Part 15 (1/2)
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 gra.s.s She hears his tread, so close!
”Prophet save me! save me G.o.d!
”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.
THE SEVENTH BOOK.
_THALABA THE DESTROYER._
_THE SEVENTH BOOK._
From fear, amazement, joy, At length the Arabian Maid recovering speech, Threw around Thalaba her arms and cried, ”My father! O my father!” Thalaba In wonder lost, yet fearful to enquire, Bent down his cheek on hers, And their tears mingled as they fell.
ONEIZA.
At night they seized me, Thalaba! in my sleep,...
Thou wert not near,... and yet when in their grasp I woke, my shriek of terror called on thee.
My father could not save me,... an old man!
And they were strong and many,... O my G.o.d, The hearts they must have had to hear his prayers, And yet to leave him childless!
THALABA.
We will seek him.
We will return to Araby.