Es Verbo de Dios diamante En el anillo de cobre De nuestro circulo pobre. Before the tent they spread the skin. - 32, p. 239. With the Arabs either a round skin is laid on the ground for a small company, or large, coarse woollen cloths for a great number, spread all over the room, and about ten dishes repeated six or seven times over, laid round at a great feast, and whole sheep and lambs boiled and roasted in the middle. When one company has done, another sits round, even to the meanest, till all is consumed. And an Arab Prince will often dine in the street before his door, and call to all that pass, even beggars, in the usual expression, Bisimillah, that is, in the name of God; who come and sit down, and when they have done, give their Hamdellilah, that is, God be praised; for the Arabs, who are great levellers, put every body on a footing with them, and it is by such generosity and hospitality that they maintain their interest. - Pococke. With no false colors, &c. -33, p. 239. 'Tis the custom of Persia to begin their feasts with fruits and preserves. We spent two hours in eating only those and drinking beer, hydromel, and aquavitæ. Then was brought up the meat in great silver dishes; they were full of rice of divers colors, and upon that, several sorts of meat, boiled and roasted, as beef, mutton, tame fowl, wild ducks, fish, and other things, all very well ordered, and very delicate. The Persians use no knives at table, but the cooks send up the meat ready cut up into little bits, so that it was no trouble to us to accustom ourselves to their manner of eating. Rice serves them instead of bread. They take a mouthful of it, with the two fore-fingers and the thumb, and so put it into their mouths. Every table had a carver, whom they call Suffret-zi, who takes the meat brought up in the great dishes, to put it into lesser ones, which he fills with three or four sorts of meat, so as that every dish may serve two, or at most three persons. There was but little drunk till towards the end of the repast, and then the cups went about roundly, and the dinner was concluded with a vessel of porcelane, full of a hot, blackish kind of drink, which they call Kahawa, (Coffee.) Ambassador's Travels. They laid upon the floor of the Ambassador's room a fine silk cloth, on which there were set one and thirty dishes of silver, filled with several sorts of conserves, dry and liquid, and raw fruits, as Melons, Citrons, Quinces, Pears, and some others not known in Europe. Some time after, that cloth was taken away, that another might be laid in the room of it, and upon this was set rice of all sorts of colors, and all sorts of meat, boiled and roasted, in above fifty dishes of the same metal. Ambassador's Travels. There is not any thing more ordinary in Persia than rice soaked in water; they call it Plau, and eat of it at all their meals, and serve it up in all their dishes. They sometimes put thereto a little of the juice of pomegranates, or cherries and saffron, insomuch that commonly you have rice of several colors in the same dish. - Ambassador's Travels. And whoso drank of the cooling draught.—34, p. 239. The Tamarind is equally useful and agreeable; it has a pulp of a vinous taste, of which a wholesome, refreshing liquor is prepared; its shade shelters houses from the torrid heat of the sun, and its fine figure greatly adorns the scenery of the country.Niebuhr. He had pierced the Melon's pulp.—35, p. 239. Of pumpkins and melons, several sorts grow naturally in the woods, and serve for feeding camels. But the proper melons are planted in the fields, where a great variety of them is to be found, and in such abundance, that the Arabians of all ranks use them, for some part of the year, as their principal article of food. They afford a very agreeable liquor. When its fruit is nearly ripe, a hole is pierced into the pulp; this hole is then stopped with wax, and the melon left upon the stalk. Within a few days the pulp is, in consequence of this process, converted into a delicious liquor. - Niebuhr. And listened, with full hands. —36, p. 239. L'aspect imprévu de tant de Castillans, D'étonnement, d'effroi, peint ses regards brillans; Ses mains du choix des fruits se formant une étude, Demeurent un moment dans le même attitude. Madame Boccage. La Columbiade It is the hour of prayer. — 39, p. 239. The Arabians divide their day into twenty-four hours, and reckon them from one setting sun to another. As very few among them know what a watch is, and as they conceive but imperfectly the duration of an hour, they usually determine time almost as when we say, it happened about noon, about evening, &c. The moment when the sun disappears is called Maggrib; about two hours afterwards they call it El ascha; two hours later, El Marfa; midnight, Nus el lejl; the dawn of morning, El fedsjer; sunrise, Es subhh. They eat about nine in the morning, and that meal is called El ghadda; noon, Ed duhhr; three hours after noon, El asr. Of all these divisions of time, only noon and midnight are well ascertained; they both fall upon the twelfth hour. The others are earlier or later as the days are short or long. The five hours appointed for prayer are Maggrib, Nus el lejl, El fedsjer, Duhhr, and El asr.-Niebuhr, Desc. de l'Arabie. The Turks say, in allusion to their canonical hours, that prayer is a tree which produces five sorts of fruit, two of which the sun sees, and three of which he never sees. Pietro della Valle. Felt not the Simoom pass.-40, p. 240. The effects of the Simoom are instant suffocation to every living creature that happens to be within the sphere of its activity, and immediate putrefaction of the carcasses of the dead. The Arabians discern its approach by an unusual redness in the air, and they say that they feel a smell of sulphur as it passes. The only means by which any person can preserve himself from suffering by these noxious blasts, is by throwing himself down with his face upon the earth, till this whirlwind of poisonous exhalations has blown over, which always moves at a certain height in the atmosphere. Instinct even teaches the brutes to incline their heads to the ground on these occasions. — Niebuhr. The Arabs of the desert call these winds Semoum, or poison, and the Turks Shamyela, or wind of Syria, from which is formed the Samiel. Their heat is sometimes so excessive, that it is difficult to form any idea of its violence without having experienced it; but it may be compared to the heat of a large oven at the moment of drawing out the bread. When these winds begin to blow, the atmosphere assumes an alarming aspect. The sky, at other times so clear in this climate, becomes dark and heavy; the sun loses his splendor, and appears of a violet color. The air is not cloudy, but gray and thick, and is in fact filled with an extremely subtile dust, which penetrates every where. This wind, always light and rapid, is not at first remarkably hot, but it increases in heat in proportion as it continues. All animated bodies soon discover it, by the change it produces in them. The lungs, which a too rarefied air no longer expands, are contracted, and become painful. Respiration is short and difficult, the skin parched and dry, and the body consumed by an internal heat. In vain is recourse had to large draughts of water; nothing can restore no perspiration. In vain is coolness sought for; all bodies in which it is usual to find it, deceive the hand that touches them. Marble, iron, water, notwithstanding the sun longer appears, are hot. The streets are deserted, and the dead silence of night reigns every where. The inhabitants of houses and villages shut themselves up in their houses, and those of the desert in their tents, or in pits they dig in the earth, where they wait the termination of this destructive heat. It usually lasts three days; but if it exceeds that time, it becomes insupportable. Woe to the traveller whom this wind surprises remote from shelter! he must suffer all its dreadful consequences, which sometimes are mortal. The danger is most imminent when it blows in squalls, for then the rapidity of the wind increases the heat to such a degree as to cause sudden death. This death is a real suffocation; the lungs, being empty, are convulsed, the circulation disordered, and the whole mass of blood driven by the heart towards the head and breast; whence that hæmorrhage at the nose and mouth which happens after death. This wind is especially fatal to persons of a plethoric habit, and those in whom fatigue has destroyed the tone of the muscles and the vessels. The corpse remains a long time warm, swells, turns blue, and is easily separated; all which are signs of that putrid fermentation which takes place in animal bodies when the humors become stagnant. These accidents are to be avoided by stopping the nose and mouth with handkerchiefs; an efficacious method likewise is that practised by the camels, who bury their noses in the sand, and keep them there till the squall is over. Another quality of this wind is its extreme aridity; which is such, that water sprinkled on the floor evaporates in a few minutes. By this extreme dryness, it withers and strips all the plants; and by exhaling too suddenly the emanations from animal bodies, crisps the skin, closes the pores, and causes that feverish heat which is the invariable effect of suppressed perspiration. Volney. It may be that some traveller, who shall enter Our tent, may read it; or if we approach Cities where strangers dwell and learned men, They may interpret. MOATH. It were better hid Under the desert sands. This wretched man, Whom God hath smitten in the very purpose And impulse of his unpermitted crime, Belike was some magician, and these lines Are of the language that the Demons use. ONEIZA. Bury it! bury it, dear Thalaba! MOATH. Such cursed men there are upon the earth, In league and treaty with the Evil powers, The covenanted enemies of God And of all good; dear purchase have they made Of rule and riches, and their life-long sway, Masters, yet slaves of Hell. Beneath the roots Of Ocean, the Domdaniel caverns lie, Their impious meeting; there they learn the words Unutterable by man who holds his hope Of heaven; there brood the pestilence, and let The earthquake loose. THALABA. And he who would have kill'd me Was one of these? MOATH. I know not; - but it may be That on the Table of Destiny, thy name Is written their Destroyer, and for this Thy life by yonder miserable man So sought; so saved by interfering Heaven. At midnight Thalaba started up, And he call'd on the Prophet's name. I see thee stand in the light, 8. Thalaba answer'd not. "Spirit!" he cried, "what brings thee here? In the name of the Prophet, speak; In the name of Allah, obey!" 9. He ceased, and there was silence in the tent. "Dost thou not hear?" quoth Thalaba; The listening man replied, "I hear the wind, that flaps The curtain of the tent." 10. "The Ring! the Ring!" the youth exclaim'd. "For that the Spirit of Evil comes; By that I see, by that I hear. DEMON. Master of the powerful Ring! Okba, the dread Magician, did the deed. THALABA. Where does the Murderer dwell? DEMON. In the Domdaniel caverns, Under the Roots of the Ocean. THALABA. Why were my Father and my Brethren slain? DEMON. We knew from the race of Hodeirah The destined Destroyer would come. THALABA. Bring me my Father's sword! DEMON. A Fire surrounds the fatal sword; No Spirit or Magician's hand Can pierce that fated Flame. THALABA. Bring me his bow and his arrows! 11. Distinctly Moath heard the youth, and She Who, through the Veil of Separation, watch'd The while in listening terror, and suspense All too intent for prayer. They heard the voice of Thalaba; But when the Spirit spake, the motionless air Felt not the subtile sounds, Too fine for mortal sense. 12. On a sudden the rattle of arrows was heard, And a quiver was laid at the feet of the youth, And in his hand they saw Hodeirah's bow. He eyed the bow, he twang'd the string, And his heart bounded to the joyous tone. Anon he raised his voice and cried, "Go thy way, and never more, Evil Spirit, haunt our tent! By the virtue of the Ring, By Mahommed's holier might, By the holiest name of God, Thee, and all the Powers of Hell, 1 adjure and I command Never more to trouble us!" 13. Nor ever from that hour Did rebel Spirit on the tent intrude; Such virtue had the Spell. 14. Thus peacefully the vernal years Till now, without an effort, he could bend The sunny hue of health His lip was darken'd by maturing life; Strong were his shapely limbs, his stature tall; Peerless among Arabian youths was he. 15. Compassion for the child Had first old Moath's kindly heart possess'd, An orphan, wailing in the wilderness; But when he heard his tale, his wondrous tale, Told by the Boy, with such eye-speaking truth, Now with sudden bursts of anger, Now in the agony of tears, And now with flashes of prophetic joy, What had been pity became reverence then, And, like a sacred trust from Heaven, The Old Man cherish'd him. Now, with a father's love, Child of his choice, he loved the Boy, And, like a father, to the Boy was dear. Oneiza call'd him brother; and the youth More fondly than a brother loved the maid; The loveliest of Arabian maidens she. How happily the years Of Thalaba went by! 16. It was the wisdom and the will of Heaven, That in a lonely tent had cast The lot of Thalaba; There might his soul develop best Its strengthening energies; There might he from the world Keep his heart pure and uncontaminate, Till at the written hour he should be found Fit servant of the Lord, without a spot. 17. Years of his youth, how rapidly ye fled Is the morn fair, and doth the freshening breeze His dog beside him, in mute blandishment, Now lifts an anxious and expectant eye, 18. Or comes the Father 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 : The sound of the familiar voice, Entwines the strong palm-fibres; by the hearth Nor rich, nor poor, was Moath; God hath given And home-birds, grouping at Oneiza's call, Came with full udders to the Damsel's hand. And he had seen his robe How often, with a memory-mingled joy 22. 'Tis the cool evening hour: The Tamarind from the dew What if beneath no lamp-illumined dome, Their Father is their Priest, The Stars of Heaven their point of prayer, And the blue Firmament The glorious Temple, where they feel The present Deity. 23. Yet through the purple glow of eve The slacken'd bow, the quiver, the long lance, Knitting light palm-leaves for her brother's brow, So listen they the reed of Thalaba, 24. Or if he strung the pearls of Poesy, Singing with agitated face, And eloquent arms, and sobs that reach the heart, A tale of love and woe; Then, if the brightening Moon that lit his face, Oh! even with such a look as fables say Kindle its light of life, Even in such deep and breathless tenderness 25. She call'd him Brother; was it sister-love For which the silver rings Round her smooth ankles and her tawny arms Shone daily brighten'd? for a brother's eye Were her long fingers tinged, As when she trimm'd the lamp, And through the veins and delicate skin The light shone rosy? that the darken'd lids Gave yet a softer lustre to her eye? That with such pride she trick'd Her glossy tresses, and on holyday Wreathed the red flower-crown round Their waves of glossy jet: |