Now lifts an anxious and expectant eye, Courting the wonted caress.

XVIII.

Or comes the Fathers of the Rains
From his caves in the uttermost West,
Comes he in darkness and storms?
When the blast is loud,

When the waters fill
The Traveller's tread in the sands,
When the pouring shower
Streams adown the roof,

When the door-curtain hangs in heavier folds,
When the out-strain'd tent flags loosely,
Within there is the embers' cheerful glow,
The sound of the familiar voice,
The song that lightens toil,..
Domestic Peace and Comfort are within.
Under the common shelter, on dry sand,
The quiet Camels ruminate their food;
From Moath falls the lengthening cord,
As patiently the Old Man

Entwines the strong palm-fibres ; 9 by the hearth
The Damsel shakes the coffee-grains,
That with warm fragrance fill the tent;
And while, with dexterous fingers, Thalaba
Shapes the green basket,1° haply at his feet
Her favourite kidling gnaws the twig,
Forgiven plunderer, for Oneiza's sake!

XIX.

Or when the winter torrent rolls

Down the deep-channell'd rain-course, foamingly,
Dark with its mountain spoils,
With bare feet pressing the wet sand,
There wanders Thalaba,
The rushing flow, the flowing roar,

Filling his yielded faculties;

A vague, a dizzy, a tumultuous joy.
Or lingers it a vernal brook
Gleaming o'er yellow sands?
Beneath the lofty bank reclin'd,
With idle eye he views its little waves,
Quietly listening to the quiet flow;
While, in the breathings of the stirring gale,
The tall canes bend above,

Floating like streamers on the wind
Their lank uplifted leaves.

'Tis the cool evening hour:

The Tamarind from the dew

Sheathes its young fruit, yet green. 17
Before their Tent the mat is spread,
The Old Man's awful voice

Intones the holy Book, 18

What if beneath no lamp-illumin'd dome, Its marble walls 19 bedeck'd with flourish'd truth, Azure and gold adornment! sinks the word With deeper influence from the Imam's voice, Where in the day of congregation, crowds Perform the duty-task?

Their Father is their Priest,

The Stars of Heaven their point of prayer, 20
And the blue Firmament

The glorious Temple, where they feel
The present Deity!

XXII.

Yet through the purple glow of eve

Shines dimly the white moon.

The slacken'd bow, the quiver, the long lance,

Rest on the pillar of the Tent. 21

Knitting light palm-leaves for her brother's brow, 22

The dark-eyed damsel sits;
The Old Man tranquilly

Up his curl'd pipe inhales

The tranquillizing herb.

So listen they the reed 23 of Thalaba,
While his skill'd fingers modulate

The low, sweet, soothing, melancholy tones.
Or if he strung the pearls of Poesy, 24
Singing with agitated face

And eloquent arms, and sobs that reach the heart,
A tale of love and woe;

25

How happily the years

Of Thalaba went by!

XXIV.

Yet was the heart of Thalaba
Impatient of repose;
Restless he pondered still

The task for him decreed,

The mighty and mysterious work announced. Day by day, with youthful ardour,

He the call of Heaven awaits,

And oft in visions, o'er the Murderer's head, He lifts the avenging arm;

And oft, in dreams, he sees

The Sword that is circled with fire.

XXV.

One morn, as was their wont, in sportive mood,
The youth and damsel bent Hodeirali's bow;
For with no feeble hand, nor erring aim,
Oneiza could let loose the obedient shaft.
With head back-bending, Thalaba
Shot up the aimless arrow high in air,
Whose line in vain the aching sight pursued,
Lost in the depth of Heaven.

« When will the hour arrive,» exclaim'd the youth,
<< That I shall aim these fated shafts
To vengeance long delay'd?

Have I not strength, my father, for the deed?
Or can the will of Providence

The admiring girl survey'd

His out-spread sails of green;
His gauzy underwings,

One closely to the grass-green body furl'd,
One ruffled in the fall, and half unclos'd.
She view'd his jet-orb'd eyes;
His glossy gorget bright,
Green glittering in the sun;
His plumy pliant horns,
That, nearer as she gaz'd,
Bent tremblingly before her breath.
She view'd his yellow-circled front
With lines mysterious vein'd;

« And know'st thou what is written here, My father?» said the Maid.

<< Look, Thalaba! perchance these lines Are in the letters of the Ring, Nature's own language, written here.>>

XXXII.

The youth bent down, and suddenly
He started, and his heart
Sprung, and his cheek grew red,

For these mysterious lines were legible,.. 33
WHEN THE SUN SHALL BE DARKENED AT NOON,
SON OF HODEIRAH, DEPART.

And Moath look'd, and read the lines aloud; The Locust shook his wings and fled, And they were silent all.

XXXIII.

Who then rejoiced but Thalaba?

Who then was troubled but the Arabian Maid?

And Moath sad of heart,

Though with a grief supprest, beheld the youth
Sharpen his arrows now,

And now new-plume their shafts,
Now, to beguile impatient hope,
Feel every sharpen'd point.

XXXIV.

<<<Why is that anxious look,» Oneiza cried, « Still upward cast at noon?

The Spirit hung towards him when she ceas'd, As though with actual lips she would have given A mother's kiss. His arms outstretch'd, His body bending on,

His mouth unclos'd, and trembling into speech, He prest to meet the blessing,.. but the wind Played on his cheek: he look'd, and he beheld The darkness close. « Again! again!» he cried, << Let me again behold thee!» from the darkness His Mother's voice went forth;

«Thou shalt behold me in the hour of death.>>

IV.

Day dawns, the twilight gleam dilates,
The Sun comes forth, and, like a god,

Rides through rejoicing heaven.

Old Moath and his daughter, from their tent,
Beheld the adventurous youth
Dark moving o'er the sands,

A lessening image, trembling through their tears.

Visions of high emprize
Beguil'd his lonely road;

And if sometimes to Moath's tent

The involuntary mind recurr'd,
Fancy, impatient of all painful thoughts,
Pictur'd the bliss should welcome his return.

In dreams like these he went,
And still of every dream
Oneiza form'd a part,

And Hope and Memory made a mingled joy.

Usurp the desolate palace, and the weeds Of Falsehood root in the aged pile of Truth. How have you heard the tale?

THALABA.

Thus-on a time

The Angels at the wickedness of man Express'd indignant wonder; that in vain Tokens and signs were given, and Prophets sent,— Strange obstinacy this! a stubbornness

Of sin, they said, that should for ever bar The gates of mercy on them. Allah heard Their unforgiving pride, and bade that two Of these untempted Spirits should descend, Judges on Earth. Haruth and Maruth went, The chosen Sentencers; they fairly heard The appeals of men to their tribunal brought, And rightfully decided. At the length A Woman came before them; beautiful Zohara was as yonder Evening star, In the mild lustre 2 of whose lovely light Even now her beauty shines. They gaz'd on her With fleshly eyes, they tempted her to sin. The wily woman listen'd, and requir'd A previous price, the knowledge of the name Of God. 3 She learnt the wonder-working name, And gave it utterance, and its virtue bore her Up to the glorious Presence, and she told Before the awful Judgment-Seat her tale.

OLD MAN.

I know the rest. The accused Spirits were called:
Unable of defence, and penitent,

They own'd their crime, and heard the doom deserv'd.
Then they besought the Lord, that not for ever
His wrath might be upon them; and implor'd
That penal ages might at length restore them
Clean from offence; since then by Babylon,
In the cavern of their punishment they dwell.
Runs the conclusion so?

THALABA.

So I am taught.

OLD MAN.

The common tale! and likely thou hast heard
How that the bold and bad, with impious rites
Intrude upon their penitence, and force,
Albeit from loathing and reluctant lips,
The sorcery-secret?

THALABA.

Is it not the truth?

OLD MAN.

Son, thou hast seen the Traveller in the sands Move through the dizzy light of hot noon-day, Huge as the giant race of elder times, 4 And his Camel, than the monstrous Elephant, Seem of a vaster bulk.

THALABA.

A frequent sight.

OLD MAN.

And hast thou never, in the twilight, fancied Familiar object into some strange shape

And form uncouth?

THALABA.

Aye! many a time.

OLD MAN.

Even so

Things view'd at distance through the mist of fear,

By their distortion terrify and shock The abused sight.

THALABA.

But of these Angels' fate

Thus in the uncreated book is writtenOLD MAN.

Wisely, from legendary fables, Heaven, Inculcates wisdom.

THALABA.

How then is the truth?

Is not the dungeon of their punishment By ruin'd Babylon?

OLD MAN.

By Babylon

Haruth and Maruth may be found.

THALABA

And there

Magicians learn their impious sorcery?

OLD MAN.

Son, what thou sayest is true, and it is false. But night approaches fast; I have travelled far, And my old lids are heavy;-on our way We shall have hours for converse ;-let us now Turn to our due repose. Son, peace be with thee!

X.

So in his loosen'd cloak

The Old Man wrapt himself, 5

And laid his limbs at length:

And Thalaba in silence laid him down. Awhile he lay, and watch'd the lovely Moon, O'er whose broad orb the boughs

A mazy fretting fram'd, Or with a pale transparent green Lighting the restless leaves, The thin Acacia leaves that play'd above. The murmuring wind, the moving leaves, Lull'd him at length to sleep, With mingled lullabies of sight and sound.

XI.

Not so the dark Magician by his side,
Lobaba, who from the Domdaniel caves
Had sought the dreaded youth.
Silent he lay, and simulating sleep,
Till by the long and regular breath he knew
The youth beside him slept.
Carefully then he rose,

And, bending over him survey'd him near;
And secretly he curs'd
The dead Abdaldar's ring,
Arm'd by whose amulet
He slept from danger safe.

XII.

Wrapt in his mantle Thalaba repos'd,
His loose right arm pillowing his easy head.
The Moon was on the Ring,
Whose crystal gem return'd

A quiet, moveless light.

Vainly the Wizard vile put forth his hand,

And strove to reach the gem,

Charms, strong as hell could make them, made it safe.
He called his servant-fiends,

He bade the genii rob the sleeping youth.
By the virtue of the Ring,
By Mahommed's holier power,