Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey
Page 99
The Sorceress looked and with a smile
That kindled to more fiendishness
Her hideous features, cried,
“Where Hodeirah is thy soul?
“Is it in the Zemzem well?
“Is it in the Eden groves?
“Waits it for the judgement-blast
“In the trump of Israfil?
“Is it plumed with silver wings
“Underneath the throne of God?
“Even if beneath his throne
“Hodeirah, thou shalt hear,
“Thou shalt obey my voice!”
She said, and muttered charms that Hell in fear
And Heaven in horror heard.
Soon the stiff eye-balls rolled,
The muscles with convulsive motion shook,
The white lips quivered. Khawla saw, her soul
Exulted, and she cried,
“Prophet! behold my power!
“Not even death secures
“Thy slaves from Khawla’s Spell!
“Where Hodeirah is thy child?”
Hodeirah groaned and closed his eyes,
As if in the night and the blindness of death
He would have hid himself.
“Speak to my question!” she exclaimed,
“Or in that mangled body thou shall live
“Ages of torture! answer me!
“Where can we find the Boy?”
“God! God! Hodeirah cried,
“Release me from this life,
“From this intolerable agony!”
“Speak!” cried the Sorceress; and she snatched
A Viper from the floor,
And with the living reptile lashed his neck.
Wreathed, round him with the blow,
The Reptile tighter drew her folds
And raised her wrathful head,
And fixed into his face
Her deadly teeth, and shed
Poison in every wound.
In vain! for Allah heard Hodeirah’s prayer,
And Khawla on a corpse
Had wrecked her baffled rage.
The fated fire moved on
And round the Body wrapt its funeral flames.
The flesh and bones in that portentous pile
Consumed; the Sword alone,
Circled with fire was left.
Where is the Boy for whose hand it is destined?
Where the Destroyer who one day shall wield
The Sword that is circled with fire?
Race accursed, try your charms!
Masters of the mighty Spell,
Mutter o’er your words of power!
Ye can shatter the dwellings of man,
Ye can open the womb of the rock,
Ye can shake the foundations of earth,
But not the Word of God:
But not one letter can ye change
Of what his Will hath written!
Who shall seek thro’ Araby
Hodeirah’s dreaded son?
They mingle the Arrows of Chance
The lot of Abdaldar is drawn.
Thirteen moons must wax and wane
Ere the Sorcerer quit his quest.
He must visit every tribe
That roam the desert wilderness,
Or dwell beside perennial streams;
Nor leave a solitary tent unsearched
Till he has found the Boy,
The hated Boy whose blood alone
Can quench that dreaded fire.
A crystal ring Abdaldar bore,
The powerful gem condensed
Primeval dews that upon Caucasus
Felt the first winter’s frost.
Ripening there it lay beneath
Rock above rock, and mountain ice up-piled
On mountain, till the incumbent mass assumed,
So huge its bulk, the Ocean’s azure hue.
With this he sought the inner den
Where burnt the eternal flame.
Like waters gushing from some channelled rock
Full thro’ a narrow opening, from a chasm
The eternal flame streamed up.
No eye beheld the fount
Of that up-flowing flame,
That blazed self-nurtured, and for ever, there.
It was no mortal element: the Abyss
Supplied it, from the fountains at the first
Prepared. In the heart of earth it lives and glows
Her vital heat, till at the day decreed,
The voice of God shall let its billows loose,
To deluge o’er with no abating flood
The consummated World;
That thenceforth thro’ the air must roll,
The penal Orb of Fire.
Unturbaned and unsandalled there,
Abdaldar stood before the flame,
And held the Ring beside, and spake
The language that the Elements obey.
The obedient flame detatched a portion forth,
That, in the crystal entering, was condensed,
Gem of the gem, its living Eye of fire.
When the hand that wears the spell
Shall touch the destined Boy,
Then shall that Eye be quenched,
And the freed Element
Fly to its sacred and remembered Spring.
Now go thy way Abdaldar!
Servant of Eblis,
Over Arabia
Seek the Destroyer!
Over the sands of the scorching Tchama,
Over the waterless mountains of Naïd,
In Arud pursue him; and Yemen the happy,
And Hejaz, the country beloved by believers.
Over Arabia
Servant of Eblis,
Seek the Destroyer.
From tribe to tribe, from town to town,
From tent to tent, Abdaldar past.
Him every morn the all-beholding Eye
Saw from his couch, unhallowed by a prayer,
Rise to the scent of blood,
And every night lie down.
That rankling hope within him, that by day
Goaded his steps, still stinging him in sleep,
And startling him with vain accomplishment
From visions still the same.
Many a time his wary hand
To many a youth applied the Ring,
And still the dagger in his mantle hid
Was ready for the deed.
At length to the cords of a tent
That were stretched by an Island of Palms
In the desolate sea of the sands,
The weary traveller came.
Under a shapely palm,
Herself as shapely, there a Damsel stood.
She held her ready robe
And looked towards a Boy,
Who from the tree above
With one hand clinging to its trunk,
Cast with the other down the clustered dates.
The Wizard approached the Tree,
He leaned on his staff, like a way-faring man,
And the sweat of his travel was seen on his brow.
He asks for food, and lo!
The Damsel proffers him her lap of dates.
And the Stripling descends, and runs into the tent
And brings him forth water, the draught of delight.
Anon the Master of the tent,
The Father of the family
Came forth, a man in years, of aspect mild.
To the stranger approaching he gave
The friendly saluting of peace,
And bade the skin be spread.
Before the tent they spread the skin,
Under a Tamarind’s shade,
That bending forward, stretched
Its boughs of beauty far.
They brought the Traveller rice,
With no false colours tinged to tempt the eye,
But white as the new-fallen snow,
When never yet the sullying Sun
Hath seen
its purity,
Nor the warm Zephyr touched and tainted it.
The dates of the grove before their guest
They laid, and the luscious fig,
And water from the well.
The Damsel from the Tamarind tree
Had plucked its acid fruit
And steeped it in water long;
And whoso drank of the cooling draught
He would not wish for wine.
This to the guest the Damsel brought,
And a modest pleasure kindled her cheek,
When raising from the cup his moistened lips
The Stranger smiled, and praised, and drank again.
Whither is gone the Boy?
He had pierced the Melon’s pulp
And closed with wax the wound,
And he had duly gone at morn
And watched its ripening rind,
And now all joyfully he brings
The treasure now matured.
His dark eyes sparkle with a boy’s delight.
As he pours out its liquid lusciousness
And proffers to the guest.
Abdaldar ate, and he was satisfied:
And now his tongue discoursed
Of regions far remote,
As one whose busy feet had travelled long.
The Father of the family,
With a calm eye and quiet smile,
Sate pleased to hearken him.
The Damsel who removed the meal,
She loitered on the way
And listened with full hands
A moment motionless.
All eagerly the Boy
Watches the Traveller’s lips,
And still the wily man
With seemly kindness to the eager Boy
Directs his winning tale.
Ah, cursed man! if this be he,
If thou hast found the object of thy search,
Thy hate, thy bloody aim,
Into what deep damnation wilt thou plunge
Thy miserable soul!
Look! how his eye delighted watches thine!
Look! how his open lips
Gasp at the winning tale!
And nearer now he comes
To lose no word of that delightful talk.
Then, as in familiar mood,
Upon the Stripling’s arm
The Sorcerer laid his hand,
And the fire of the Crystal fled.
Whilst the sudden shoot of joy
Made pale Abdaldar’s cheek,
The Master’s voice was heard:
“It is the hour of prayer,...
“My children, let us purify ourselves
“And praise the Lord our God!”
The Boy the water brought,
After the law they purified themselves,
And bent their faces to the earth in prayer.
All, save Abdaldar; over Thalaba
He stands, and lifts the dagger to destroy.
Before his lifted arm received
Its impulse to descend,
The Blast of the Desert came.
Prostrate in prayer, the pious family
Felt not the Simoom pass.
They rose, and lo! the Sorcerer lying dead,
Holding the dagger in his blasted hand.
THALABA THE DESTROYER. BOOK III.
THALABA.
Oneiza, look! the dead man has a ring,...
Should it be buried with him?
ONEIZA.
Oh yes... yes!
A wicked man! all that he has must needs
Be wicked too!
THALABA.
But see,... the sparkling stone!
How it has caught the glory of the Sun,
And streams it back again in lines of light!
ONEIZA.
Why do you take it from him Thalaba?...
And look at it so near?... it may have charms
To blind, or poison... throw it in the grave!...
I would not touch it!
THALABA.
And around its rim
Strange letters,...
ONEIZA.
Bury it.... Oh! bury it!
THALABA.
It is not written as the Koran is;
Some other tongue perchance... the accursed man
Said he had been a traveller.
MOATH. coming from the tent.
Thalaba,
What hast thou there?
THALABA.
A ring the dead man wore,
Perhaps my father, you can read its meaning.
MOATH.
No Boy,... the letters are not such as ours.
Heap the sand over it! a wicked man
Wears nothing holy.
THALABA.
Nay! not bury it!
It may be that some traveller who shall enter
Our tent, may read them: 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 killed 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.
THALABA.
His ring has some strange power then?
MOATH.
Every gem,
So sages say, has virtue; but the science
Of difficult attainment, some grow pale
Conscious of poison, or with sudden shade
Of darkness, warn the wearer; same preserve
From spells, or blunt the hostile weapon’s edge.
Some open rocks and mountains, and lay bare
Their buried treasures; others make the sight
Strong to perceive the presence of all Beings
Thro’ whose pure substance the unaided eye
Passes, like empty air... and in yon stone
I deem some such misterious quality.
THALABA.
My father, I will wear it.
MOATH.
Thalaba!
THALABA.
In God’s name, and the Prophet’s! be its power
Good, let it serve the righteous: if for evil,
God and my trust in him shall hallow it.
So Thalaba drew on
The written ring of gold.
Then in the hollow grave
They laid Abdaldar’s corpse,
And levelled over him the desert dust.
The Sun arose, ascending from beneath
The horizon’s circling line.
As Thalaba to his ablutions went,
Lo! the grave open, and the corpse exposed!
It was not that the winds of night
Had swept away the sands that covered it,
For heavy with the undried dew
The desert dust was dark an
d close around;
And the night air had been so moveless calm,
It had not from the grove
Shaken a ripe date down.
Amazed to hear the tale
Forth from the tent came Moath and his child.
Awhile the thoughtful man surveyed the corpse
Silent with downward eyes,
Then turning spake to Thalaba and said,
“I have heard that there are places by the abode
“Of holy men, so holily possessed,
“That if a corpse be buried there, the ground
“With a convulsive effort shakes it out,
“Impatient of pollution. Have the feet
“Of Prophet or Apostle blest this place?
“Ishmael, or Houd, or Saleh, or than all,
“Mohammed, holier name? or is the man
“So foul with magic and all blasphemy,
“That Earth like Heaven rejects him? it is best
“Forsake the station. Let us strike our tent.
“The place is tainted... and behold
“The Vulture hovers yonder, and his scream
“Chides us that we still we scare him from his banquet.
“So let the accursed one
“Find fitting sepulchre.”
Then from the pollution of death
With water they made themselves pure,
And Thalaba drew up
The fastening of the cords,
And Moath furled the tent,
And from the grove of palms Oneiza led
The Camels, ready to receive their load.
The dews had ceased to steam
Towards the climbing Sun,
When from the Isle of Palms they went their way.
And when the Sun had reached his southern height,
As back they turned their eyes,
The distant Palms arose
Like to the top-sails of some far-off fleet
Distinctly seen, where else
The Ocean bounds had blended with the sky.
And when the eve came on
The sight returning reached the grove no more.