Book X

Robert Southey (1774–1843) · 1801

iambic trimeter · unrhymed · 464 lines · from Thalaba the Destroyer

Alone, beside a rivulet it standsThe Upas Tree of Death.Thro' barren banks the barren waters flow,The fish that meets them in the unmingling seaFloats poisoned on the waves.Tree grows not near, nor bush, nor flower, nor herb,The Earth has lost its parent powers of lifeAnd the fresh dew of Heaven that there descends,Steams in rank poison up.

Before the appointed Youth and MaimunaSaw the first struggle of the dying throng,Crash sunk their prison wall!The whirlwind wrapt them round;Borne in the Chariot of the WindsEre there was time to fear, their way was past,And lo! again they standIn the cave-dwelling of the blue-eyed Witch.

Then came the weakness of her natural ageAt once on Maimuna;The burthen of her yearsFell on her, and she knewThat her repentance in the sight of GodHad 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 hopeLit a last lustre, and in deathThe smile was on her cheek.

No faithful 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 raised by the way sideImplored the passing travellerTo 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 beganHis weary way of solitude.

The breath of the East is in his faceAnd 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 with the snow,His very heart is cold,His spirit chilled within him. He looks onIf 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 dullWith 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 sleepThe 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-treeThat woke him from the deadly drowsiness;Its broad, round-spreading branches when they feltThe 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 orb,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 ThalabaIs 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 lightNot 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 airFelt mild and fragrant, as the evening windPassing in summer o'er the coffee-grovesOf Yemen and its blessed bowers of balm.A Fount of Fire that in the centre played,Rolled all around its wonderous rivuletsAnd fed the garden with the heat of life.Every where magic! the Arabian's heartYearned after human intercourse.A light!... the door unclosed!...All silent ... he goes in.

There lay a Damsel sleeping on a couch,His step awoke her, and she gazed at himWith pleased and wondering look,Fearlessly, like a yearling childToo ignorant to fear.With words of courtesyThe young intruder spake.At the sound of his voice a joyKindled her bright black eyes;She rose and took his hand,But at the touch the smile forsook her cheek,"Oh! it is cold!" she cried,"I thought I should have felt it warm like mine,"But thou art like the rest!"

Thalaba stood mute awhileAnd wondering at her words:"Cold? Lady!" then he said; "I have travelled long"In this cold wilderness,"Till life is almost spent!"

I did not thinkSorrow and toil could so have altered me,That I seem otherwise.

And thou canst be warmSometimes? life-warm as I am?

Surely LadyAs others are, I am, to heat and coldSubject like all, you see a Traveller,Bound upon hard adventure, who requestsOnly to rest him here to-night, to-morrowHe will pursue his way.

Oh ... not to-morrow!Not like a dream of joy, depart so soon!And whither wouldst thou go? for all aroundIs everlasting winter, ice and snow,Deserts unpassable of endless frost.

He who has led me here will still sustain meThro' cold and hunger.

"Hunger?" Laila cried;She clapt her lilly hands,And whether from above or from belowIt came, sight could not see,So suddenly the floor was spread with food.

Why dost thou watch with hesitating eyesThe banquet? 'tis for thee! I bade it come.

Matters it from whence it cameMy father sent it: when I call, he hears.Nay ... thou hast fabled with me! and art likeThe forms that wait upon my solitude,Human to eye alone;... thy hunger would notQuestion so idly else.

I will not eat!It came by magic! fool to think that aughtBut fraud and danger could await me here!Let loose my cloak!...

Begone then, insolent!Why dost thou stand and gaze upon my face?Aye! watch the features well that threaten theeWith fraud and danger! in the wildernessThey shall avenge me,... in the hour of wantRise on thy view, and make thee feelHow innocent I am:And this remembered cowardice and insultWith a more painful shame will burn thy cheekThan now beats mine in anger!

Mark me Lady!Many and restless are my enemies;My daily paths have been beset with snaresTill I have learnt suspicion, bitter sufferingsTeaching the needful vice, if I have wronged you,And yours should be the face of innocence,I pray you pardon me! in the name of God,And of his Prophet, I partake your food.

Lo now! thou wert afraid of sorcery,And yet hast said a charm!

And wherefore?Is it not not delicate food? what mean thy words?I have heard many spells and many namesThat rule the Genii and the Elements,But never these.

How! never heard the namesOf God and of the Prophet?

Never ... nay nowAgain that troubled eye? thou art a strange manAnd wonderous fearful ... but I must not twiceBe charged with fraud! if thou suspectest still,Depart and leave me!

And you do not knowThe God that made you?

Made me, man! my FatherMade me. He made this dwelling, and the grove,And yonder fountain-fire, and every mornHe visits me, and takes the snow, and mouldsWomen and men, like thee; and breathes into themMotion, and life, and sense,... but to the touchThey are chilling cold, and ever when night closesThey melt away again, and leave me hereAlone and sad. Oh then how I rejoiceWhen it is day and my dear Father comes,And chears me with kind words and kinder looks!My dear, dear, Father! were it not for him,I am so weary of this loneliness,That I should wish I also were of snowThat I might melt away, and cease to be.

And have you always had your dwelling hereAmid this solitude of snow?

I think so.I can remember with unsteady feetTottering from room to room, and finding pleasureIn flowers and toys and sweetmeats, things that longHave lost their power to please; that when I see themRaise only now a melancholy wishI were the little trifler once againThat could be pleased so lightly!

Then you know notYour Father's art?

No. I besought him onceTo give me power like his, that where he wentI might go with him: but he shook his head,And said it was a power too dearly bought,And kist me with the tenderness of tears.

And wherefore has he hidden you thus farFrom all the ways of humankind?

'Twas fear,Fatherly fear and love. He read the starsAnd saw a danger in my destiny,And therefore placed me here amid the snows,And laid a spell that never human eye,If foot of man by chance should reach the depthOf this wide waste, shall see one trace of grove,Garden, or dwelling-place, or yonder fire,That thaws and mitigates the frozen sky.And more than this, even if the enemyShould come, I have a guardian here.

'Twas well that when my sight unclosed upon theeThere was no dark suspicion in thy face.Else I had called his succour! wilt thou see him?But if a Woman can have terrified thee,How wilt thou bare his unrelaxing browAnd lifted lightnings?

She took him by the handAnd thro' the porch they past.Over the garden and the groveThe fountain streams of firePoured a broad light like noon.A broad unnatural lightThat made the Rose's blush of beauty pale,And dimmed the rich Geranium's scarlet blaze.The various verdure of the groveNow wore one undistinguishable grey,Checqured with blacker shade.Suddenly Laila stopt,"I do not think thou art the enemy,"She said, "but He will know!"If thou hast meditated wrong"Stranger, depart in time...."I would not lead thee to thy death!"

The glance of Laila's eyeTurned anxiously toward the Arabian youth."So let him pierce my heart," cried Thalaba,"If it hide thought to harm you!"

'Tis a figure,Almost I fear to look at!... yet come on.'Twill ease me of a heaviness that seemsTo sink my heart; and thou mayest dwell here then.In safety;... for thou shalt not go to-morrow,Nor on the after, nor the after day,Nor ever! it was only solitudeThat made my misery here,...And now that I can see a human face,And hear a human voice....Oh no! thou wilt not leave me!

Alas I must not rest!The star that ruled at my nativityShone with a strange and blasting influence.O gentle Lady! I should draw upon youA killing curse.

But I will ask my FatherTo save you from all danger, and you know notThe wonders he can work, and when I askIt is not in his power to say me nay.Perhaps thou knowest the happiness it isTo have a tender father?

He was oneWhom like a loathsome leper I have taintedWith my contagious destiny. At eveningHe kist me as he wont, and laid his handsUpon my head, and blest me ere I slept.His dying groan awoke me, for the MurdererHad stolen upon our sleep! for me was meantThe midnight blow of death; my father died,The brother play-mates of my infancy,The baby at the breast, they perished all,All in that dreadful hour: but I was savedTo remember and revenge.

She answered not, for nowEmerging from the o'er-arched avenueThe finger of her upraised handMarked where the Guardian of the garden stood.It was a brazen Image, every limbAnd swelling vein and muscle, true to life:The left knee bending on,The other straight, firm planted, and his handLifted on high to hurlThe Lightning that it grasped.

When Thalaba approached,The charmed Image knew Hodeirah's son,And hurled the lightning at the dreaded foe.The Ring! the saviour Ring!Full in his face the lightning-bolt was driven,The scattered fire recoiled.Like the flowing of a summer gale he feltIts ineffectual force,His countenance was not changed,Nor a hair of his head was singed.

He started and his glanceTurned angrily upon the Maid,The sight disarmed suspicion ... breathless, pale,Against a tree she stood.Her wan lips quivering, and her eyeUpraised, in silent supplicating fear.

She started with a scream of joySeeing her Father there,And ran and threw her arms around his neck,"Save me!" she cried, "the Enemy is come!"Save me! save me! Okba!"

"Okba!" repeats the youth,For never since that hourWhen in the Tent the Spirit told his name,Had Thalaba let slipThe memory of his Father's murderer;"Okba!"... and in his handHe graspt an arrow-shaft.And he rushed on to strike him.

"Son of Hodeirah!" the Old Man replied,"My hour is not yet come."And putting forth his handGently he repelled the Youth."My hour is not yet come!"But thou mayest shed this innocent Maiden's blood,"That vengeance God allows thee."

Around her Father's neckStill Laila's hands were clasped.Her face was turned to Thalaba,A broad light floated o'er its marble paleness,As the wind waved the fountain fire.Her large, dilated eye in horror raisedWatched his every movement."Not upon her," said he,"Not upon her Hodeirah's blood cries out"For vengeance!" and again his lifted armThreatened the Sorcerer,Again withheld it feltThe barrier that no human strength could burst.

"Thou dost not aim the blow more eagerly,"Okba replied, "than I would rush to meet it!"But that were poor revenge."O Thalaba, thy God"Wreaks on the innocent head"His vengeance;... I must suffer in my child!"Why dost thou pause to strike thy victim? Allah"Permits, commands the deed."

"Liar!" quoth Thalaba.And Laila's wondering eyeLooked up, all anguish to her Father's face,"By Allah and the Prophet," he replied,"I speak the words of truth."Misery, misery,"That I must beg mine enemy to speed"The inevitable vengeance now so near!"I read it in her horoscope,"Her birth-star warned me of Hodeirah's race."I laid a spell, and called a Spirit up."He answered one must die"Laila or Thalaba...."Accursed Spirit! even in truth"Giving a lying hope!"Last, I ascended the seventh Heaven"And on the everlasting Table there"In characters of light,"I read her written doom."The years that it has gnawn me! and the load"Of sin that it has laid upon my soul!"Curse on this hand that in the only hour"The favouring stars allowed"Reeked with other blood than thine."Still dost thou stand and gaze incredulous?"Young man, be merciful, and keep her not"Longer in agony!"

Thalaba's unbelieving frownScowled on the Sorcerer,When in the air the rush of wings was heardAnd Azrael stood among them.In equal terror at the sightThe Enchanter, the Destroyer stood,And Laila, the victim maid.

"Son of Hodeirah!" said the Angel of Death,"The accursed fables not."When from the Eternal Hand I took"The yearly scroll of fate,"Her name was written there."This is the hour, and from thy hands"Commissioned to receive the Maid I come."

"Hear me O Angel!" Thalaba replied,"To avenge my Father's death,"To work the will of Heaven,"To root from earth the accursed sorcerer race,"I have dared danger undismayed,"I have lost all my soul held dear,"I am cut off from all the ties of life,"Unmurmuring; for whate'er awaits me still,"Pursuing to the end the enterprize,"Peril or pain, I bear a ready heart."But strike this Maid! this innocent!"Angel, I dare not do it."

"Remember," answered Azrael, "all thou sayest"Is written down for judgement! every word"In the balance of thy trial must be weighed!"

"So be it!" said the Youth."He who can read the secrets of the heart"Will judge with righteousness!"This is no doubtful path,"The voice of God within me cannot lie...."I will not harm the innocent."

He said, and from above,As tho' it were the Voice of Night,The startling answer came."Son of Hodeirah, think again!"One must depart from hence,"Laila, or Thalaba;"She dies for thee, or thou for her,"It must be life for life!"Son of Hodeirah, weigh it well,"While yet the choice is thine!"

He hesitated not,But looking upward spread his hands to Heaven,"Oneiza, in thy bower of Paradise"Receive me, still unstained!"

"What!" exclaimed Okba, "darest thou disobey,"Abandoning all claim"To Allah's longer aid?"

The eager exultation of his speechEarthward recalled the thoughts of Thalaba."And dost thou triumph, Murderer? dost thou deem"Because I perish, that the unsleeping lids"Of Justice shall be closed upon thy crime?"Poor, miserable man! that thou canst live"With such beast-blindness in the present joy"When o'er thy head the sword of God"Hangs for the certain stroke!"

"Servant of Allah, thou hast disobeyed,"God hath abandoned thee,"This hour is mine!" cried Okba,And shook his Daughter off,And drew the dagger from his vest.And aimed the deadly blow.

All was accomplished. Laila rushed betweenTo save the saviour Youth.She met the blow and sunk into his arms,And Azrael from the hands of ThalabaReceived her parting soul.

Words in this poem 61
favour n.
Kind regard; propitious aspect; countenance; friendly disposition; kindness; good will. [Written also favour.]
lustre n.
A period of five years; a lustrum. [L. lustrum: cf. F. lustre.]
bier n.
A handbarrow or portable frame on which a corpse is placed or borne to the grave. [OE. bæe, beere, AS. b, b; akin to D. baar, OHG. bara, G. bahre, Icel barar, Dbaare, L. feretrum, Gr. , from the same bear to produce. See 1st Bear, and cf. Barr]
iman n.
Among the Mohammedans, a minister or priest who performs the regular service of the mosque. [Ar. imam.]
corpse n.
A human body in general, whether living or dead; -- sometimes contemptuosly. [OF. cors (sometimes written corps), F. corps, L. corpus; akin to AS. hrif womb. See Midriff, and cf. Corse, Corselet, Corps, Cuerpo.]
requiem n.
A mass said or sung for the repose of a departed soul. [Acc. of L. requies rest, the first words of the Mass being "Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine," give eternal rest to them, O lord; pref. re- re + quies quiet. S]
sleet n.
The part of a mortar extending from the chamber to the trunnions.
aching a.
That aches; continuously painful. See Ache.
chilled a.
Hardened on the surface or edge by chilling; as, chilled iron; a chilled wheel.
ought p. p.
Was or were under obligation to pay; owed. [Orig. the preterit of the verb to owe. OE. oughte, aughte, ahte, AS. ahte. sq. root110. See Owe.]
heaviness n.
The state or quality of being heavy in its various senses; weight; sadness; sluggishness; oppression; thickness.
fain v. t.
To be glad ; to wish or desire.
shook v. t.
To pack, as staves, in a shook.
beamless a.
Not having a beam.
adown adv.
From a higher to a lower situation; downward; down, to or on the ground. [OE. adun, adoun, adune. AS. of dune off the hill. See Down.]
iced a.
Covered with ice; chilled with ice; as, iced water.
thitherward adv.
To ward that place; in that direction.
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]
centre v. i.
To be placed in a center; to be central.
unclosed a.
Not separated by inclosures; open. Clarendon. [Pref. un- not + closed.]
damsel n.
A young person, either male or female, of noble or gentle extraction; as, Damsel Pepin; Damsel Richard, Prince of Wales. [OE. damosel, damesel, damisel, damsel, fr. OF. damoisele, damisele, gentlewoman, F. demoiselle young lady; cf. OF. damoisel young nobleman, F. damoiseau; fr. LL]
yearling n.
An animal one year old, or in the second year of its age; -- applied chiefly to cattle, sheep, and horses. [Year + -ling.]
intruder n.
One who intrudes; one who thrusts himself in, or enters without right, or without leave or welcome; a trespasser.
awhile adv.
For a while; for some time; for a short time. [Adj. a + while time, interval.]
depart v. i.
To part; to divide; to separate. [OE. departen to divide, part, depart, F. départir to divide, distribute, se départir to separate one's self, depart; pref. dé- (L. de) + partir to part, depart,]
whither adv.
To what place; -- used interrogatively; as, whither goest thou [OE. whider. AS. hwider; akin to E. where, who; cf. Goth. hvadre whither. See Who, and cf. Hither, Thither.]
unpassable a.
Impassable. E. A. Freeman.
bade
A form of the pat tense of Bid.
hast
, 2d pers. sing. pres. of. Fave, contr. of havest.
aught n.
Property; possession. [AS. , fr. agan to own, p. p. ahte.]
await v. t.
To watch for; to look out for. [OF. awaitier, agaitier; (L. ad) + waitier, gaitier to watch, F. guetter. See Wait.]
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,]
needful a.
Full of need; in need or want; needy; distressing.
wherefore adv.
For which reason; so; -- used relatively. [Where + for.]
yonder adv.
At a distance, but within view. [OE. yonder, ýonder; cf. OD. ginder, Goth. jaindr there. Yond, adv.]
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.]
loneliness n.
The condition of being lonely; solitude; seclusion.
went n.
Course; way; path; journey; direction.
kist n.
A chest; hence, a coffin. Jamieson. [See Chest.]
fatherly a.
Like a father in affection and care; paternal; tender; protecting; careful.
succour v. t.
tiono run to, or run to support; hence, to help or relieve when in difficulty, want, or distress; to assist and deliver from suffering; to relieve; as, to succor a besieged city. [OE. socouren, OF. sucurre, soucourre, secorre, F. secourir, L. succurrere, succursum, to run under, run to the aid of, help, succor; sub under + currere to run.]
anxiously adv.
In an anxious manner; with painful uncertainty; solicitously.
dwell v. i.
To delay; to linger. [OE. dwellen, dwelien, to err, linger, AS. dwellan to deceive, hinder, delay, dwelian to err; akin to Icel. dvelja to delay, tarry, Sw. dväljas to dwell, Dan. dv]
shalt
2d per. sing. of Shall.
leper n.
A person affected with leprosy.
dreadful a.
Full of dread or terror; fearful.
avenue n.
A way or opening for entrance into a place; a passage by which a place may by reached; a way of approach or of exit. [F. avenue, fr. avenir to come to, L. advenire. See Advene.]
saviour n.
One who saves, preserves, or delivers from destruction or danger. [OE. saveour, OF. salveor, F. sauveur, fr. L. salvator to save. See Save, v.]
disarmed a.
Deprived of arms.
breathless a.
Spent with labor or violent action; out of breath.
rushed a.
Abounding or covered with rushes.
allah n.
The name of the Supreme Being, in use among the Arabs and the Mohammedans generally. [contr. fr. the article al the + ilah God.]
liar n.
A person who knowingly utters falsehood; one who lies. [OE. liere. See Lie to falsify.]
quoth v. t.
Said; spoke; uttered; -- used only in the first and third persons in the past tenses, and always followed by its nominative, the word or words said being the object; as, quoth I. quoth he. [AS.cweedhan, imp cwæedh, pl. cwædon; akin to OS. queedhan, OHG. quethan, quedan, Icel. kveedha, Goth. qiþan. sq. root22. Cf. Bequeath.]
incredulous a.
Not credulous; indisposed to admit or accept that which is related as true, skeptical; unbelieving. [L. incredulus. See In- not, and Credulous.]
unbelieving a.
Not believing; incredulous; doubting; distrusting; skeptical.
enchanter n.
One who enchants; a sorcerer or magician; also, one who delights as by an enchantment. [Cf. F. enchanteur.]
righteousness n.
The quality or state of being righteous; holiness; purity; uprightness; rectitude. [AS. rihtwisnes.]
earthward adv.
Toward the earth; -- opposed to heavenward or skyward.
deem v. t.
To decide; to judge; to sentence; to condemn. [OE. demen to judge, condemn, AS. d, fr. d doom; akin to OFries. d, OS. ad, D. doemen, OHG. tuommen, Icel. dæma, Sw. dömma, Dan. dömme, Goth. d. See Doom, n., an]
vest n.
An article of clothing covering the person; an outer garment; a vestment; a dress; a vesture; a robe. [L. vestis a garment, vesture; akin to Goth. wasti, and E. wear: cf. F. veste. See Wear to carry on the person, and cf. Divest, Invest, Travesty.]

Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.

About this text

Book X 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 X, in Thalaba the Destroyer (1801), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #39804, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/southey-thalaba/book-x.html, id L12181.

Form and metre

Book X is 464 lines in 61 verse paragraphs. It is unrhymed, as far as the pronouncing dictionary can tell. 96% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.1 syllables. 62 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 34% 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.

  1. 4 A---A------- bierA · deeds · wept · corpse · prayerA · side · traveller · dead · snow · hearth · began · solitude
  2. 5 -A-BAB----A------CD-CC--D- face · snowA · keen · coldB · snowA · coldB · on · near · wilderness · pine · snowA · dull · suffer · languidly · along · lids · heaviness · sleepC · thalabaD · come · sleepC · sleepC · yet · fulfilled · thalabaD · goal
  3. 7 -----A----A- sun · orb · sky · fire · wind · snowA · hair · thalaba · lips · darkness · snowA · view
  4. 21 AB-BA----- insolentA · faceB · thee · wildernessB · wantA · feel · am · insult · cheek · anger
  5. 28 --------A---A-- father · grove · morn · moulds · them · touch · closes · here · rejoiceA · comes · looks · him · lonelinessA · snow · be
  6. 34 A---B---B-A fearA · stars · destiny · snows · eyeB · depth · grove · fire · skyB · enemy · hereA
  7. 35 A--A-- theeA · face · him · theeA · brow · lightnings
  8. 36 --A-----A-------- hand · past · groveA · fire · noon · light · pale · blaze · groveA · grey · shade · stopt · enemy · know · wrong · time · death
  9. 40 A----A fatherA · not · ask · nay · is · fatherA
  10. 42 --A----A-- now · avenue · handA · stood · limb · life · on · handA · hurl · grasped
  11. 43 -A--A----- approached · sonA · foe · ring · drivenA · recoiled · felt · force · changed · singed
  12. 47 -A--A-- replied · comeA · hand · youth · comeA · blood · thee
  13. 50 ABC-D---EC-BADE------------ thalabaA · eyeB · faceC · replied · truthD · misery · speed · near · horoscopeE · raceC · up · dieB · thalabaA · truthD · hopeE · heaven · there · light · doom · load · soul · hour · allowed · thine · incredulous · not · agony
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.

LineSyl.Stress
Alone, beside a rivulet it stands10˘/˘/·/˘˘··
The Upas Tree of Death.6·/˘···
Thro' barren banks the barren waters flow,10·/˘··/˘/˘·
The fish that meets them in the unmingling sea11···········
Floats poisoned on the waves.6·/˘···
Tree grows not near, nor bush, nor flower, nor herb,10·······/··
The Earth has lost its parent powers of life10·····/˘/··
And the fresh dew of Heaven that there descends,10·····/··˘/
Steams in rank poison up.6···/˘·
Before the appointed Youth and Maimuna11···˘/˘·····
Saw the first struggle of the dying throng,10···/˘··/˘·
Crash sunk their prison wall!6···/˘·
The whirlwind wrapt them round;6·/····
Borne in the Chariot of the Winds8···/˘···
Ere there was time to fear, their way was past,10··········
And lo! again they stand6··˘/··
In the cave-dwelling of the blue-eyed Witch.10···/˘·····
Then came the weakness of her natural age10···/˘··/˘·
At once on Maimuna;6······
The burthen of her years6·/˘···
Fell on her, and she knew6······
That her repentance in the sight of God10··˘/˘·····
Had now found favour, and her hour was come.10···/˘··/··
Her death was like the righteous; "Turn my face10·····/˘···
"To Mecca!" in her languid eyes.8·/˘··/˘·
The joy of certain hope6···/˘·
Lit a last lustre, and in death8···/˘···
The smile was on her cheek.6······
No faithful crowded round her bier,8·/˘/˘···
No tongue reported her good deeds,8···/˘···
For her no mourners wailed and wept,8···/˘···
No Iman o'er her perfumed corpse,8·/˘··˘/·
For her soul's health intoned the prayer;8····˘/··
No column raised by the way side8·/˘·····
Implored the passing traveller7˘/·/˘/˘
To say a requiem for the dead.8···/˘···
Thalaba laid her in the snow,8········
And took his weapons from the hearth,8···/˘···
And then once more the youth began8······˘/
His weary way of solitude.8·/˘··/˘·
The breath of the East is in his face9·········
And it drives the sleet and the snow.8········
The air is keen, the wind is keen,8········
His limbs are aching with the cold,8···/˘···
His eyes are aching with the snow,8···/˘···
His very heart is cold,6·/˘···
His spirit chilled within him. He looks on9·/·······
If ought of life be near,6······
But all is sky and the white wilderness,9·······/˘
And here and there a solitary pine,10·····/˘·˘·
Its branches broken by the weight of snow.10·/˘/˘·····
His pains abate, his senses dull8··˘/·/˘·
With suffering, cease to suffer.7·/˘··/˘
Languidly, languidly,6······
Thalaba drags along,6····˘/
A heavy weight is on his lids,8·/˘·····
His limbs move slow with heaviness,8·····/˘˘
And he full fain would sleep.6······
Not yet, not yet, O Thalaba!8········
Thy hour of rest is come;6·/····
Not yet may the Destroyer sleep8····˘/˘·
The comfortable sleep,6·/˘˘˘·
His journey is not over yet,7·/˘····
His course not yet fulfilled;...6····˘/
Run thou thy race, O Thalaba!8········
The prize is at the goal.6······
It was a Cedar-tree6···/˘·
That woke him from the deadly drowsiness;9·····/˘/˘
Its broad, round-spreading branches when they felt10···/˘/˘···
The snow, rose upward in a point to heaven,10···/˘····/
And standing in their strength erect,8·/˘···˘/
Defied the baffled storm.6˘/·/˘·
He knew the lesson Nature gave,8···/˘/˘·
And he shook off his heaviness,8·····/˘˘
And hope revived within him.7··˘/···
Now sunk the evening sun,6···/˘·
A broad, red, beamless orb,6···/˘·
Adown the glowing sky;6˘/·/˘·
Thro' the red light the snow-flakes fell, like fire.10·········/
Louder grows the biting wind,6/··/˘·
And it drifts the dust of the snow.8········
The snow is clotted in his hair,8···/˘···
The breath of Thalaba6······
Is iced upon his lips.6······
He looks around, the darkness,7·····/˘
The dizzy floating of the snow,8·/˘/˘···
Close in his narrow view.6···/˘·
At length thro' the thick atmosphere a light10·····/˘···
Not distant far appears.6·/˘·˘/
He doubting other wiles of enmity,9·/˘/˘··/˘
With mingled joy and quicker step,8·/˘··/˘·
Bends his way thitherward.6···/˘˘
It was a little, lowly dwelling place,10···/˘/˘/˘·
Amid a garden, whose delightful air10˘/·/˘·˘/˘·
Felt mild and fragrant, as the evening wind10···/˘··/˘·
Passing in summer o'er the coffee-groves10/˘·/˘··/˘·
Of Yemen and its blessed bowers of balm.9·/˘···/··
A Fount of Fire that in the centre played,10···/···/˘·
Rolled all around its wonderous rivulets11·····/˘˘···
And fed the garden with the heat of life.10···/˘·····
Every where magic! the Arabian's heart10/˘·/˘·˘/˘·
Yearned after human intercourse.8···/˘/˘·
A light!... the door unclosed!...6····˘/
All silent ... he goes in.6·/˘···
There lay a Damsel sleeping on a couch,10···/˘/˘···
His step awoke her, and she gazed at him10··˘/······
With pleased and wondering look,6···/˘·
Fearlessly, like a yearling child8·····/˘·
Too ignorant to fear.6·/˘˘··
With words of courtesy6···/˘˘
The young intruder spake.6··˘/˘·
At the sound of his voice a joy8········
Kindled her bright black eyes;6/˘····
She rose and took his hand,6······
But at the touch the smile forsook her cheek,10······˘/··
"Oh! it is cold!" she cried,6······
"I thought I should have felt it warm like mine,10··········
"But thou art like the rest!"6······
Thalaba stood mute awhile7·····˘/
And wondering at her words:6·/˘···
"Cold? Lady!" then he said; "I have travelled long11·/˘·····/˘·
"In this cold wilderness,6···/˘˘
"Till life is almost spent!"6···/··
I did not think4····
Sorrow and toil could so have altered me,10/˘·····/˘·
That I seem otherwise.6···/˘·
And thou canst be warm5·····
Sometimes? life-warm as I am?7˘/·····
Surely Lady4/˘/˘
As others are, I am, to heat and cold10·/˘·······
Subject like all, you see a Traveller,9˘/·····/˘
Bound upon hard adventure, who requests10····˘/˘·˘/
Only to rest him here to-night, to-morrow11/˘·······/˘
He will pursue his way.6··˘/··
Oh ... not to-morrow!5···/˘
Not like a dream of joy, depart so soon!10······˘/··
And whither wouldst thou go? for all around10·/˘·······
Is everlasting winter, ice and snow,10··˘/˘/˘···
Deserts unpassable of endless frost.10˘/˘/˘˘·/˘·
He who has led me here will still sustain me11········˘/·
Thro' cold and hunger.5···/˘
"Hunger?" Laila cried;5/˘···
She clapt her lilly hands,6···/˘·
And whether from above or from below10··········
It came, sight could not see,6······
So suddenly the floor was spread with food.9·/˘······
Why dost thou watch with hesitating eyes10·····/˘·˘·
The banquet? 'tis for thee! I bade it come.10·/˘·······
Matters it from whence it came7/˘·····
My father sent it: when I call, he hears.10·/˘·······
Nay ... thou hast fabled with me! and art like10···/˘·····
The forms that wait upon my solitude,10·······/˘·
Human to eye alone;... thy hunger would not11/˘··˘/·/˘··
Question so idly else.6/˘·/˘·
I will not eat!4····
It came by magic! fool to think that aught10···/˘·····
But fraud and danger could await me here!10···/˘·˘/··
Let loose my cloak!...4····
Begone then, insolent!6˘/·/˘˘
Why dost thou stand and gaze upon my face?10··········
Aye! watch the features well that threaten thee10···/˘··/˘·
With fraud and danger! in the wilderness9···/˘··/˘
They shall avenge me,... in the hour of want10··˘/···/··
Rise on thy view, and make thee feel8········
How innocent I am:6·/˘˘··
And this remembered cowardice and insult10··˘/˘/˘·˘/
With a more painful shame will burn thy cheek10···/˘·····
Than now beats mine in anger!7·····/˘
Mark me Lady!4··/˘
Many and restless are my enemies;8/·/˘··/˘
My daily paths have been beset with snares10·/˘···˘/··
Till I have learnt suspicion, bitter sufferings11····˘/˘/˘/˘
Teaching the needful vice, if I have wronged you,11/˘·/˘······
And yours should be the face of innocence,9·······/˘
I pray you pardon me! in the name of God,11···/˘······
And of his Prophet, I partake your food.10···/˘·˘/··
Lo now! thou wert afraid of sorcery,9····˘/·/˘
And yet hast said a charm!6······
And wherefore?3·/˘
Is it not not delicate food? what mean thy words?11····/˘·····
I have heard many spells and many names8···/··/·
That rule the Genii and the Elements,9·······/˘
But never these.4·/˘·
How! never heard the names6·/˘···
Of God and of the Prophet?7·····/˘
Never ... nay now4/˘··
Again that troubled eye? thou art a strange man11˘/·/˘······
And wonderous fearful ... but I must not twice11·/˘˘/˘·····
Be charged with fraud! if thou suspectest still,10······˘/˘·
Depart and leave me!5˘/···
And you do not know5·····
The God that made you?5·····
Made me, man! my Father6····/˘
Made me. He made this dwelling, and the grove,10·····/˘···
And yonder fountain-fire, and every morn10·/˘/˘/·/˘·
He visits me, and takes the snow, and moulds10·/˘·······
Women and men, like thee; and breathes into them11/˘·········
Motion, and life, and sense,... but to the touch10/˘········
They are chilling cold, and ever when night closes11··/˘··/··/˘
They melt away again, and leave me here10··˘/˘/····
Alone and sad. Oh then how I rejoice10˘/······˘/
When it is day and my dear Father comes,10·······/˘·
And chears me with kind words and kinder looks!9·······/·
My dear, dear, Father! were it not for him,10···/˘·····
I am so weary of this loneliness,9···/˘··/˘
That I should wish I also were of snow10·····/˘···
That I might melt away, and cease to be.10····˘/····
And have you always had your dwelling here10···/···/˘·
Amid this solitude of snow?8˘/·/˘···
I think so.3···
I can remember with unsteady feet10··˘/˘·˘/˘·
Tottering from room to room, and finding pleasure11/˘·····/˘/˘
In flowers and toys and sweetmeats, things that long10·/········
Have lost their power to please; that when I see them11···/·······
Raise only now a melancholy wish10·/˘··/˘·˘·
I were the little trifler once again10···/˘/˘·˘/
That could be pleased so lightly!7·····/˘
Then you know not4····
Your Father's art?4·/˘·
No. I besought him once6··˘/··
To give me power like his, that where he went10···/······
I might go with him: but he shook his head,10··········
And said it was a power too dearly bought,10·····/·/˘·
And kist me with the tenderness of tears.9·····/˘··
And wherefore has he hidden you thus far10·/˘··/˘···
From all the ways of humankind?8·····/˘·
'Twas fear,2··
Fatherly fear and love. He read the stars9/˘·······
And saw a danger in my destiny,9···/˘··/˘
And therefore placed me here amid the snows,10······˘/··
And laid a spell that never human eye,9·····//˘·
If foot of man by chance should reach the depth10··········
Of this wide waste, shall see one trace of grove,10··········
Garden, or dwelling-place, or yonder fire,10/˘·/˘··/˘/
That thaws and mitigates the frozen sky.10···/˘··/˘·
And more than this, even if the enemy9····/··/˘
Should come, I have a guardian here.8·····/˘·
'Twas well that when my sight unclosed upon thee11······˘/···
There was no dark suspicion in thy face.10····˘/˘···
Else I had called his succour! wilt thou see him?11·····/˘····
But if a Woman can have terrified thee,11···/˘··/˘··
How wilt thou bare his unrelaxing brow10··········
And lifted lightnings?5·/˘/˘
She took him by the hand6······
And thro' the porch they past.6······
Over the garden and the grove7··/˘···
The fountain streams of fire7·/˘··/˘
Poured a broad light like noon.6······
A broad unnatural light6··˘/˘·
That made the Rose's blush of beauty pale,10···/˘··/˘·
And dimmed the rich Geranium's scarlet blaze.10····˘/˘/˘·
The various verdure of the grove8·/˘/˘···
Now wore one undistinguishable grey,10··········
Checqured with blacker shade.6···/˘·
Suddenly Laila stopt,6/˘˘···
"I do not think thou art the enemy,"9·······/˘
She said, "but He will know!6······
"If thou hast meditated wrong8···/˘·˘·
"Stranger, depart in time....6/˘˘/··
"I would not lead thee to thy death!"8········
The glance of Laila's eye6······
Turned anxiously toward the Arabian youth.10·/˘···˘/˘·
"So let him pierce my heart," cried Thalaba,10··········
"If it hide thought to harm you!"7·······
'Tis a figure,4··/˘
Almost I fear to look at!... yet come on.10/·········
'Twill ease me of a heaviness that seems10·····/˘˘··
To sink my heart; and thou mayest dwell here then.10··········
In safety;... for thou shalt not go to-morrow,11·/˘······/˘
Nor on the after, nor the after day,10··········
Nor ever! it was only solitude9·/··/˘/˘·
That made my misery here,...6···/˘·
And now that I can see a human face,10·······/˘·
And hear a human voice....6···/˘·
Oh no! thou wilt not leave me!7·······
Alas I must not rest!6˘/····
The star that ruled at my nativity9······˘/˘
Shone with a strange and blasting influence.9·····/˘/˘
O gentle Lady! I should draw upon you11·/˘/˘······
A killing curse.4·/˘·
But I will ask my Father7·····/˘
To save you from all danger, and you know not11·····/˘····
The wonders he can work, and when I ask10·/˘·······
It is not in his power to say me nay.10·····/····
Perhaps thou knowest the happiness it is10˘/·/˘·/˘··
To have a tender father?7···/˘/˘
He was one3···
Whom like a loathsome leper I have tainted11···/˘/˘··/˘
With my contagious destiny. At evening10··˘/˘/˘·/˘
He kist me as he wont, and laid his hands10··········
Upon my head, and blest me ere I slept.10··········
His dying groan awoke me, for the Murderer11·/˘·˘/···/˘
Had stolen upon our sleep! for me was meant11·/˘··/·····
The midnight blow of death; my father died,10·/·····/˘·
The brother play-mates of my infancy,9·/˘····/˘
The baby at the breast, they perished all,10·/˘····/˘·
All in that dreadful hour: but I was saved10···/˘/····
To remember and revenge.7·˘/˘·˘/
She answered not, for now6·/˘···
Emerging from the o'er-arched avenue10˘/˘····/˘·
The finger of her upraised hand8·/˘·····
Marked where the Guardian of the garden stood.10···/˘··/˘·
It was a brazen Image, every limb10···/˘/˘/˘·
And swelling vein and muscle, true to life:10·/˘··/˘···
The left knee bending on,6···/˘·
The other straight, firm planted, and his hand10·/˘··/˘···
Lifted on high to hurl6/˘····
The Lightning that it grasped.6·/˘···
When Thalaba approached,6····˘/
The charmed Image knew Hodeirah's son,9··/˘·····
And hurled the lightning at the dreaded foe.10···/˘··/˘·
The Ring! the saviour Ring!6···/˘·
Full in his face the lightning-bolt was driven,10·····/˘··/
The scattered fire recoiled.6·/˘/˘/
Like the flowing of a summer gale he felt10··/··/˘···
Its ineffectual force,6··˘/˘·
His countenance was not changed,6·/˘···
Nor a hair of his head was singed.8········
He started and his glance6·/˘···
Turned angrily upon the Maid,7·/˘····
The sight disarmed suspicion ... breathless, pale,10··˘/˘/˘/˘·
Against a tree she stood.6······
Her wan lips quivering, and her eye8···/˘···
Upraised, in silent supplicating fear.10···/˘·····
She started with a scream of joy8·/˘·····
Seeing her Father there,6/˘·/˘·
And ran and threw her arms around his neck,10··········
"Save me!" she cried, "the Enemy is come!9·····/˘··
"Save me! save me! Okba!"6······
"Okba!" repeats the youth,6··˘/··
For never since that hour7·/˘··/˘
When in the Tent the Spirit told his name,9·····/···
Had Thalaba let slip6······
The memory of his Father's murderer;9·/˘··/˘/˘
"Okba!"... and in his hand6······
He graspt an arrow-shaft.6···/˘·
And he rushed on to strike him.7·······
"Son of Hodeirah!" the Old Man replied,10········˘/
"My hour is not yet come."6·/····
And putting forth his hand6·/˘···
Gently he repelled the Youth.7/˘·˘/··
"My hour is not yet come!6·/····
"But thou mayest shed this innocent Maiden's blood,10·····/˘/˘·
"That vengeance God allows thee."7·/˘·˘/·
Around her Father's neck6···/˘·
Still Laila's hands were clasped.6······
Her face was turned to Thalaba,8········
A broad light floated o'er its marble paleness,11···/˘··/˘/˘
As the wind waved the fountain fire.8·····/˘/
Her large, dilated eye in horror raised10··˘/˘··/˘·
Watched his every movement.7··/˘˘/˘
"Not upon her," said he,6······
"Not upon her Hodeirah's blood cries out10··········
"For vengeance!" and again his lifted arm10·/˘·˘/·/˘·
Threatened the Sorcerer,6/˘·/˘˘
Again withheld it felt6˘/˘/··
The barrier that no human strength could burst.10·/˘··/˘···
"Thou dost not aim the blow more eagerly,"9·······/˘
Okba replied, "than I would rush to meet it!11··˘/·······
"But that were poor revenge.6····˘/
"O Thalaba, thy God6······
"Wreaks on the innocent head6···/˘·
"His vengeance;... I must suffer in my child!10·/˘··/˘···
"Why dost thou pause to strike thy victim? Allah11·······/˘/˘
"Permits, commands the deed."6˘/˘/··
"Liar!" quoth Thalaba.6/˘····
And Laila's wondering eye6···/˘·
Looked up, all anguish to her Father's face,10···/˘··/˘·
"By Allah and the Prophet," he replied,10·/˘··/˘·˘/
"I speak the words of truth.6······
"Misery, misery,6/˘˘/˘˘
"That I must beg mine enemy to speed9·····/˘··
"The inevitable vengeance now so near!9·˘/˘/˘···
"I read it in her horoscope,8·····/˘·
"Her birth-star warned me of Hodeirah's race.10··········
"I laid a spell, and called a Spirit up.9·······/·
"He answered one must die6·/˘···
"Laila or Thalaba....6······
"Accursed Spirit! even in truth6··//··
"Giving a lying hope!6/˘·/˘·
"Last, I ascended the seventh Heaven9··˘/˘·/˘/
"And on the everlasting Table there10····˘/˘/˘·
"In characters of light,6·/˘˘··
"I read her written doom.6···/˘·
"The years that it has gnawn me! and the load10··········
"Of sin that it has laid upon my soul!10··········
"Curse on this hand that in the only hour10·······/˘/
"The favouring stars allowed6·/˘·˘/
"Reeked with other blood than thine.7··/˘···
"Still dost thou stand and gaze incredulous?9······˘/˘
"Young man, be merciful, and keep her not9···/˘····
"Longer in agony!"6/˘·/˘˘
Thalaba's unbelieving frown8····˘/˘·
Scowled on the Sorcerer,6···/˘˘
When in the air the rush of wings was heard10··········
And Azrael stood among them.7·······
In equal terror at the sight8·/˘/˘···
The Enchanter, the Destroyer stood,9·˘/˘·˘/˘·
And Laila, the victim maid.7····/˘·
"Son of Hodeirah!" said the Angel of Death,11·······/˘··

The first 400 of 464 lines; the reader marks them all.

Notes from the edition 11

Southey's own notes to Thalaba the Destroyer (Project Gutenberg #39804).

  1. Stanza 4, line 1 When any person is to be buried, it is usual to bring the corpse at mid-day or afternoon prayers, to one or other of these Mosques, from whence it is accompanied by the greatest part of the congregation, to the grave. Their processions, at these times, are not so slow and solemn as in most parts of Christendom: for the whole company make what haste they can, singing as they go along, some select verses of their Coran. That absolute submission which they pay to the will of God, allows them not to use any consolatory words upon these occasions: no loss or misfortune is to be hereupon regretted or complained of: instead likewise of such expressions of sorrow and condolence, as may regard the deceased, the compliments turn upon the person, who is the nearest concerned, a blessing (say his friends) be upon your head. Shaw. All Mahometans inter the dead at the hour set apart for prayer; the defunct is not kept in the house, except he expires after sunset, but the Body is transported to the Mosque, whither it is carried by those who are going to prayer; each from a spirit of devotion is desirous to carry in his turn. Women regularly go on Friday to weep over, and pray at the sepulchres of the dead, whose memory they hold dear. Chenier. This custom of crowding about a funeral contributes to spread the plague in Turkey.--It is not many years since, in some parts of Worcestershire, the mourners were accustomed to kneel with their heads upon the coffin during the burial service. The fullest account of a Mohammedan funeral is in the Lettres sur la Grece, of M. Guys. Chance made him the spectator of a ceremony which the Moslem will not suffer an Infidel to prophane by his presence. "About ten in the morning I saw the grave-digger at work; the slaves and the women of the family were seated in the burial ground, many other women arrived, and then they all began to lament. After this prelude they one after the other embraced one of the little pillars which are placed upon the graves, crying out Ogloum, ogloum, soena Mussaphir gueldi, My Son, my Son, a guest is coming to see thee. At these words their tears and sobs began anew; but the storm did not continue long; they all seated themselves, and entered into conversation. At noon I heard a confused noise, and cries of lamentation, it was the funeral which arrived. A Turk preceded it, bearing upon his head a small chest; four other Turks carried the bier upon their shoulders, then came the father, the r …
  2. Stanza 4, line 6 The Turks bury not at all within the walls of the city, but the great Turkish Emperors themselves, with their wives and children about them, and some few other of their great Bassaes, and those only in chappels by themselves built for that purpose. All the rest of the Turks are buried in the fields; some of the better sort in tombs of marble, but the rest with tomb-stones laid upon them, or with two great stones, one set up at the head and the other at the feet of every grave; the greatest part of them being of white marble, brought from the Isle of Marmora. They will not bury any man where another hath been buried, accounting it impiety to dig up another man's bones: by reason whereof they cover all the best ground about the city with such great white stones: which, for the infinite number of them, are thought sufficient to make another wall about the city. Knolles. The Turks bury by the way-side, believing that the passengers will pray for the souls of the dead. Tavernier.
  3. Stanza 5, line 5 All that day we travelled over plains all covered with snow as the day before, and indeed it is not only troublesome but very dangerous to travel thro' these deep snows. The mischief is that the beams of the sun which lie all day long upon it, molest the eyes and face with such a scorching beat as very much weakens the sight, whatever remedy a man can apply, by wearing as the people of the country do, a thin handkerchief of green or black silk, which no way abates the annoyance. Chardin. When they have to travel many days thro' a country covered with snow, Travellers to preserve their sight, cover the face with a silk kerchief made on purpose, like a sort of black crape. Others have large furred bonnets, bordered with goat skin, and the long goat-hair hanging over the face is as serviceable as the crape. Tavernier. An Abyssinian historian says, that the village, called Zinzenam, rain upon rain, has its name from an extraordinary circumstance that once happened in these parts, for a shower of rain fell, which was not properly of the nature of rain, as it did not run upon the ground, but remained very light, having scarce the weight of feathers, of a beautiful white colour like flower; it fell in showers, and occasioned a darkness in the air more than rain, and liker to mist. It covered the face of the whole country for several days, retaining its whiteness the whole time, then went away like dew, without leaving any smell, or unwholsome effect behind it. So the Dutch were formerly expelled from an East Indian Settlement, because their Consul, in narrating to the Prince of the Country the wonders of Europe, chanced to say that in his own Country, Water became a solid body once a year, for some time: when Men or even Horses might pass over it without sinking.--The prince in a rage said that he had hitherto listened to his tales with patience, but this was so palpable a Lie, that he would never more be connected with Europeans, who only could assert such monstrous falshoods.
  4. Stanza 6, line 3 A strange account of the Cedars of Lebanon is given by De la Roque. Voyage de Syrie & du Mont Liban. 1722. "This little forest is composed of twenty Cedars of a prodigious size, so large indeed that the finest Planes, Sycamores, and other large trees which we had seen could not be compared with them. Besides these principal Cedars, there were a great number of lesser ones, and some very small, mingled with the large trees, or in little clumps near them. They differed not in their foliage, which resembles the Juniper, and is green throughout the year: but the great Cedars spread at their summit and form a perfect round, whereas the small ones rise in a pyramidal form like the Cypress. Both diffuse the same pleasant odour; the large ones only yield fruit, a large cone in shape almost like that of the Pine, but of a browner colour, and compacter shell. It gives a very pleasant odour, and contains a sort of thick and transparent balm, which oozes out thro' small apertures, and falls drop by drop. This fruit which it is difficult to separate from the stalk, contains a nut like that of the Cypress; it grows at the end of the boughs, and turns its point upwards. The nature of this tree is not to elevate its trunk, or the part between the root and the first branches; for the largest Cedars which we saw did not in the height of their trunks exceed six or seven feet. From this low but enormously thick body, prodigious branches rise, spreading as they rise, and forming by the disposition of their boughs and leaves which point upward, a sort of wheel which appears to be the work of art. The bark of the cedar, except at the trunk, is smooth and shining, of a brown colour. Its wood white and soft immediately under the bark, but hard and red within, and very bitter, which renders it incorruptible and almost immortal. A fragrant gum issues from the tree. The largest Cedar which we measured was seven feet in circumference, wanting two inches, and the whole extent of its branches, which it was easy to measure from their perfect roundness, formed a circumference of about 120 feet. The Patriarch of the Maronites, fully persuaded of the rarity of these Trees, and wishing by the preservation of those that remain to shew his respect for a forest so celebrated in Scripture has pronounced canonical pains, and even excommunication against any Christians who shall dare to cut them; scarcely will he permit a little to be sometimes taken for Crucifixes and little tabernacle …
  5. Stanza 9, line 4 The Coffee plant is about the size of the orange tree, the flower in colour, size, and smell, resembles the white jessamine, the berry is first green, then red, in which ripe state it is gathered. Olearius's description of Coffee is amusing. "They drink a certain black water which they call Cahwa, made of a fruit brought out of Egypt, and which is in colour like ordinary wheat, and in taste like Turkish wheat, and is of the bigness of a little bean. They fry, or rather burn it in an iron pan without any liquor, beat it to powder, and boyling it with fair water, they make this drink thereof, which hath as it were the taste of a burnt crust, and is not pleasant to the palate. Amb. Travels.
  6. Stanza 34, line 2 It is well known how much the Orientalists are addicted to this pretended science. There is a curious instance of public folly in Sir John Chardin's travels. "Sephie-Mirza was born in the year of the Egire 1057. For the superstition of the Persians will not let us know the month or the day. Their addiction to Astrology is such that they carefully conceal the moments of their Princes birth, to prevent the casting their nativities, where they might meet perhaps with something which they should be unwilling to know." At the coronation of this Prince two Astrologers were to be present, with an Astrolabe in their hands, to take the fortunate hour, as they term it, and observe the lucky moments that a happy constellation should point out for proceedings of that importance. Sephie-Mirza having by debauchery materially injured his health, the Chief Physician was greatly alarmed, "in regard his life depended upon the King's, or if his life were spared yet he was sure to lose his estate and his liberty, as happens to all those who attend the Asiatic Sovereigns, when they die under their care. The Queen Mother too accused him of treason or ignorance, believing that since he was her Son's Physician he was obliged to cure him. This made the Physician at his wits end, so that all his receipts failing him, he bethought himself of one that was peculiarly his own invention, and which few physicians would ever have found out, as not being to be met with neither in Galen nor Hippocrates. What does he then do, but out of an extraordinary fetch of his wit, he begins to lay the fault upon the stars and the King's Astrologers, crying out that they were altogether in the wrong, that if the King lay in a languishing condition and could not recover his health it was because they had failed to observe the happy hour, or the Aspect of a fortunate constellation at the time of his coronation." The stratagem succeeded, the King was recrowned and by the new name of Solyman! Chardin.
  7. Stanza 42, line 5 We have now to refute their errour who are persuaded that Brazen Heads made under certain constellations may give answers, and be as it were guides and counsellors, upon all occasions, to those that had them in their possession. Among these is one Yepes who affirms that Henry de Villeine made such a one at Madrid, broken to pieces afterwards by order of John 2. King of Castile. The same thing is affirmed by Bartholomew Sibillus, and the Author of the Image of the World, of Virgil; by William of Malmsbury of Sylvester; by John Gower of Robert of Lincoln; by the common people of England of Roger Bacon; and by Tostatus Bishop of Avilla, George of Venice, Delrio, Sibillus, Raguseus, Delancre and others, too many to mention, of Albertus Magnus; who as the most expert, had made an entire man of the same metal, and had spent thirty years without any interruption in forming him under several aspects and constellations. For example, he formed the eyes, according to the said Tostatus in his commentaries upon Exodus, when the Sun was in a sign of the Zodiac correspondent to that part, casting them out of divers metals mixt together and mark'd with the characters of the same signs and planets, and their several and necessary aspects. The same method he observed in the head, neck, shoulders, thighs, and legs, all which were fashioned at several times, and being put and fastened together in the form of a man, had the faculty to reveal to the said Albertus the solutions of all his principal difficulties. To which they add (that nothing be lost of the story of the statue) that it was battered to pieces by St. Thomas, meerely because he could not endure its excesse of prating. But to give a more rational account of this Androides of Albertus, as also of all these miraculous heads, I conceive the original of this fable may well be deduced from the Teraph of the Hebrews, by which as Mr. Selden affirms, many are of opinion, that we must understand what is said in Genesis concerning Laban's Gods, and in the first book of Kings concerning the image which Michol put into the bed in David's place. For R. Eleazar holds that it was made of the head of a male child, the first born and that dead-born, under whose tongue they applyed a lamen of Gold, whereon were engraved the characters and inscriptions of certain planets, which the Jews superstitiously wandered up and down with, instead of the Urim and Thummim, or the Ephod of the High Priest. And that this original is true an …
  8. Stanza 50, line 17 This Table is suspended in the Seventh Heaven, and guarded from the Demons, lest they should change or corrupt any thing thereon. Its length is so great as is the space between Heaven and Earth, its breadth equal to the distance from the East to the West, and it is made of one pearl. The divine Pen was created by the finger of God: that also is of pearls, and of such length and breadth that a swift horse could scarcely gallop round it in five hundred years. It is so endowed, that self-moved it writes all things, past, present, and to come. Light, is its ink, and the language which it uses, only the Angel Seraphael understands. Maracci.
  9. Stanza 52, line 4 They celebrate the night Leileth-ul-beraeth on the 15th of the month of Schabann, with great apprehension and terror, because they consider it as the tremendous night on which the angels Kiramenn-keatibinn, placed on each side of mankind to write down their good and bad actions, deliver up their books and receive fresh ones for the continuance of the same employment. It is believed also, that on that night the archangel Azrail, the angel of death, gives up also his records and receives another book in which are written the names of all those destined to die in the following year. D'Ohsson.
  10. Stanza 54, line 3 The Balance of the Dead is an article in almost every creed. Mohammed borrowed it from the Persians. I know not from whence the Monks introduced it; probably they were ignorant enough to have invented the obvious fiction. In the Vision of Thurcillus the ceremony is accurately described. "At the end of the north wall, within the church, sate St. Paul, and opposite him, without, was the Devil and his Angels. At the feet of the Devil a burning pit flamed up, which was the mouth of the Pit of Hell. A Balance equally poised, was fixed upon the wall between the Devil and the Apostle, one scale hanging before each. The Apostle had two weights, a greater and a less, all shining and like gold, and the Devil also had two smoky and black ones. Therefore the Souls that were all black came one after another, with great fear and trembling, to behold the weighing of their good and evil works: for these weights weighed the works of all the souls, according to the good or evil which they had done. When the scale inclined to the Apostle, he took the Soul, and introduced it thro' the Eastern gate, into the fire of Purgatory, that there it might expiate its crimes. But when the scale inclined and sunk towards the Devil, then he and his Angels snatched the soul miserably howling and cursing the father and mother that begot it to eternal torments, and cast it with laughter and grinning into the deep and fiery pit which was at the feet of the Devil. Of this Balance of good and evil much may be found in the writings of the holy Fathers." Matthew Paris. "Concerning the salvation of Charlemagne, Archbishop Turpin, a man of holy life, wrote thus. "I, Turpin, Archbishop of Rheims, being in my chamber, in the city of Vienna, saying my prayers, saw a legion of Devils in the air, who were making a great noise. I adjured one of them to tell me from whence they came, and wherefore they made so great an uproar. And he replied that they came from Aix la Chapelle, where a great Lord had died, and that they were returning in anger because they had not been able to carry away his soul. I asked him who the great Lord was, and why they had not been able to carry away his soul. He replied that it was Charlemagne, and that Saint Jago had been greatly against them. And I asked him how St. Jago had been against them; and he replied, we were weighing the good and the evil which he had done in this world, and Saint Jago brought so much timber and so many stones from the churches which he had fo …
  11. Stanza 61, line 4 This double meaning is in the spirit of oracular prediction. The classical reader will remember the equivocations of Apollo, the fable of the young man and the Lion in the tapestry will be more generally recollected: we have many buildings in England to which this story has been applied,--Cook's Folly near Bristol derives its name from a similar tradition. The History of the Buccaneers affords a remarkable instance of prophecy occasioning its own accomplishment. "Before my first going over into the South-Seas with Captain Sharp (and indeed before any Privateers, at least since Drake and Oxengham) had gone that way which we afterwards went, except La Sound, a French Captain, who by Capt. Wright's instructions had ventured as far as Cheapo town with a body of men, but was driven back again, I being then on board Capt. Coxon, in company with three or four more Privateers, about four leagues to the East of Portobel, we took the packets bound thither from Carthagena. We opened a great quantity of the Merchant's letters, and found the contents of many of them to be very surprizing, the Merchants of several parts of Old-Spain thereby informing their correspondents of Panama, and elsewhere, of a certain prophecy that went about Spain that year, the tenor of which was, that there would be English privateers that year in the West-Indies, who would make such great discoveries, as to open a door into the South-Seas; which they supposed was fastest shut: and the letters were accordingly full of cautions to their friends to be very watchful and careful of their coasts. This door they spake of we all concluded must be the passage over land through the country of the Indians of Darien, who were a little before this become our friends, and had lately fallen out with the Spaniards, breaking off the intercourse which for some time they had with them: And upon calling also to mind the frequent invitations we had from those Indians a little before this time, to pass through their Country, and fall upon the Spaniards in the South-Seas, we from henceforward began to entertain such thoughts in earnest, and soon came to a resolution to make those attempts which we afterwards did with Capt. Sharp, Coxon, &c. So that the taking these letters gave the first life to those bold undertakings: And we took the advantage …

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