Part 26 (1/2)

For it moves with the motion of life!

Lo! she returns and scatters from her pinions Odours diviner than the gales of morning Waft from Sabea.

Hovering before the youth she hung, Till from her rosy feet that at his touch Uncurled their grasp, he took The fruitful bough they bore.

He took and tasted, a new life Flowed thro' his renovated frame; His limbs that late were sore and stiff Felt all the freshness of repose, His dizzy brain was calmed.

The heavy aching of his lids At once was taken off, For Laila from the Bowers of Paradise Had borne the healing[174] fruit.

So up the mountain steep With untired foot he past, The Green Bird guiding him Mid crags, and ice, and rocks, A difficult way, winding the long ascent.

How then the heart of Thalaba rejoiced When bosomed in the mountain depths, A sheltered Valley opened on his view!

It was the Simorg's vale, The dwelling of the ancient Bird.

On a green and mossy bank.

Beside a rivulet The Bird of Ages stood.

No sound intruded on his solitude, Only the rivulet was heard Whose everlasting flow From the birth-day of the world had made The same unvaried murmuring.

Here dwelt the all-knowing Bird In deep tranquillity, His eyelids ever closed In full enjoyment of profound repose.

Reverently the youth approached That old and only[175] Bird, And crossed his arms upon his breast, And bowed his head and spake.

”Earliest of existing things, ”Earliest thou, and wisest thou, ”Guide me, guide me, on my way!

”I am bound to seek the caverns ”Underneath the roots of Ocean ”Where the Sorcerer brood are nurst.

”Thou the eldest, thou the wisest, ”Guide me, guide me, on my way!”

The ancient Simorg on the youth Unclosed his thoughtful eyes, And answered to his prayer.

”Northward by the stream proceed, ”In the fountain of the rock ”Wash away thy worldly stains, ”Kneel thou there, and seek the Lord ”And fortify thy soul with prayer.

”Thus prepared ascend the Sledge, ”Be bold, be wary, seek and find!

”G.o.d hath appointed all.”

The ancient Simorg then let fall his lids Returning to repose.

Northward along the rivulet The adventurer went his way, Tracing its waters upward to their source.

Green Bird of Paradise Thou hast not left the youth;...

With slow a.s.sociate flight She companies his way, And now they reach the fountain of the rock.

There in the cold clear well Thalaba washed away his earthly stains, And bowed his face before the Lord, And fortified his soul with prayer.

The while upon the rock Stood the celestial Bird, And pondering all the perils he must pa.s.s, With a mild melancholy eye Beheld the youth beloved.

And lo! beneath yon lonely pine, the sledge....

And there they stand the harnessed Dogs, Their wide eyes watching for the youth, Their ears erected turned towards his way.

They were lean as lean might be, Their furrowed ribs rose prominent, And they were black from head to foot, Save a white line on every breast Curved like the crescent moon.

And he is seated in the sledge, His arms are folded on his breast, The bird is on his knees; There is fear in the eyes of the Dogs, There is fear in their pitiful moan, And now they turn their heads, And seeing him there, Away!

The Youth with the start of their speed Falls back to the bar of the sledge, His hair floats straight in the stream of the wind Like the weeds in the running brook.

They wind with speed the upward way, An icey path thro' rocks of ice, His eye is at the summit now, And thus far all is dangerless, And now upon the height The black Dogs pause and pant, They turn their eyes to Thalaba As if to plead for pity, They moan and moan with fear.

Once more away! and now The long descent is seen, A long, long, narrow path.

Ice-rocks aright and hills of snow, Aleft the giddy precipice.

Be firm, be firm, O Thalaba!

One motion now, one bend, And on the crags below Thy shattered flesh will harden in the frost.

Why howl the Dogs so mournfully?

And wherefore does the blood flow fast All purple o'er their sable hair?

His arms are folded on his breast, Nor scourge nor goad has he, No hand appears to strike, No sounding lash is heard: But piteously they moan and moan And track their way with blood.

And lo! on yonder height A giant Fiend aloft Waits to thrust down the tottering Avalanche!