Still o’er the wilderness
Settled the moveless mist.
The timid Antelope that heard their steps
Stood doubtful where to turn in that dim light,
The Ostrich, blindly hastening, met them full.
At night again in hope,
Young Thalaba laid down;
The morning came, and not one guiding ray
Thro’ the thick mist was visible,
The same deep moveless mist that mantled all.
Oh for the Vulture’s scream
That haunts for prey the abode of humankind!
Oh for the Plover’s[77] pleasant cry
To tell of water near!
Oh for the Camel-driver’s[78] song!
For now the water-skin grows light,
Tho’ of the draught, more eagerly desired,
Imperious prudence took with sparing thirst.
Oft from the third night’s broken sleep,
As in his dreams he heard
The sound of rushing winds,
Started the anxious youth, and looked abroad,
In vain! for still the deadly calm endured.
Another day past on,
The water-skin was drained,
But then one hope arrived
For there was motion in the air!
The sound of the wind arose anon
That scattered the thick mist,
And lo! at length the lovely face of Heaven!
Alas ... a wretched scene
Was opened on their view.
They looked around, no wells were near,
No tent, no human aid!
Flat on the Camel lay the water-skin,
And their dumb servant difficultly now,
Over hot sands and under the hot sun,
Dragged on with patient pain.
But oh the joy! the blessed sight!
When in the burning waste the Travellers
Saw a green meadow, fair with flowers besprent,
Azure and yellow, like the beautiful fields
Of England, when amid the growing grass
The blue-bell bends, the golden king-cup shines,
In the merry month of May!
Oh joy! the Travellers
Gaze on each other with hope-brightened eyes,
For sure thro’ that green meadow flows
The living stream! and lo! their famished beast
Sees the restoring sight!
Hope gives his feeble limbs a sudden strength,
He hurries on!
The herbs so fair to eye
Were Senna, and the Gentian’s blossom blue,
And kindred plants that with unwatered root
Fed in the burning sand, whose bitter leaves
Even frantic[79] Famine loathed.
In uncommunicating misery
Silent they stood. At length Lobaba cried,
“Son we must slay the Camel, or we die
“For lack of water! thy young hand is firm,
“Draw forth the knife and pierce him!”
Wretch accurst,
Who that beheld thy venerable face,
Thy features fixed with suffering, the dry lips,
The feverish eyes, could deem that all within
Was magic ease, and fearlessness secure,
And wiles of hellish import? the young man
Paused with reluctant pity: but he saw
His comrade’s red and painful countenance,
And his own burning breath came short and quick,
And at his feet the gasping beast
Lies, over-worn with want.
Then from his[80] girdle Thalaba took the knife
With stern compassion, and from side to side
Across[81] the Camel’s throat,
Drew deep the crooked blade.
Servant of man, that merciful deed
For ever ends thy suffering, but what doom
Waits thy deliverer! “little will thy death
“Avail us!” thought the youth,
As in the water-skin he poured
The Camel’s hoarded draught:
It gave a scant supply,
The poor allowance of one prudent day.
Son of Hodeirah, tho’ thy steady soul
Despaired not, firm in faith,
Yet not the less did suffering Nature feel
Her pangs and trials, long their craving thirst
Struggled with fear, by fear itself inflamed;
But drop by drop, that poor,
That last supply is drained!
Still the same burning sun! no cloud in heaven!
The hot air quivers, and the sultry mist
Floats o’er the desert, with a show
Of distant[82] waters, mocking their distress!
The youth’s parched lips were black,
His tongue was[83] dry and rough,
His eye-balls red with heat.
His comrade gazed on him with looks
That seemed to speak of pity, and he said
“Let me behold thy Ring,
“It may have virtue that can save us yet!”
With that he took his hand
And viewed the writing close,
Then cried with sudden joy
“It is a stone that whoso bears
“The Genii must obey!
“Now raise thy voice, my Son,
“And bid them in his name that here is written
“Preserve us in our need.”
“Nay!” answered Thalaba,
“Shall I distrust the providence of God?
“Is it not He must save?
“If Allah wills it not
“Vain were the Genii’s aid.”
Whilst he spake Lobaba’s eye
Full on the distance fixed,
Attended not his speech.
Its fearful meaning drew
The looks of Thalaba.
Columns of sand came moving on,
Red in the burning ray
Like obelisks of fire
They rushed before the driving wind.
Vain were all thoughts of flight!
They had not hoped escape
Could they have backed the Dromedary then
Who in his rapid race
Gives to the tranquil[84] air, a drowning force.
High ... high in heaven upcurled
The dreadful[85] columns moved,
Swift, as the whirlwind that impelled their way,
They rushed towards the Travellers!
The old Magician shrieked,
And lo! the foremost bursts,
Before the whirlwind’s force,
Scattering afar a burning shower of sand.
“Now by the virtue of the Ring
“Save us!” Lobaba cried.
“While yet thou hast the power
“Save us. O save us! now!”
The youth made no reply,
Gazing in aweful wonder on the scene.
“Why dost thou wait?” the Old Man exclaimed,
“If Allah and the Prophet will not save
“Call on the Powers that will!”
“Ha! do I know thee, Infidel accurst?”
Exclaimed the awakened youth.
“And thou hast led me hither, Child of Sin!
“That fear might make me sell
“My soul to endless death!”
“Fool that thou art!” Lobaba cried,
“Call upon him whose name
“Thy charmed signet bears,
“Or die the death thy foolishness deserves!”