THALABA THE DESTROYER.
THE ELEVENTH BOOK.
O fool to think thy human hand
Could check the chariot-wheels of Destiny
To dream of weakness in the all-knowing Mind
That his decrees should change!
To hope that the united Powers
Of Earth, and Air, and Hell,
Might blot one letter from the Book of Fate,
Might break one link of the eternal chain!
Thou miserable, wicked, poor old man,
Fall now upon the body of thy child,
Beat now thy breast, and pluck the bleeding hairs
From thy grey beard, and lay
Thine ineffectual hand to close her wound.
And call on Hell to aid,
And call on Heaven to send
Its merciful thunderbolt!
The young Arabian silently
Beheld his frantic grief.
The presence of the hated youth
To raging anguish stung
The wretched Sorcerer.
“Aye! look and triumph!” he exclaimed,
“This is the justice of thy God!
“A righteous God is he, to let
“His vengeance fall upon the innocent head!
“Curse thee, curse thee, Thalaba!”
All feelings of revenge
Had left Hodeirah’s son.
Pitying and silently he heard
The victim of his own iniquities,
Not with the busy hand
Of Consolation, fretting the sore wound
He could not hope to heal.
So as the Servant of the Prophet stood,
With sudden motion the night air
Gently fanned his cheek.
’Twas a Green Bird whose wings
Had waved the quiet air.
On the hand of Thalaba
The Green Bird perched, and turned
A mild eye up, as if to win
The Adventurer’s confidence.
Then springing on flew forward,
And now again returns
To court him to the way;
And now his hand perceives
Her rosy feet press firmer, as she leaps
Upon the wing again.
Obedient to the call,
By the pale moonlight Thalaba pursued
O’er trackless snows his way;
Unknowing he what blessed messenger
Had come to guide his steps,
That Laila’s Spirit went before his path.
Brought up in darkness and the child of sin,
Yet as the meed of spotless innocence,
Just Heaven permitted her by one good deed
To work her own redemption, after death;
So till the judgement day
She might abide in bliss,
Green[173] warbler of the Bowers of Paradise.