,A moment closed his eyes;Still they were there ... the palaces and groves,And rich pavilions glittering golden light.
And lo! a man, reverend in comely ageAdvancing meets the youth."Favoured of Fortune," he exclaimed,"Go taste the joys of Paradise!"The reinless steed that ranges o'er the world"Brings hither those alone for lofty deeds"Marked by their horoscope; permitted here"A foretaste of the full beatitude,"That in heroic acts they may go on"More ardent, eager to return and reap"Endless enjoyment here, their destined meed."Favoured of Fortune thou,"Go taste the joys of Paradise!"
This said, he turned away, and leftThe Youth in wonder mute;For Thalaba stood muteAnd passively receivedThe mingled joy that flowed on every sense.Where'er his eye could reachFair structures, rain bow-hued, arose;And rich pavilions thro' the opening woodsGleamed from their waving curtains sunny gold;And winding thro' the verdant valeFlowed streams of liquid light;And fluted cypresses reared upTheir living obelisks;And broad-leaved Zennars in long colonadesO'er-arched delightful walks,Where round their trunks the thousand-tendril'd vineWound up and hung the bows with greener wreaths,And clusters not their own.Wearied with endless beauty did his eyesReturn for rest? beside him teems the earthWith tulips, like the ruddy evening streaked,And here the lily hangs her head of snow,And here amid her sable cupShines the red eye-spot, like one brightest starThe solitary twinkler of the night,And here the rose expandsHer paradise of leaves.
Then on his ear what soundsOf harmony arose!Far music and the distance-mellowed songFrom bowers of merriment;The waterfall remote;The murmuring of the leafy groves;The single nightingalePerched in the Rosier by, so richly toned,That never from that most melodious bird,Singing a love-song to his brooding mate,Did Thracian shepherd by the graveOf Orpheus hear a sweeter song;Tho' there the Spirit of the SepulchreAll his own power infuse, to swellThe incense that he loves.
And oh! what odours the voluptuous valeScatters from jasmine bowers.From yon rose wilderness,From clustered henna, and from orange grovesThat with such perfumes fill the breeze,As Peris to their Sister bear,When from the summit of some lofty treeShe hangs encaged, the captive of the Dives.They from their pinions shakeThe sweetness of celestial flowers,And as her enemies impureFrom that impervious poison far awayFly groaning with the torment, she the whileInhales her fragrant food.Such odours flowed upon the worldWhen at Mohammed's nuptials, wordWent forth in Heaven to rollThe everlasting gates of ParadiseBack on their living hinges, that its galesMight visit all below; the general blissThrilled every bosom, and the familyOf man, for once partook one common joy.
Full of the joy, yet still awakeTo 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 heatHe enters in a banquet room,Where round a fountain brink,On silken carpets sate the festive train.Instant thro' all his frameDelightful coolness spread;The playing fount refreshedThe agitated air;The very light came cooled thro' silvering panesOf pearly shell, like the pale moon-beam tinged;Or where the wine-vase filled the aperture,Rosy as rising morn, or softer gleamOf saffron, like the sunny evening mist:Thro' every hue, and streaked by allThe flowing fountain played.Around the water-edgeVessels of wine, alternate placed,Ruby and amber, tinged its little waves.From golden goblets thereThe guests sate quaffing the delicious juiceOf Shiraz' golden grape.
But Thalaba took not the draughtFor rightly he knew had the Prophet forbiddenThat beverage the mother of sins.Nor did the urgent guestsProffer a second time the liquid fireFor in the youth's strong eye they sawNo moveable resolve.Yet not uncourteous, ThalabaDrank the cool draught of innocence,That fragrant from its dewy vaseCame 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 lipDissolved into a draught:Pistachios from the heavy-clustered treesOf Malavert, or Haleb's fertile soil,And Casbin's luscious grapes of amber hue,That many a week endureThe summer sun intense,Till by its powerful fireAll watery particles exhaled, aloneThe strong essential sweetness ripens there.Here cased in ice, the apricot,A topaz, crystal-set:Here on a plate of snowThe sunny orange rests,And still the aloes and the sandal-woodFrom golden censers o'er the banquet roomDiffuse their dying sweets.
Anon a troop of females formed the danceTheir ancles bound with bracelet-bellsThat made the modulating harmony.Transparent garments to the greedy eyeGave all their harlot limbs,That writhed, in each immodest gesture skilled.
With earnest eyes the banquetersFed on the sight impure;And Thalaba, he gazed,But in his heart he bore a talismanWhose blessed AlchemyTo virtuous thoughts refinedThe 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 rushed,And tears ran down his burning cheek,And nature for a moment woke the thoughtAnd murmured, that from all domestic joysEstranged, he wandered o'er the worldA lonely being, far from all he loved.Son of Hodeirah, not among thy crimesThat murmur shall be written!
From tents of revelry,From festal bowers, to solitude he ran,And now he reached where all the rillsOf that well-watered garden in one tideRolled their collected waves.A straight and stately bridgeStretched its long arches o'er the ample stream.Strong in the evening and distinct its shadeLay on the watry mirror, and his eyeSaw it united with its parent pileOne huge fantastic fabric. Drawing near,Loud from the chambers of the bridge below,Sounds of carousal came and song,And unveiled women bade the advancing youthCome merry-make with them.Unhearing or unheeding, ThalabaPast o'er with hurried pace,And plunged amid the forest solitude.Deserts of Araby!His soul returned to you.He cast himself upon the earthAnd closed his eyes, and calledThe voluntary vision up.A cry as of distressAroused him; loud it came, and near!He started up, he strung his bow,He plucked the arrow forth.Again a shriek ... a woman's shriek!And lo! she rushes thro' the trees,Her veil all rent, her garments torn!He follows close, the ravisher....Even on the unechoing grassShe hears his tread, so close!"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 turned him to the woman, and beheldHis own Oneiza, his Arabian Maid.
Words in this poem 74
- inmost a.
- Deepest within; farthest from the surface or external part; innermost. [OE. innemest, AS. innemest, a double superlative form fr. inne within, fr. in in. The modern form is due to confusion with most. See In, and cf. Aftermost, Fore]
- glaring a.
- Clear; notorious; open and bold; barefaced; as, a glaring crime.
- dreadful a.
- Full of dread or terror; fearful.
- lightsome a.
- Having light; lighted; not dark or gloomy; bright.
- thankful a.
- Obtaining or deserving thanks; thankworthy. [AS. Þancfull.]
- billowy a.
- Of or pertaining to billows; swelling or swollen into large waves; full of billows or surges; resembling billows.
- morn n.
- The first part of the day; the morning; -- used chiefly in poetry. [OE. morwen, morgen, AS. morgen; akin to D. morgen, OS. morgan, G. morgen, Icel. morginn, morgunn, Sw. morgon, Dan. morgen, Goth. maúrgins. Cf. Morrow, Morning.]
- courser n.
- One who courses or hunts. [F. coursier.]
- faultless a.
- Without fault; not defective or imperfect; free from blemish; free from incorrectness, vice, or offense; perfect; as, a faultless poem.
- solomon n.
- One of the kings of Israel, noted for his superior wisdom and magnificent reign; hence, a very wise man.
- unbridled a.
- Loosed from the bridle, or as from the bridle; hence, unrestrained; licentious; violent; as, unbridled passions. [Pref. un- not + bridled.]
- steed n.
- A horse, especially a spirited horse for state of war; -- used chiefly in poetry or stately prose. [OE. stede, AS. steda a stud-horse, war horse, fr. stod a stud of breeding steeds; akin to G. stute a mare, Icel. stedda, sto, a stud. *163. See Stud of horses.]
- went n.
- Course; way; path; journey; direction.
- stayed a.
- Staid; fixed; settled; sober; -- now written staid. See Staid.
- westerly a.
- Of or pertaining to the west; toward the west; coming from the west; western.
- reposed a.
- Composed; calm; tranquil; at rest.
- docile a.
- Teachable; easy to teach; docible. [L. docilis,fr. docere to teach; cf. Gr. discere to learn, Gr. docile. Cf. Doctor, Didactic, Disciple.]
- percipient a.
- Having the faculty of perception; perceiving; as, a percipient being. Bentley. [L. percipiens, -entis, p.pr. of percipere. See Perceive.]
- hazy a.
- Thick with haze; somewhat obscured with haze; not clear or transparent. [From Haze, n.]
- swayed a.
- Bent down, and hollow in the back; sway-backed; -- said of a horse.
- anon adv.
- Straightway; at once. [OE. anoon, anon, anan, lit., in one (moment), fr. AS. on in + an one. See On and One.]
- innocuous a.
- Harmless; producing no ill effect; innocent. [L. innocuus; in- not + nocuus hurtful, fr. nocere to hurt. See Innocent.]
- benignant a.
- Kind; gracious; favorable. [LL. benignans, p. pr. of benignare, from L. benignus. See Benign.]
- reinless a.
- Not having, or not governed by, reins; hence, not checked or restrained.
- blending n.
- The act of mingling.
- vale n.
- A tract of low ground, or of land between hills; a valley. [OE. val, F. val, L. vallis; perhaps akin to Gr. Avalanche, Vail to lower, Valley.]
- islet n.
- A little island. [OF. islette (cf. F. îlot), dim. of isle.]
- freckle n.
- A small yellowish or brownish spot in the skin, particularly on the face, neck, or hands. [Dim., from the same root as freak, v. t.]
- sparry a.
- Resembling spar, or consisting of spar; abounding with spar; having a confused crystalline structure; spathose. Sparry iron (Min.), siderite. See Siderite (a). [From Spar.]
- yonder adv.
- At a distance, but within view. [OE. yonder, ýonder; cf. OD. ginder, Goth. jaindr there. Yond, adv.]
- labyrinthine a.
- Pertaining to, or like, a labyrinth; labyrinthal.
- confluent a.
- Flowing together; meeting in their course; running one into another.
- inhospitable a.
- Not hospitable; not disposed to show hospitality to strangers or guests; as, an inhospitable person or people. [Pref. in- not + hospitable: cf. L. inhospitalis.]
- afar adv.
- At, to, or from a great distance; far away; -- often used with from preceding, or off following; as, he was seen from afar; I saw him afar off. [Pref. a-.(for on or of) + far.]
- amid prep.
- In the midst or middle of; surrounded or encompassed by; among. [OE. amidde, amiddes, on midden, AS. on middan, in the middle, fr. midde the middle. The s is an adverbial ending, originally marking the genitive; the t is a la]
- steeper n.
- A vessel, vat, or cistern, in which things are steeped.
- rightward adv.
- Toward the right.
- leftward adv.
- Toward or on the left side.
- massy a.
- Compacted into, or consisting of, a mass; having bulk and weight ot substance; ponderous; bulky and heavy; weight; heavy; as, a massy shield; a massy rock.
- rung n.
- A floor timber in a ship. [OE. ronge, AS. hrung, a staff, rod, pole; akin to G. runge a short, thick piece of iron or wood, OD. ronghe a prop, support, Icel. röng a rib in a ship, Goth. H]
- peal v. i.
- To appeal. Spencer.
- thrilling a.
- Causing a thrill; causing tremulous excitement; deeply moving; as, a thrilling romance.
- rushed a.
- Abounding or covered with rushes.
- eden n.
- The garden where Adam and Eve first dwelt; hence, a delightful region or residence. [Heb. eden delight, pleasure; also, a place of pleasure, Eden.]
- reverend a.
- Worthy of reverence; entitled to respect mingled with fear and affection; venerable. [F. révérend, L. reverendus, fr. revereri. See Revere.]
- favoured a.
- Countenanced; aided; regarded with kidness; as, a favored friend.
- foretaste n.
- A taste beforehand; enjoyment in advance; anticipation.
- beatitude n.
- Felicity of the highest kind; consummate bliss. [L. beatitudo: cf. F. béatitude. See Beatify.]
- reap n.
- A bundle of grain; a handful of grain laid down by the reaper as it is cut. Wright. [Cf. AS. rip harvest. See Reap, v.]
- meed v. t.
- To reward; to repay. Waytt.
- passively adv.
- In a passive manner; inertly; unresistingly.
- sunny a.
- Of or pertaining to the sun; proceeding from, or resembling the sun; hence, shining; bright; brilliant; radiant.
- sable n.
- A carnivorous animal of the Weasel family (Mustela zibellina) native of the northern latitudes of Europe, Asia, and America, -- noted for its fine, soft, and valuable fur. [OF. sable, F. zibeline sable (in sense 4), LL. sabellum; cf. D. sabel, Dan. sabel, zobel, Sw. sabel, sobel, G. zobel; all fr. Russ. sóbole.]
- twinkler n.
- One who, or that which, twinkles, or winks; a winker; an eye.
- rosier n.
- A rosebush; roses, collectively. [F., fr. L. rosarius of roses. Cf. Rosary.]
- thracian a.
- Of or pertaining to Thrace, or its people.
- orpheus n.
- The famous mythic Thracian poet, son of the Muse Calliope, and husband of Eurydice. He is reputed to have had power to entrance beasts and inanimate objects by the music of his lyre.
- sepulchre n.
- The place in which the dead body of a human being is interred, or a place set apart for that purpose; a grave; a tomb. [OE. sepulcre, OF. sepulcre, F. sépulcre, fr. L. sepulcrum, sepulchrum, fr. sepelire to bury.]
- dives n.
- The name popularly given to the rich man in our Lord's parable of the [L., rich.]
- brink n.
- The edge, margin, or border of a steep place, as of a precipice; a bank or edge, as of a river or pit; a verge; a border; as, the brink of a chasm. Also Fig. [Dan. brink edge, verge; akin to Sw. brink declivity, hill, Icel. brekka; cf. LG. brink a grassy hill, W. bryn hill, bryncyn hillock.]
- sate v. t.
- To satisfy the desire or appetite of; to satiate; to glut; to surfeit. [Probably shortened fr. satiate: cf. L. satus full. See Satiate.]
- aperture n.
- The act of opening. [L. apertura, fr. aperire. See Aperient.]
- rightly adv.
- Straightly; directly; in front. [AS. richtlice.]
- drank n.
- Wild oats, or darnel grass. See Drake a plant. [Cf. 3d Drake.]
- luscious a.
- Sweet; delicious; very grateful to the taste; toothsome; excessively sweet or rich. [Prob. for lustious, fr. lusty, or perh. a corruption of luxurious. Cf. Lush, Lusty.]
- immodest a.
- Not limited to due bounds; immoderate. [F. immodeste, L. immodestus immoderate; pref. im- not + modestus modest. See Modest.]
- virtuous a.
- Possessing or exhibiting virtue. Specifically: -- (a) Exhibiting manly courage and strength; valorous; valiant; brave. [OE. vertuous, OF. vertuos, vertuous, F. vertueux, fr. L. Virtuous. See Virtue, and cf. Virtuoso.]
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- festal a.
- Of or pertaining to a holiday or a feast; joyous; festive. [L. festum holiday, feast. See feast.]
- carousal n.
- A jovial feast or festival; a drunken revel; a carouse. [See Carouse, but also cf. F. carrousel tilt.]
- bade
- A form of the pat tense of Bid.
- araby n.
- The country of Arabia.
- ravisher n.
- One who ravishes (in any sense).
- unerring a.
- Committing no mistake; incapable or error or failure certain; sure; unfailing; as, the unerring wisdom of God.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Book VI is in the public domain. This text is taken from Thalaba the Destroyer, Project Gutenberg ebook #39804; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Robert Southey, Book VI, in Thalaba the Destroyer (1801), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #39804, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/southey-thalaba/book-vi.html, id L12177.
Form and metre
Book VI is 413 lines in 23 verse paragraphs. It is unrhymed, as far as the pronouncing dictionary can tell. 95% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 7.9 syllables. 25 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 40% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 2 ----A--A- cave · night · sense · joy · vergeA · lake · fumes · surgeA · sea
- 3 --A---A-- morn · rest · stoodA · eye · seen · strength · bloodA · steeds · down
- 4 ---A-----B-A-B eye · shape · caparisons · gayA · mouth · neck · heart · sent · guide · steedB · ground · delayA · thalaba · steedB
- 5 AB-AA---A---B---- plainA · steedB · wet · noonA · heavenA · spread · bank · reposed · downA · morning · up · dale · steedB · stops · descends · done · away
- 6 -------------A----BC-----AB--C eve · high · mist · heaven · ceased · heard · melody · want · steed · place · up · now · thirst · movedA · wave · air · path · rolled · fireB · lightC · prunes · flame · point · tree · wind · movedA · fireB · drowned · bedimmed · sightC
- 7 A---------------------A flameA · youth · rills · steam · hand · tide · tries · cold · draught · wave · toil · received · strength · power · steed · use · sleep · sound · oft · murmurings · caves · melody · cameA
- 8 A------B---B----A------- nightA · morn · eyes · vale · streams · deep · ran · stonesB · sky · each · all · stonesB · tints · forms · moss · gold · whiteA · sun · up · play · arms · bed · o'er · rills
- 11 -A-----A-A-- on · wayA · ascent · rocks · vale · hands · rock · wayA · seen · wayA · straits · wilds
- 12 -A--A------ glen · solitudeA · felt · ascent · tiredA · up · rock · vale · hewn · way · hinged
- 13 --A-----B----CB----A---C- gate · mouthed · tipA · breathed · blast · peal · arm · slow · rockB · gates · in · way · vault · lightC · rockB · path · closed · beside · mouth · tipA · again · horn · melody · lightC · eyes
- 14 ------A----A- long · way · boasts · palaces · gold · vale · grovesA · thalaba · dream · sense · eyes · grovesA · light
- 15 ---A--------A age · youth · exclaimed · paradiseA · world · deeds · here · beatitude · on · reap · meed · thou · paradiseA
- 16 -AA-------BC----------C-B-- left · muteA · muteA · received · sense · reach · arose · woods · gold · vale · lightB · upC · obelisks · colonades · walks · vine · wreaths · own · eyes · earth · streaked · snow · cupC · star · nightB · expands · leaves
- 17 --A--------A--- sounds · arose · songA · merriment · remote · groves · nightingale · toned · bird · mate · grave · songA · sepulchre · swell · loves
- 18 -A--A----A------------ vale · bowersA · wilderness · groves · breezeA · bear · tree · dives · shake · flowersA · impure · away · while · food · world · word · roll · paradise · gales · bliss · family · joy
- 19 ------------A----------A-- awake · thalaba · mirth · festivity · youth · heat · room · brink · train · frame · spread · refreshed · airA · panes · tinged · aperture · gleam · mist · all · played · edge · placed · waves · thereA · juice · grape
- 22 -A----A---------- banqueters · impureA · gazed · talisman · alchemy · refined · impureA · sight · maid · rushed · cheek · thought · joys · world · loved · crimes · written
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| So from the inmost cavern, Thalaba | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Retrod the windings of the rock. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Still on the ground the giant limbs | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Of Zohak were outstretched; | 6 | ····˘/ |
| The spell of sleep had ceased | 6 | ······ |
| And his broad eyes were glaring on the youth: | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Yet raised he not his arm to bar the way, | 10 | ·········· |
| Fearful to rouse the snakes | 6 | /˘···· |
| Now lingering o'er their meal. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Oh then, emerging from that dreadful cave, | 10 | ··˘/˘··/˘· |
| How grateful did the gale of night | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Salute his freshened sense! | 6 | ˘/·/˘· |
| How full of lightsome joy, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Thankful to Heaven, he hastens by the verge | 10 | /˘·/·/˘··· |
| Of that bitumen lake, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Whose black and heavy fumes, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Surge heaving after surge, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Rolled like the billowy and tumultuous sea. | 11 | ···/˘˘··/˘· |
| The song of many a bird at morn | 8 | ···/···· |
| Aroused him from his rest. | 6 | ˘/···· |
| Lo! by his side a courser stood! | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| More animate of eye, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Of form more faultless never had he seen, | 9 | ···/˘/··· |
| More light of limbs and beautiful in strength, | 9 | ·····/˘·· |
| Among the race whose blood, | 6 | ······ |
| Pure and unmingled, from the royal steeds | 9 | ······/˘· |
| Of Solomon came down. | 6 | ·/˘˘·· |
| The chosen Arab's eye | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| Glanced o'er his graceful shape, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| His rich caparisons, | 6 | ······ |
| His crimson trappings gay. | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| But when he saw the mouth | 6 | ······ |
| Uncurbed, the unbridled neck, | 7 | ···˘/˘· |
| Then flushed his cheek, and leapt his heart, | 8 | ········ |
| For sure he deemed that Heaven had sent | 8 | ·····/·· |
| The Courser, whom no erring hand should guide. | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| And lo! the eager Steed | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Throws his head and paws the ground, | 7 | ······· |
| Impatient of delay! | 6 | ˘/˘·˘/ |
| Then up leapt Thalaba | 6 | ······ |
| And away went the self-governed steed. | 9 | ·˘/···/˘· |
| Far over the plain | 5 | ····· |
| Away went the bridleless steed; | 8 | ˘/······ |
| With the dew of the morning his fetlocks were wet, | 12 | ·····/˘····· |
| The foam frothed his limbs in the journey of noon, | 11 | ·······/˘·· |
| Nor stayed he till over the westerly heaven | 9 | ······/˘/ |
| The shadows of evening had spread. | 8 | ·/··/˘·· |
| Then on a sheltered bank | 6 | ···/˘· |
| The appointed Youth reposed, | 7 | ·˘/˘·/· |
| And by him laid the docile courser down. | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| Again in the grey of the morning | 9 | ˘/·····/˘ |
| Thalaba bounded up, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Over hill, over dale | 6 | ······ |
| Away goes the bridleless steed. | 8 | ˘/······ |
| Again at eve he stops | 6 | ˘/···· |
| Again the Youth descends. | 6 | ˘/··˘/ |
| His load discharged, his errand done, | 8 | ··˘/·/˘· |
| Then bounded the courser away. | 8 | ·/˘·/˘˘/ |
| Heavy and dark the eve; | 6 | /˘···· |
| The Moon was hid on high, | 6 | ······ |
| A dim light only tinged the mist | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| That crost her in the path of Heaven. | 8 | ·······/ |
| All living sounds had ceased, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Only the flow of waters near was heard, | 10 | /˘···/˘··· |
| A low and lulling melody. | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| Fasting, yet not of want | 6 | /˘···· |
| Percipient, he on that mysterious steed | 10 | ˘/˘···˘/˘· |
| Had reached his resting place, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| For expectation kept his nature up. | 10 | ··˘/˘··/˘· |
| The flow of waters now | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Awoke a feverish thirst: | 6 | ˘/·/˘· |
| Led by the sound, he moved | 6 | ······ |
| To seek the grateful wave. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| A meteor in the hazy air | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Played before his path; | 6 | ·˘···· |
| Before him now it rolled | 6 | ······ |
| A globe of livid fire; | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| And now contracted to a steady light, | 9 | ··/˘··/˘· |
| As when the solitary hermit prunes | 10 | ···/˘·˘/˘· |
| His lamp's long undulating flame: | 8 | ···/˘·˘· |
| And now its wavy point | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Up-blazing rose, like a young cypress-tree | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| Swayed by the heavy wind; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Anon to Thalaba it moved, | 8 | ˘/······ |
| And wrapped him in its pale innocuous fire: | 10 | ······˘/˘/ |
| Now in the darkness drowned | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Left him with eyes bedimmed, | 6 | ······ |
| And now emerging spread the scene to sight. | 10 | ··˘/˘····· |
| Led by the sound, and meteor-flame | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Advanced the Arab youth. | 6 | ˘/·/˘· |
| Now to the nearest of the many rills | 9 | ···/˘··/· |
| He stoops; ascending steam | 6 | ··˘/˘· |
| Timely repels his hand, | 6 | /˘˘/·· |
| For from its source it sprung, a boiling tide. | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| A second course with better hap he tries, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| The wave intensly cold | 6 | ······ |
| Tempts to a copious draught. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| There was a virtue in the wave, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| His limbs that stiff with toil, | 6 | ······ |
| Dragged heavy, from the copious draught received | 10 | ·/˘··/˘·˘/ |
| Lightness and supple strength. | 6 | /˘·/˘· |
| O'erjoyed, and deeming the benignant Power | 9 | ··/˘·˘/˘/ |
| Who sent the reinless steed, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Had blessed the healing waters to his use | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| He laid him down to sleep; | 6 | ······ |
| Lulled by the soothing and incessant sound, | 10 | ···/˘·˘/˘· |
| The flow of many waters, blending oft | 9 | ···//˘/˘· |
| With shriller tones and deep low murmurings | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| That from the fountain caves | 6 | ···/˘· |
| In mingled melody | 6 | ·/˘/˘˘ |
| Like faery music, heard at midnight, came. | 10 | ···/˘··/·· |
| The sounds that last he heard at night | 8 | ········ |
| Awoke his sense at morn. | 6 | ˘/···· |
| A scene of wonders lay before his eyes. | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| In mazy windings o'er the vale | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Wandered a thousand streams; | 6 | /˘·/˘· |
| They in their endless flow had channelled deep | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| The rocky soil o'er which they ran, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Veining its thousand islet stones, | 8 | /˘·/˘/˘· |
| Like clouds that freckle o'er the summer sky, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| The blue etherial ocean circling each | 9 | ·····//˘· |
| And insulating all. | 6 | ·/˘·˘· |
| A thousand shapes they wore, those islet stones, | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| And Nature with her various tints | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Varied anew their thousand forms: | 8 | /˘˘/·/˘· |
| For some were green with moss, | 6 | ······ |
| Some rich with yellow lichen's gold, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Or ruddier tinged, or grey, or silver-white, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Or sparkling sparry radiance to the sun. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| Here gushed the fountains up, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Alternate light and blackness, like the play | 9 | /˘··/˘··· |
| Of sunbeams, on the warrior's burnished arms. | 10 | ·/···/˘/˘· |
| Yonder the river rolled, whose bed, | 8 | /˘·/˘··· |
| Their labyrinthine lingerings o'er | 8 | ··˘/·/˘· |
| Received the confluent rills. | 7 | ˘/·˘/˘· |
| This was a wild and wonderous scene, | 9 | ·····/˘˘· |
| Strange and beautiful, as where | 6 | ··/˘·· |
| By Oton-tala, like a sea of stars, | 10 | ·········· |
| The hundred sources of Hoangho burst. | 9 | ·/˘/˘···· |
| High mountains closed the vale, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Bare rocky mountains, to all living things | 10 | ·/˘/˘··/˘· |
| Inhospitable, on whose sides no herb | 8 | ˘/˘····· |
| Rooted, no insect fed, no bird awoke | 10 | /˘·/····˘/ |
| Their echoes, save the Eagle, strong of wing, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| A lonely plunderer, that afar | 9 | ·/˘/˘˘·˘/ |
| Sought in the vales his prey. | 6 | ······ |
| Thither towards those mountains, Thalaba | 9 | /˘··/˘··· |
| Advanced, for well he weened that there had Fate | 10 | ˘/········ |
| Destined the adventures end. | 7 | /˘·˘/˘· |
| Up a wide vale winding amid their depths, | 10 | ····/˘˘/·· |
| A stony vale between receding heights | 10 | ·/˘···˘/˘· |
| Of stone, he wound his way. | 6 | ······ |
| A cheerless place! the solitary Bee | 10 | ·/˘··/˘·˘· |
| Whose buzzing was the only sound of life | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| Flew there on restless wing, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Seeking in vain one blossom, where to fix. | 10 | /˘···/˘··· |
| Still Thalaba holds on, | 6 | ······ |
| The winding vale now narrows on his way, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| And steeper of ascent | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
| Rightward and leftward rise the rocks, | 7 | /·/˘··· |
| And now they meet across the vale. | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| Was it the toil of human hands | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| That hewed a passage in the rock, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Thro' whose rude portal-way | 6 | ···/˘· |
| The light of heaven was seen? | 6 | ···/·· |
| Rude and low the portal-way, | 7 | ····/˘· |
| Beyond the same ascending straits | 8 | ····˘/˘· |
| Went winding up the wilds. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Still a bare, silent, solitary glen, | 10 | ···/˘/˘·˘· |
| A fearful silence and a solitude | 10 | ·/˘/˘··/˘· |
| That made itself be felt. | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| And steeper now the ascent, | 7 | ·/˘··˘/ |
| A rugged path, that tired | 7 | ·/˘··/˘ |
| The straining muscles, toiling slowly up. | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘/˘· |
| At length again a rock | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| Stretched o'er the narrow vale. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| There also was a portal hewn, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| But gates of massy iron barred the way, | 9 | ···/˘/··· |
| Huge, solid, heavy-hinged. | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| There hung a horn beside the gate, | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| Ivory-tipt and brazen mouthed, | 7 | /˘··/˘· |
| He took the ivory tip, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| And thro' the brazen mouth he breathed; | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| From rock to rock rebounding rung the blast, | 10 | ····˘/˘··· |
| Like a long thunder peal! | 6 | ···/˘· |
| The gates of iron, by no human arm | 9 | ···/··/˘· |
| Unfolded, turning on their hinges slow, | 10 | ˘/˘/˘··/˘· |
| Disclosed the passage of the rock. | 8 | ˘/·/˘··· |
| He entered, and the iron gates | 7 | ·/˘··/· |
| Fell to, and closed him in. | 6 | ······ |
| It was a narrow winding way, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Dim lamps suspended from the vault | 8 | ··˘/˘··· |
| Lent to the gloom an agitated light. | 10 | ·····/˘·˘· |
| Winding it pierced the rock, | 6 | /˘···· |
| A long descending path | 6 | ··˘/˘· |
| By gates of iron closed; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| There also hung the horn beside | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
| Of ivory tip and brazen mouth, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Again he took the ivory tip | 8 | ˘/···/˘· |
| And gave the brazen mouth his voice again. | 10 | ···/˘···˘/ |
| Not now in thunder spake the horn, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| But poured a sweet and thrilling melody: | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| The gates flew open, and a flood of light | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Rushed on his dazzled eyes. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Was it to earthly Eden lost so long, | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| The youth had found the wonderous way? | 9 | ·····/˘˘· |
| But earthly Eden boasts | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| No terraced palaces, | 6 | ·/˘/˘˘ |
| No rich pavilions bright with woven gold. | 10 | ··˘/˘··/˘· |
| Like these that in the vale | 6 | ······ |
| Rise amid odorous groves. | 6 | ·˘//˘· |
| The astonished Thalaba | 7 | ·˘/˘··· |
| Doubting as tho' an unsubstantial dream | 10 | /˘········ |
| Beguiled his passive sense, | 6 | ˘/·/˘· |
| A moment closed his eyes; | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Still they were there ... the palaces and groves, | 9 | ·····/˘·· |
| And rich pavilions glittering golden light. | 10 | ··˘/˘/˘/˘· |
| And lo! a man, reverend in comely age | 10 | ····/˘·/˘· |
| Advancing meets the youth. | 6 | ˘/˘··· |
| "Favoured of Fortune," he exclaimed, | 8 | /˘·/˘·˘/ |
| "Go taste the joys of Paradise! | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| "The reinless steed that ranges o'er the world | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| "Brings hither those alone for lofty deeds | 10 | ·/˘·˘/·/˘· |
| "Marked by their horoscope; permitted here | 10 | ···/˘·˘/˘· |
| "A foretaste of the full beatitude, | 10 | ·/˘···˘/˘˘ |
| "That in heroic acts they may go on | 10 | ··˘/˘····· |
| "More ardent, eager to return and reap | 10 | ·/˘/˘·˘/·· |
| "Endless enjoyment here, their destined meed. | 10 | /˘˘/˘··/˘· |
| "Favoured of Fortune thou, | 6 | /˘·/˘· |
| "Go taste the joys of Paradise!" | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| This said, he turned away, and left | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| The Youth in wonder mute; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| For Thalaba stood mute | 6 | ······ |
| And passively received | 6 | ·/˘˘˘/ |
| The mingled joy that flowed on every sense. | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| Where'er his eye could reach | 7 | ˘˘/···· |
| Fair structures, rain bow-hued, arose; | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
| And rich pavilions thro' the opening woods | 10 | ··˘/˘··/˘· |
| Gleamed from their waving curtains sunny gold; | 10 | ···/˘/˘/˘· |
| And winding thro' the verdant vale | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Flowed streams of liquid light; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| And fluted cypresses reared up | 7 | ·/˘/˘·· |
| Their living obelisks; | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| And broad-leaved Zennars in long colonades | 10 | ·········· |
| O'er-arched delightful walks, | 6 | ··˘/˘· |
| Where round their trunks the thousand-tendril'd vine | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Wound up and hung the bows with greener wreaths, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| And clusters not their own. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Wearied with endless beauty did his eyes | 10 | /˘·/˘/˘··· |
| Return for rest? beside him teems the earth | 10 | ˘/··˘/···· |
| With tulips, like the ruddy evening streaked, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘· |
| And here the lily hangs her head of snow, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| And here amid her sable cup | 8 | ··˘/·/˘· |
| Shines the red eye-spot, like one brightest star | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| The solitary twinkler of the night, | 10 | ·/˘·˘/˘··· |
| And here the rose expands | 6 | ····˘/ |
| Her paradise of leaves. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Then on his ear what sounds | 6 | ······ |
| Of harmony arose! | 6 | ·/˘˘˘/ |
| Far music and the distance-mellowed song | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘· |
| From bowers of merriment; | 7 | ·/˘·/˘˘ |
| The waterfall remote; | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
| The murmuring of the leafy groves; | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| The single nightingale | 6 | ·/˘/˘˘ |
| Perched in the Rosier by, so richly toned, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| That never from that most melodious bird, | 9 | ·/···˘/˘· |
| Singing a love-song to his brooding mate, | 10 | /˘·····/˘· |
| Did Thracian shepherd by the grave | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Of Orpheus hear a sweeter song; | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Tho' there the Spirit of the Sepulchre | 8 | ···/···· |
| All his own power infuse, to swell | 8 | ···/˘/·· |
| The incense that he loves. | 6 | ·˘/··· |
| And oh! what odours the voluptuous vale | 10 | ···/˘·˘/˘· |
| Scatters from jasmine bowers. | 7 | /˘·/˘/˘ |
| From yon rose wilderness, | 6 | ···/˘˘ |
| From clustered henna, and from orange groves | 10 | ·/˘/˘··/˘· |
| That with such perfumes fill the breeze, | 8 | ···˘/··· |
| As Peris to their Sister bear, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| When from the summit of some lofty tree | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| She hangs encaged, the captive of the Dives. | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| They from their pinions shake | 6 | ···/˘· |
| The sweetness of celestial flowers, | 8 | ·/˘·˘/˘/ |
| And as her enemies impure | 7 | ···/˘˘/ |
| From that impervious poison far away | 10 | ··˘/˘/˘·˘/ |
| Fly groaning with the torment, she the while | 10 | ·/˘··/···· |
| Inhales her fragrant food. | 6 | ˘/·/˘· |
| Such odours flowed upon the world | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| When at Mohammed's nuptials, word | 8 | ··˘/˘/˘· |
| Went forth in Heaven to roll | 6 | ···/·· |
| The everlasting gates of Paradise | 10 | ··˘/˘··/˘· |
| Back on their living hinges, that its gales | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Might visit all below; the general bliss | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| Thrilled every bosom, and the family | 9 | ·/˘/˘··/˘ |
| Of man, for once partook one common joy. | 10 | ····˘/·/˘· |
| Full of the joy, yet still awake | 8 | ······˘/ |
| To wonder, on went Thalaba; | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| On every side the song of mirth, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| The music of festivity, | 7 | ·/˘·˘/˘ |
| Invite the passing youth. | 6 | ˘/·/˘· |
| Wearied at length with hunger and with heat | 10 | /˘···/˘··· |
| He enters in a banquet room, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Where round a fountain brink, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| On silken carpets sate the festive train. | 10 | ·/˘/˘··/˘· |
| Instant thro' all his frame | 6 | /˘···· |
| Delightful coolness spread; | 6 | ˘/˘/˘· |
| The playing fount refreshed | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
| The agitated air; | 6 | ·/˘·˘· |
| The very light came cooled thro' silvering panes | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| Of pearly shell, like the pale moon-beam tinged; | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Or where the wine-vase filled the aperture, | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Rosy as rising morn, or softer gleam | 10 | /˘·/˘··/˘· |
| Of saffron, like the sunny evening mist: | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘· |
| Thro' every hue, and streaked by all | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| The flowing fountain played. | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| Around the water-edge | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Vessels of wine, alternate placed, | 7 | /˘··/˘· |
| Ruby and amber, tinged its little waves. | 10 | /˘·/˘··/˘· |
| From golden goblets there | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| The guests sate quaffing the delicious juice | 10 | ······˘/˘· |
| Of Shiraz' golden grape. | 6 | ·˘//˘· |
| But Thalaba took not the draught | 8 | ········ |
| For rightly he knew had the Prophet forbidden | 11 | ·/˘····/˘/˘ |
| That beverage the mother of sins. | 8 | ·/˘·/˘·· |
| Nor did the urgent guests | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Proffer a second time the liquid fire | 10 | /˘·/˘··/˘/ |
| For in the youth's strong eye they saw | 8 | ········ |
| No moveable resolve. | 6 | ····˘/ |
| Yet not uncourteous, Thalaba | 8 | ········ |
| Drank the cool draught of innocence, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| That fragrant from its dewy vase | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Came purer than it left its native bed. | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| And he partook the odorous fruits, | 8 | ··˘/·/˘· |
| For all rich fruits were there. | 6 | ······ |
| Water-melons rough of rind, | 7 | /˘/˘··· |
| Whose pulp the thirsty lip | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Dissolved into a draught: | 6 | ˘/···· |
| Pistachios from the heavy-clustered trees | 11 | ˘/˘···/˘/˘· |
| Of Malavert, or Haleb's fertile soil, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| And Casbin's luscious grapes of amber hue, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| That many a week endure | 6 | ·/··˘/ |
| The summer sun intense, | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
| Till by its powerful fire | 6 | ···/˘/ |
| All watery particles exhaled, alone | 9 | ·/˘/˘˘/˘/ |
| The strong essential sweetness ripens there. | 10 | ··˘/˘/˘/˘· |
| Here cased in ice, the apricot, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| A topaz, crystal-set: | 6 | ·/·/˘· |
| Here on a plate of snow | 6 | ······ |
| The sunny orange rests, | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| And still the aloes and the sandal-wood | 10 | ···/···/˘· |
| From golden censers o'er the banquet room | 10 | ·/˘/˘··/˘· |
| Diffuse their dying sweets. | 6 | ˘/·/˘· |
| Anon a troop of females formed the dance | 10 | ˘/···/···· |
| Their ancles bound with bracelet-bells | 7 | ····/˘· |
| That made the modulating harmony. | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| Transparent garments to the greedy eye | 10 | ˘/˘/˘··/˘· |
| Gave all their harlot limbs, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| That writhed, in each immodest gesture skilled. | 10 | ····˘/˘/˘· |
| With earnest eyes the banqueters | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Fed on the sight impure; | 6 | ····˘/ |
| And Thalaba, he gazed, | 6 | ······ |
| But in his heart he bore a talisman | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Whose blessed Alchemy | 6 | ··˘/˘˘ |
| To virtuous thoughts refined | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
| The loose suggestions of the scene impure. | 10 | ··˘/˘···˘/ |
| Oneiza's image swam before his sight, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| His own Arabian Maid. | 6 | ··˘/˘· |
| He rose, and from the banquet room he rushed, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| And tears ran down his burning cheek, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And nature for a moment woke the thought | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| And murmured, that from all domestic joys | 10 | ·/˘···˘/˘· |
| Estranged, he wandered o'er the world | 8 | ˘/·/˘··· |
| A lonely being, far from all he loved. | 9 | ·/˘/····· |
| Son of Hodeirah, not among thy crimes | 10 | ·········· |
| That murmur shall be written! | 7 | ·/˘··/˘ |
| From tents of revelry, | 6 | ···/˘˘ |
| From festal bowers, to solitude he ran, | 10 | ·/˘/·/˘··· |
| And now he reached where all the rills | 8 | ········ |
| Of that well-watered garden in one tide | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Rolled their collected waves. | 6 | ··˘/˘· |
| A straight and stately bridge | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Stretched its long arches o'er the ample stream. | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Strong in the evening and distinct its shade | 10 | ···/˘·˘/·· |
| Lay on the watry mirror, and his eye | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Saw it united with its parent pile | 10 | ··˘/˘··/˘· |
| One huge fantastic fabric. Drawing near, | 10 | ··˘/˘/˘/˘· |
| Loud from the chambers of the bridge below, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Sounds of carousal came and song, | 8 | ··˘/˘··· |
| And unveiled women bade the advancing youth | 11 | ·˘//˘··˘/˘· |
| Come merry-make with them. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Unhearing or unheeding, Thalaba | 10 | ·········· |
| Past o'er with hurried pace, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| And plunged amid the forest solitude. | 10 | ··˘/·/˘/˘· |
| Deserts of Araby! | 6 | ˘/·/˘˘ |
| His soul returned to you. | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| He cast himself upon the earth | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| And closed his eyes, and called | 6 | ······ |
| The voluntary vision up. | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| A cry as of distress | 6 | ····˘/ |
| Aroused him; loud it came, and near! | 8 | ˘/······ |
| He started up, he strung his bow, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
The first 400 of 413 lines; the reader marks them all.
Notes from the edition 24
Southey's own notes to Thalaba the Destroyer (Project Gutenberg #39804).
- Stanza 3, line 9 The arabian horses are divided into two great branches; the Kadischi whose descent is unknown, and the Kochlani, of whom a written genealogy has been kept for 2000 years. These last are reserved for riding solely, they are highly esteemed and consequently very dear, they are said to derive their origin from King Solomon's studs, however this may be they are fit to bear the greatest fatigues, and can pass whole days without food, they are also said to show uncommon courage against an enemy, it is even asserted, that when a horse of this race finds himself wounded and unable to bear his rider much longer, he retires from the fray and conveys him to a place of security. If the rider falls upon the ground his horse remains beside him, and neighs till assistance is brought: the Kochlani are neither large nor handsome but amazingly swift, the whole race is divided into several families, each of which has its proper name. Some of these have a higher reputation than others, on account of their more ancient and uncontaminated nobility. Niebuhr.
- Stanza 6, line 30 In travelling by night thro' the vallies of Mount Ephraim, we were attended, for above the space of an hour, with an Ignis Fatuus, that displayed itself in a variety of extraordinary appearances. For it was sometimes globular, or like the flame of a candle; immediately after it would spread itself and involve our whole company in its pale inoffensive light, then at once contract itself and disappear. But in less than a minute it would again exert itself as at other times, or else, running along from one place to another with a swift progressive motion, would expand itself, at certain intervals over more than two or three acres of the adjacent mountains. The atmosphere from the beginning of the evening, had been remarkably thick and hazy, and the dew, as we felt it upon our bridles, was unusually clammy and unctuous. In the like disposition of the weather, I have observed those luminous bodies, which at sea skip about the masts and yards of ships, and are called Corpusanse[i] by the mariners. Shaw. [i] A corruption of Cuerpo Santo as this meteor is called by the Spaniards.
- Stanza 8, line 6 The Hammam Meskouteen, the Silent or Inchanted Baths, are situated on a low ground, surrounded with mountains. There are several fountains that furnish the water, which is of an intense heat, and falls afterwards into the Ze-nati. At a small distance from these hot fountains, we have others, which upon comparison are of as an intense a coldness; and a little below them, somewhat nearer the banks of the Ze-nati, there are the ruins of a few houses, built perhaps for the conveniency of such persons, who came hither for the benefit of the waters. Besides the strong sulphureous steams of the Hammam[j] Meskouteen, we are to observe farther of them, that their water is of so intense a heat, that the rocky ground it runs over, to the distance sometimes of a hundred foot, is dissolved, or rather calcined by it. When the substance of these rocks is soft and uniform, then the water by making every way equal impressions, leaveth them in the shape of cones or hemispheres; which being six foot high and a little more or less of the same diameter, the Arabs maintain to be so many tents of their predecessors turned into stone. But when these rocks, besides their usual soft chalky substance, contain likewise some layers of harder matter, not so easy to be dissolved, then, in proportion to the resistance the water is thereby to meet with, we are entertained with a confusion of traces and channels, distinguished by the Arabs into Sheep, Camels, Horses, nay into Men, Women and Children, whom they suppose to have undergone the like fate with their habitations. I observed that the fountains which afforded this water, had been frequently stopped up: or rather ceasing to run at one place, broke out immediately in another, which circumstance seems not only to account for the number of cones, but for that variety likewise of traces, that are continued from one or other of these cones or fountains, quite down to the river Zenati. [j] They call the Thermae of this country Hammams, from whence our Hummums. This place, in riding over it, giveth back such a hollow sound, that we were afraid every moment of sinking thro' it. It is probable therefore that the ground below us was hollow: and may not the air then, which is pent up within these caverns, afford, as we may suppose, in escaping continually thro' these fountains, that mixture of shrill, murmuring and deep sounds, which, according to the direction of the winds and the motion of the external air, issue out along with …
- Stanza 9, line 3 In the place where the Whang-ho rises, there are more than an hundred springs which sparkle like stars, whence it is called Hotun Nor, the Sea of Stars. These sources form two great lakes called Hala Nor, the black sea or lake; afterwards there appear 3 or 4 little rivers, which join'd form the Whang-ho, which has 8 or 9 branches. These sources of the river are called also Oton-tala. It is in Thibet. Gaubil. Astley's Collect. of Voy. and Travels. The Whang ho, or as the Portugueze call it Hoam-ho, i. e. the yellow River, rises not far from the source of the Ganges in the Tartarian mountains west of China, and having run thro' it with a course of more than six hundred leagues, discharges itself into the eastern sea. It hath its name from a yellow mud which always stains its water, and which after rains composes a third part of its quantity. The watermen clear it for use by throwing in alum. The Chinese say its waters cannot become clear in a thousand years; whence it is a common proverb among them for any thing which is never likely to happen, when the yellow river shall run clear. Note to the Chinese Tale Hau Kiou Choann.
- Stanza 11, line 11 Among the mountains of the Beni Abbess, four leagues to the S. E. of the Welled Mansoure, we pass thro' a narrow winding defile, which, for the space of near half a mile, lyeth on each side under an exceeding high precipice, at every winding, the Rock or Stratum, that originally went across it and thereby separated one valley from another, is cut into the fashion of a door case six or seven feet wide, giving thereby the Arabs an occasion to call them Beeban, the Gates; whilst the Turks in consideration of their strength and ruggedness, know them by the additional appellation of Dammer Cappy, the Gates of Iron. Few persons pass them without horror, a handful of men being able to dispute the passage with a whole Army. The rivulet of salt water which glides thro' this valley, might possibly first point out the way which art and necessity would afterwards improve. Shaw.
- Stanza 14, line 5 In 1568 the Persian Sultan gave the Grand Seigneur two most stately pavilions made of one piece, the curtains being interlaced with gold and the supporters imbroidred with the same, also nine fair conopies to hang over the ports of their pavilions, things not used among the Christians. Knolles.
- Stanza 16, line 14 The expences the Persians are at in their gardens is that wherein they make greatest ostentation of their wealth. Not that they much mind furnishing of them with delightful flowers as we do in Europe; but these they slight as an excessive liberality of Nature by whom their common fields are strewed with an infinite number of tulips and other flowers; but they are rather desirous to have their gardens full of all sorts of fruit trees, and especially to dispose them into pleasant walks of a kind of plane or poplar, a tree not known in Europe, which the Persians call Tzinnar. These trees grow up to the height of the Pine, and have very broad leaves not much unlike those of the vine. Their fruit hath some resemblance to the chesnut, while the outer coat is about it, but there is no kernel within it, so that it is not to be eaten. The wood thereof is very brown and full of veins, and the Persians use it in doors and shutters for windows, which being rubbed with oil, look incomparably better than any thing made of wallnut tree, nay indeed than the root of it which is now[k] so very much esteemed. Amb. Travels. [k] 1637.
- Stanza 16, line 21 Major Scott informs us that scars and wounds by Persian writers are compared to the streaky tints of the tulip. The simile here employed is equally obvious and more suited to its place.
- Stanza 16, line 23 "We pitched our tents among some little hills where there was a prodigious number of lillies of many colours, with which the ground was quite covered. None were white, they were mostly either of a rich violet with a red spot in the midst of each leaf, or of a fine black and these were the most esteemed. In form they were like our lillies, but much larger." Tavernier.
- Stanza 16, line 27 This was an expression of Ariosto in one of his smaller poems, I believe in a Madrigal. I cannot now quote the line.
- Stanza 17, line 12 The Thracians say that the nightingales which build their nests about the Sepulchre of Orpheus sing sweeter and louder than other nightingales. Pausanias. Gongora has addressed this Bird with somewhat more than his usual extravagance of absurdity, Con diferencia tal, con gracia tanta Aquel Ruisenor llora, que sospecho, Que tiene otros cien mil dentro del pecho, Que alternan su dolor por su garganta. With such a grace that Nightingale bewails That I suspect, so exquisite his note, An hundred thousand other Nightingales Within him, warble sorrow thro' his throat.
- Stanza 18, line 14 In the Caherman Nameh, the Dives having taken in war some of the Peris, imprisoned them in iron cages, which they hung from the highest trees they could find. There from time to time their companions visited them, with the most precious odours. These odours were the usual food of the Peris, and procured them also another advantage, for they prevented the Dives from approaching or molesting them. The Dives could not bear the perfumes, which rendered them gloomy and melancholy whenever they drew near the cage in which a Peri was suspended. D'Herbelot.
- Stanza 18, line 22 Nuptials of Mohammed and Cadijah.--Dum autem ad nuptias celebrandas solemnissimum convivium pararetur, concussus est Angelis admirantibus, thronus Dei: atque ipse Deus majestate plenus praecepit Custodi Paradisi, ut puellas, & pueros ejus cum festivis ornamentis educeret, & calices ad bibendum ordinatim disponeret: grandiores item puellas, & jam sororiantibus mammis praeditas, & juvenes illis coaevos, pretiosis vestibus indueret. Jussit proeterea Gabrielem vexillum laudis supra Meccanum Templum explicare. Tunc vero valles omnes & montes proe loetitia gestire caeperunt, & tota Mecca nocte illa velut olla super ignem imposita efferbuit.--Eodem tempore proecepit Deus Gabrieli, ut super omnes mortales unguenta pretiosissima dispergeret, admirantibus omnibus subitum illum atque insolitum odorem, quem in gratiam novorum conjugum divinitus exhalasse universi cognovere. Maracci.
- Stanza 19, line 9 Sclymus 2. received the Embassadors sitting upon a pallat which the Turks call Mastabe used by them in their chambers to sleep and to feed upon, covered with carpets of silk, as was the whole floor of the chamber also. Knolles. Among the presents that were exchanged between the Persian and Ottoman Sovereigns in 1568, were carpets of silk, of camel's hair, lesser ones of silk and gold, and some called Teftich; made of the finest lawn, and so large that seven men could scarcely carry one of them. Knolles. In the beautiful story of Ali Beg it is said Cha Sefi when he examined the house of his father's favourite was much surprized at seeing it so badly furnished with plain skins and coarse carpets, whereas the other Nobles in their houses trod only upon carpets of silk and gold. Tavernier.
- Stanza 19, line 15 On the way from Macao to Canton in the rivers and channels there is taken a vast quantity of oysters, of whose shells they make glass for the windows. Gemelli Careri. In the Chinese Novel Hau Kiou Choaan, we read Shueyping-sin ordered her servants to hang up a curtain of mother of pearl across the hall. She commanded the first table to be set for her guest without the curtain and two lighted tapers to be placed upon it. Afterwards she ordered a second table, but without any light, to be set for herself within the curtain, so that she could see every thing thro' it, unseen herself. Master George Turbervile in his letters form Muscovy 1568, describes the Russian windows They have no English glasse; of slices of a rocke Hight Sluda they their windows make, that English glasse doth mocke. They cut it very thinne, and sow it with a thred In pretie order like to panes, to serve their present need. No other glasse, good faith, doth give a better light, And sure the rock is nothing rich, the cost is very slight. Hakluyt. The Indians of Malabar use mother of pearl for window panes. Fra Paolino da San Batolomeo.
- Stanza 19, line 16 The King and the great Lords have a sort of cellar for magnificence, where they sometimes drink with persons whom they wish to regale. These cellars are square rooms, to which you descend by only two or three steps. In the middle is a small cistern of water, and a rich carpet covers the ground from the walls to the cistern. At the four corners of the cistern are four large glass bottles, each containing about twenty quarts of wine, one white, another red. From one to the other of these, smaller bottles are ranged of the same material and form, that is, round with a long neck, holding about four or five quarts, white and red alternately. Round the cellar are several rows of niches in the wall, and in each nich is a bottle also of red and white alternately.--Some niches are made to hold two. Some windows give light to the apartment, and all these bottles so well ranged with their various colours have a very fine effect to the eye. They are always kept full, the wine preserving better, and therefore are replenished as fast as they are emptied. Tavernier.
- Stanza 19, line 24 The Cuptzi, or King of Persia's merchant, treated us with a collation, which was served in, in plate vermilion-gilt. The Persians having left us, the Ambassadors sent to the Chief Weywode a present, which was a large drinking cup, vermilion-gilt. Ambassador's Travels. At Ispahan the King's horses were watered with silver pails thus coloured. The Turks and Persians seem wonderfully fond of gilding, we read of their gilt stirrups, gilt bridles, gilt maces, gilt scymetars, &c. &c.
- Stanza 20, line 3 Mohammedes vinum appellabat Matrem peccatorum; cui sententiae Hafez, Anacreon ille Persarum, minime ascribit suam; dicit autem "Acre illud (vinum) quod vir religiosus matrem peccatorum vocitat, Optabilius nobis ac dulcius videtur, quam virginis suavium." Poeseos Asiat. Com. Illide ignem illum nobis liquidum, Hoc est, ignem illum aquae similem affer. Hafez.
- Stanza 20, line 10 They export from Com earthen ware both white and varnished, and this is peculiar to the white ware which is thence transported, that in the summer it cools the water wonderfully and very suddenly, by reason of continual transpiration. So that they who desire to drink cool and deliciously, never drink in the same pot above five or six days at most. They wash it with rose water the first time, to take away the ill smell of the earth, and they hang it in the air full of water, wrapped up in a moist linen cloth. A fourth part of the water transpires in six hours the first time; after that still less from day to day, till at last the pores are closed up by the thick matter contained in the water which stops in the pores. But so soon as the pores are stopt, the water stinks in the pots, and you must take new ones. Chardin. In Egypt people of fortune burn Scio mastic in their cups, the penetrating odour of which pervades the porous substance, which remains impregnated with it a long time, and imparts to the water a perfume which requires the aid of habit to render it pleasing. Sonnini.
- Stanza 20, line 19 Casbin produces the fairest grape in Persia, which they call Shahoni, or the royal grape, being of a gold colour, transparent, and as big as a small olive. These grapes are dried and transported all over the kingdom. They also make the strongest wine in the world and the most luscious, but very thick as all strong and sweet wines usually are. This incomparable Grape grows only upon the young branches, which they never water. So that for five months together they grow in the heat of summer and under a scorching sun, without receiving a drop of water, either from the sky or otherwise. When the vintage is over, they let in their cattle to browze in the vineyards, afterwards they cut off all the great wood, and leave only the young stocks about three foot high, which need no propping up with poles as in other places, and therefore they never make use of any such supporters. Chardin.
- Stanza 20, line 25 Dr. Fryer received a present from the Caun of Bunder-Abassae of Apples candied in snow. When Tavernier made his first visit to the Kan at Erivan, he found him with several of his Officers regaling in the Chambers of the Bridge. They had wine which they cooled with ice, and all kinds of fruit and melons in large plates, under each of which was a plate of ice. A great number of camels were laden with snow to cool the liquors and fruit of the Caliph Mahadi, when he made the pilgrimage to Mecca.
- Stanza 21, line 2 Of the Indian dancing women who danced before the Ambassadors at Ispahan, "some were shod after a very strange manner, they had above the instep of the foot a string tied, with little bells fastened thereto, whereby they discovered the exactness of their cadence, and sometimes corrected the music itself; as they did also by the Tzarpanes or Castagnets, which they had in their hands, in the managing whereof they were very expert." At Koojar Mungo Park saw a dance "in which many performers assisted, all of whom were provided with little bells, which were fastened to their legs and arms."
- Stanza 21, line 4 At Seronge a sort of cloth is made so fine, that the skin may be seen thro' it, as tho' it were naked. Merchants are not permitted to export this, the Governor sending all that is made to the Seraglio of the Great Mogul and the chief Lords of his court. C'est de quoy les Sultanes & les femmes des Grands Seigneurs, se font des chemises, & des robes pour la chaleur, & le Roy & les Grands se plaisent a les voir au travers de ces chemises fines, & a les faire danser. Tavernier.
- Stanza 23, line 12 I came to a Village called Cupri-Kent, or the Village of the bridge, because there is a very fair bridge that stands not far from it, built upon a river called Tabadi. This bridge is placed between two mountains separated only by the river, and supported by four arches, unequal both in their height and breadth. They are built after an irregular form, in regard of two great heaps of a rock that stand in the river, upon which they laid so many arches. Those at the two ends are hollowed on both sides and serve to lodge passengers, wherein they have made to that purpose little chambers and porticos, with every one a chimney. The Arch in the middle of the river is hollowed quite thro' from one part to the other with two chambers at the ends, and two large balconies covered, where they take the cool air in the summer with great delight, and to which there is a descent of two pair of stairs hewn out of the rock, there is not a fairer bridge in all Georgia. Chardin. Over the river Isperuth "there is a very fair bridge, built on six arches, each whereof hath a spacious room, a kitchen and several other conveniences, lying even with water, the going down into it is by a stone pair of stairs, so that this bridge is able to find entertainment for a whole caravanne." Amb. Tr. The most magnificent of these bridges is the Bridge of Zulpha at Ispahan.
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