A female stood at the entrance to the plain. She was elegantly though loosely dressed; her head was crowned with a chaplet of flowers, and her whole contour was that of perfect beauty—yet there was a certain boldness and forwardness in her mien, that however it might captivate some, rather checked the advances of those whose self-command was not disarmed by her beauty.
I perceived a crowd of persons advancing along the great road, towards these beings; and when they came to where it forked, they seemed urged forward by an irresistible impulse, yet doubtful which path to pursue. Many attempted to ascend the hill, allured no doubt by the splendour of its summit. Yet I observed that the greater part of these, after toiling a little way up the ascent, turned back, after many a wistful look at the valley which lay behind them. The greater part of the travellers, however, chose the direction of the valley. Some were allured by the sight of verdant banks and shady groves, and by the strains of exquisite melody ever and anon wafted to their ears.
Many were enticed by the Portress of the Plain, who assured them that there was a much easier and pleasanter way to the summit of the hill through her dominions. When they had once entered, it seemed like a region of enchantment. The main path, as I have mentioned, speedily lost itself in innumerable branches.—Many of these seemed to wind along the foot of the hill, so that the travellers easily persuaded themselves that they would soon find the road which the Genius had promised, and pitied the ascetic toil of those who were scaling the mountain.
The inducements to repose, and the pleasures by the wayside, were, however, innumerable. Here a flower of uncommon beauty solicited their admiration, while umbrageous retreats and cooling fountains, presented themselves at every turn. Beings of celestial beauty were loitering in the shade—willing to be caressed, and ever ready to beguile the way with music and song. At one time they would invite the pilgrims to taste the golden fruits, which hung from the branches; or to listen to the melody of some songster of the grove. At another they would join in the wanton dance, "to the warbling of the lascivious lute," and lull their senses into oblivion with music like that of Circe. Every sense was gratified; the sky was serene and brilliant, the landscape in its summer beauty, and the breeze was loaded with fragrance and melody.
By degrees the paths lost their former direction, and all tended towards the end of the plain. I could see that the sirens, who so fatally beguiled the way, kept aloof from this part of the valley, and lingered among the cool and shady retreats at the entrance. Yet the travellers seemed, as before, urged on by an irresistible impulse; although, as they advanced, the way became less pleasant, the groves and the flowers less frequent and luxuriant, and the melody of the birds less enchanting. The sun now shone with intolerable ardour, and the plain ended in a burning sandy desert, trackless and unwatered. The few sirens who still accompanied them, and who were before so irresistibly charming, lost by degrees their youth and beauty. A few withered hags were all that now remained. The lute and the myrtle wreath were exchanged for a whip of snakes and a dagger. With these they chased the band of miserable bloated wretches, urging them farther and farther from the last vestige of delight. I could see a number of winged boys, flying about, and armed with a bow and a quiver of arrows. They discharged their weapons at random, among the deluded travellers on the plain.—Their shafts most frequently fell blunted to the ground. But whomsoever they pierced, seemed roused as from a dream. The flowers, for them, lost their fragrancy, the song of the grove its music, and the banks their verdure. The sun burnt with tenfold rage, and they gazed on themselves and their companions with horror. Many of them turned and fled, and though they were pursued by the taunts and hisses of those around them, seldom stopped until they had gained the foot of the mountain. But the greater number tore the darts wildly from their bosoms, and pressed on more desperately than before. The wound, for a time, would appear to be healed. But whenever they were struck with the lashes of their pursuers, it opened again—a rankling and incurable sore. At every step their torment increased. Frantic and blaspheming, they hurried on towards the end of the desert, where a grove of blasted cedars seemed to promise shade, and the sound of waters, refreshment. But scarcely had they gained the bank, when the billows rolled over them, and closed for ever. The howling of the winds, the dashing of the waves, and the shrieks of the dying, sent horror to my soul.—I turned with pain from the prospect to observe those who were ascending the mountain. They seemed at first to advance with difficulty, for the ascent of the hill was steep and rocky. There was but one path to its summit, and this kept nearly a direct course, and seldom bent itself to the inequalities of the way. The travellers often stumbled over the stones that obstructed the passage, or tore themselves with the briars that trailed along the way. Sometimes they would unexpectedly find themselves at the foot of a rock that hid the prospect before them, and seemed to bar up the passage.—But an attentive observer might discover along its side a steep and hazardous, yet accessible path. Here all their vigour and caution was requisite; and when they had gained the top, it was often only to discover new difficulties. Such were the obstacles, that many became disheartened, and sighed after and sought the voluptuous delights of the plain. The air on the mountain was cool and damp, and often overcast with clouds. Yet the thunder seldom rolled but at a distance, and the lightnings played innoxiously away. The ground was stony and barren, and seemed like a rude and desolate rock. Yet clusters of wild thyme, and chamomile, and rosemary, grew among the crevices of the stones; and shed around their sweet, though wholesome and refreshing perfumes. I observed several beings of a mild and majestic appearance, who went about removing and lessening the obstructions of the way. They raised and strengthened those who had fallen, and encouraged the laggard and the slothful. They cheered their labours with the tale of mighty men of old, or bade them mark the beauties before them, and the dazzling brilliancy of the summit. Whether it was from the invigorating effects of the climate, or the zeal and confidence with which such discourse inspired them, the travellers seemed to gather fresh strength as they proceeded. Their countenances beamed with cheerfulness and hope, and they bounded over the obstacles in the path with alacrity and vigour. A transient gloom would sometimes cloud their features, and they would sometimes complain of the asperities of the way. But a glance at the radiance above, or a smile from the good Genii who accompanied them, would always restore their wonted cheerfulness.
As they approached the summit, the road became more smooth and pleasant; the rude unsightly rock was exchanged for groves and fields of verdure. The air was purer, and more transparent. The landscape around was Nature in her sweetest robe: arrayed not in the unripened beauties of spring, or the gorgeous magnificence of summer, it breathed the tempered lustre, the full maturity, the mild undazzling serenity of autumn. The thrush, the robin, and the turtle-dove, were heard from the recesses of the grove; and the sky-lark sent down his melody from on high. Violets, jessamines, and honey-suckles, were scattered along the green, and wasted their sweets abroad. The radiance from the summit diffused a genial warmth around, and the travellers seemed already to enjoy the fruition of their labours,—But as if conscious that greater felicity was in view, they still pressed forward till I could scarcely distinguish them through the splendour that enveloped the top of the mountain.—As I was attentively gazing on their progress, methought I could discover a magnificent temple amidst the blaze of glory. The dome, the walls, and the pillars, shone like diamond through the mountain crystal. In the midst of the hall I could faintly trace an altar smoking with incense. The porticos and the area of the temple were crowded with beings of celestial beauty. Their robes were purer than the driven snow, and their locks were interwoven with gold and amaranth. Some were watching the rolling incense from the altar, and some were hymning the praises of their heavenly guide, or chanting the deeds of heroes. Others welcomed the travellers as they arrived, and led them rejoicing to the midst of the temple.
My sight, dazzled and overpowered, could behold them no longer.—The shout of welcome, the song of triumph, and the holy anthem, mellowed and softened by the distance, died sweetly away on my ear. "Happy regions!" exclaimed I, "this is indeed the abode of felicity. A thousand deaths, ten thousand years of anxiety and pain, would cheaply buy an admission to your delights." The violence of my emotion broke my slumbers; and I awoke, like Mirza, to behold, not indeed the camels of the long valley of Bagdat, but the awakening life and activity of the country,—the sober herd marching forth to their frugal pasture, the rattling swain, and the busy sounds of labour from the opposite hamlet.