“Good is he?” cried the boy,
“Why are my brethren and my sisters slain?
“Why is my father killed?
“Did ever we neglect our prayers,
“Or ever lift a hand unclean to heaven?
“Did ever stranger from our tent
“Unwelcomed turn away?
“Mother, he is not good!”
Then Zeinab beat her breast in agony,
“O God forgive my child!
“He knows not what he says!
“Thou know’st I did not teach him thoughts like these,
“O Prophet, pardon him!”
She had not wept till that assuaging prayer....
The fountains of her eyes were opened then,
And tears relieved her heart.
She raised her swimming eyes to Heaven,
“Allah, thy will be done!
“Beneath the dispensation of thy wrath
“I groan, but murmur not.
“The Day of the Trial will come,
“When I shall understand how profitable
“It is to suffer now.”
Young Thalaba in silence heard reproof,
His brow in manly frowns was knit,
With manly thoughts his heart was full.
“Tell me who slew my father?” cried the boy.
Zeinab replied and said,
“I knew not that there lived thy father’s foe.
“The blessings of the poor for him
“Went daily up to Heaven,
“In distant lands the traveller told his praise.
“I did not think there lived
“Hodeirah’s enemy.”
“But I will hunt him thro’ the earth!”
Young Thalaba exclaimed.
“Already I can bend my father’s bow,
“Soon will my arm have strength
“To drive the arrow-feathers to his heart.”
Zeinab replied, “O Thalaba, my child,
“Thou lookest on to distant days,
“And we are in the desert far from men!”
Not till that moment her afflicted heart
Had leisure for the thought.
She cast her eyes around,
Alas! no tents were there
Beside the bending sands;
No palm tree rose to spot the wilderness.
The dark blue sky closed round
And rested[2] like a dome
Upon the circling waste.
She cast her eyes around,
Famine and Thirst were there.
Then the mother bowed her head,
And wept upon her child.
... Sudden a cry of wonder
From Thalaba aroused her,
She raised her head, and saw
Where high in air a stately palace rose.
Amid a grove embowered
Stood the prodigious pile,
Trees of such ancient majesty
Towered not on Yemen’s happy hills,
Nor crowned the stately brow of Lebanon.
Fabric so vast, so lavishly enriched,
For Idol, or for Tyrant, never yet
Raised the slave race of men
In Rome, nor in the elder Babylon,
Nor old Persepolis,
Nor where the family of Greece
Hymned Eleutherian Jove.
Here studding azure[3] tablatures
And rayed with feeble light,
Star-like the ruby and the diamond shone:
Here on the golden towers
The yellow moon-beam lay;
Here with white splendour floods the silver wall.
Less wonderous pile and less magnificent
Sennamar[4] built at Hirah, tho’ his art
Sealed with one stone the ample edifice
And made its colours, like the serpents skin
Play with a changeful beauty: him, its Lord
Jealous lest after-effort might surpass
The now unequalled palace, from its height
Dashed on the pavement down.
They entered, and through aromatic paths
Wondering they went along.
At length upon a mossy bank
Beneath a tall mimosa’s shade
That o’er him bent its living canopy,
They saw a man reclined.
Young he appeared, for on his cheek there shone
The morning glow of health,
And the brown beard curled close around his chin.
He slept, but at the sound
Of coming feet awakening, fixed his eyes
In wonder, on the wanderer and her child.
“Forgive us,” Zeinab cried,
“Distress hath made us bold.
“Relieve the widow and the fatherless.
“Blessed are they who succour the distrest
“For them hath God appointed Paradise.”
He heard, and he looked up to heaven,
And tears ran down his cheeks:
“It is a human voice!
“I thank thee, O my God!
“How many an age has past
“Since the sweet sounds have visited mine ear!
“I thank thee, O my God,
“It is a human voice!”