But Thalaba took not the draught
For rightly he knew had the Prophet forbidden
That beverage the mother[125] of sins.
Nor did the urgent guests
Proffer a second time the liquid fire
For in the youth’s strong eye they saw
No moveable resolve.
Yet not uncourteous, Thalaba
Drank the cool draught of innocence,
That fragrant from its dewy[126] vase
Came purer than it left its native bed.
And he partook the odorous fruits,
For all rich fruits were there.
Water-melons rough of rind,
Whose pulp the thirsty lip
Dissolved into a draught:
Pistachios from the heavy-clustered trees
Of Malavert, or Haleb’s fertile soil,
And Casbin’s[127] luscious grapes of amber hue,
That many a week endure
The summer sun intense,
Till by its powerful fire
All watery particles exhaled, alone
The strong essential sweetness ripens there.
Here cased in ice, the [128]apricot,
A topaz, crystal-set:
Here on a plate of snow
The sunny orange rests,
And still the aloes and the sandal-wood
From golden censers o’er the banquet room
Diffuse their dying sweets.
Anon a troop of females formed the dance
Their ancles bound with [129]bracelet-bells
That made the modulating harmony.
Transparent[130] garments to the greedy eye
Gave all their harlot limbs,
That writhed, in each immodest gesture skilled.
With earnest eyes the banqueters
Fed on the sight impure;
And Thalaba, he gazed,
But in his heart he bore a talisman
Whose blessed Alchemy
To virtuous thoughts refined
The loose suggestions of the scene impure.
Oneiza’s image swam before his sight,
His own Arabian Maid.
He rose, and from the banquet room he rushed,
And tears ran down his burning cheek,
And nature for a moment woke the thought
And murmured, that from all domestic joys
Estranged, he wandered o’er the world
A lonely being, far from all he loved.
Son of Hodeirah, not among thy crimes
That murmur shall be written!
From tents of revelry,
From festal bowers, to solitude he ran,
And now he reached where all the rills
Of that well-watered garden in one tide
Rolled their collected waves.
A straight and stately bridge
Stretched its long arches o’er the ample stream.
Strong in the evening and distinct its shade
Lay on the watry mirror, and his eye
Saw it united with its parent pile
One huge fantastic fabric. Drawing near,
Loud from the chambers[131] of the bridge below,
Sounds of carousal came and song,
And unveiled women bade the advancing youth
Come merry-make with them.
Unhearing or unheeding, Thalaba
Past o’er with hurried pace,
And plunged amid the forest solitude.
Deserts of Araby!
His soul returned to you.
He cast himself upon the earth
And closed his eyes, and called
The voluntary vision up.
A cry as of distress
Aroused him; loud it came, and near!
He started up, he strung his bow,
He plucked the arrow forth.
Again a shriek ... a woman’s shriek!
And lo! she rushes thro’ the trees,
Her veil all rent, her garments torn!
He follows close, the ravisher....
Even on the unechoing grass
She hears his tread, so close!
“Prophet save me! save me God!
“Help! help!” she cried to Thalaba,
Thalaba drew the bow.
The unerring arrow did its work of death.
He turned him to the woman, and beheld
His own Oneiza, his Arabian Maid.