Thalaba the destroyer by robert southey autobiography

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Son! thou art silent,...
Perhaps I say too much,... it goes out!”

It quivered, it was quenched.
One flame alone was left,
A pale blue flame that trembled on the earth,
A hovering light upon whose shrinking edge
The darkness seemed to press.
Stronger it grew, and spread
Its lucid swell around,
Extending now where all the ten had stood,
With lustre more than all.
At that protentous sight,
The children of Evil trembled
And Terror smote their souls.
Over the den the fire
Its fearful splendour cast,
The broad base rolling up in wavy streams,
Bright as the summer lightning when it spreads
Its glory o’er the midnight heaven.
The Teraphs eyes were dimmed,
That like two twinkling stars
Shone in the darkness late.
The Sorcerers on each other gazed,
And every face all pale with fear,
And ghastly in that light was seen
Like a dead man’s by the sepulchral lamp.

Even Khawla fiercest of the enchanter brood
Not without effort drew
Her fear suspended breath.
Anon a deeper rage
Inflamed her reddening eye.
“Mighty is thy power, Mohammed!”
Loud in blasphemy she cried,
“But Eblis[23] would not stoop to man
“When Man fair statured as the stately palm,
“From his Creator’s hand
“Was undefiled and pure.
“Thou art mighty, O Son of Abdallah!
“But who is he of woman born
“That shall vie with the might of Eblis?
“That shall rival the Prince of the Morning?”

She said, and raised her skinny hand
As in defiance to high Heaven,
And stretched her long lean finger forth
And spake aloud the words of power.
The Spirits heard her call,
And lo!

After becoming an outspoken member of the Tory party, Southey's changing views led him to accept a position as Britain's Poet Laureate in 1813, a position that he held for 30 years. the wife beloved,
The fruitful mother late,
Whom when the daughters of Arabia named
They wished their lot like her’s;
She wanders o’er the desert sands
A wretched widow now,
The fruitful mother of so fair a race,
With only one preserved,
She wanders o’er the wilderness.

No tear relieved the burthen of her heart;
Stunned with the heavy woe she felt like one
Half-wakened from a midnight dream of blood.
But sometimes when her boy
Would wet her hand with tears,
And looking up to her fixed countenance,
Amid his bursting sobs
Say the dear name of Mother, then would she
Utter a feeble groan.
At length collecting, Zeinab turned her eyes
To heaven, exclaiming, “praised be the Lord!
“He gave,[1] he takes away,
“The Lord our God is good!”

“Good is he?” cried the boy,
“Why are my brethren and my sisters slain?
“Why is my father killed?
“Did ever we neglect our prayers,
“Or ever lift a hand unclean to heaven?
“Did ever stranger from our tent
“Unwelcomed turn away?
“Mother, he is not good!”

Then Zeinab beat her breast in agony,
“O God forgive my child!
“He knows not what he says!
“Thou know’st I did not teach him thoughts like these,
“O Prophet, pardon him!”

She had not wept till that assuaging prayer....
The fountains of her eyes were opened then,
And tears relieved her heart.
She raised her swimming eyes to Heaven,
“Allah, thy will be done!
“Beneath the dispensation of thy wrath
“I groan, but murmur not.
“The Day of the Trial will come,
“When I shall understand how profitable
“It is to suffer now.”

Young Thalaba in silence heard reproof,
His brow in manly frowns was knit,
With manly thoughts his heart was full.
“Tell me who slew my father?” cried the boy.
Zeinab replied and said,
“I knew not that there lived thy father’s foe.
“The blessings of the poor for him
“Went daily up to Heaven,
“In distant lands the traveller told his praise.
“I did not think there lived
“Hodeirah’s enemy.”

“But I will hunt him thro’ the earth!”
Young Thalaba exclaimed.
“Already I can bend my father’s bow,
“Soon will my arm have strength
“To drive the arrow-feathers to his heart.”

Zeinab replied, “O Thalaba, my child,
“Thou lookest on to distant days,
“And we are in the desert far from men!”

Not till that moment her afflicted heart
Had leisure for the thought.
She cast her eyes around,
Alas!

that the darkened lids[64]
Gave yet a softer lustre to her eye?
That with such pride she tricked
Her glossy tresses, and on holy day
Wreathed the red flower-crown[65] round their jetty waves?
How happily the years
Of Thalaba went by!

Yet was the heart of Thalaba
Impatient of repose;
Restless he pondered still
The task for him decreed,
The mighty and mysterious work announced.
Day by day with youthful ardour
He the call of Heaven awaits,
And oft in visions o’er the Murderer’s head
He lifts the avenging arm,
And oft in dreams he sees
The Sword that is circled with fire.

One morn as was their wont, in sportive mood
The youth and damsel bent Hodeirah’s bow,
For with no feeble hand nor erring aim
Oneiza could let loose the obedient shaft.
With head back-bending, Thalaba
Shot up the aimless arrow high in air,
Whose line in vain the aching sight pursued
Lost in the depth of heaven.
“When will the hour arrive,” exclaimed the youth,
“That I shall aim these fated shafts
“To vengeance long delayed?
“Have I not strength, my father, for the deed?
“Or can the will of Providence
“Be mutable like man?
“Shall I never be called to the task?”

“Impatient boy!” quoth Moath, with a smile:
“Impatient Thalaba!” Oneiza cried,
And she too smiled, but in her smile
A mild reproachful melancholy mixed.

Then Moath pointed where a cloud
Of Locusts, from the desolated fields
Of Syria, winged their way.
“Lo!

Also of Gems
I have some knowledge, and the characters
That tell beneath what aspect they were set.

THALABA.

Belike you can interpret then the graving
Around this Ring?

LOBABA.

My sight is feeble, Son,
And I must view it closer, let me try!

The unsuspecting Youth
Held forth his linger to draw off the spell.
Even whilst he held it forth,
There settled there a Wasp,
And just above the Gem infixed its dart.
All purple swoln the hot and painful flesh
Rose round the tightened Ring.
The baffled Sorcerer knew the hand of Heaven,
And inwardly blasphemed.

Ere long Lobaba’s heart,
Fruitful in wiles, devised new stratagem.
A mist arose at noon;
Like the loose hanging skirts
Of some low cloud that, by the breeze impelled,
Sweeps o’er the mountain side.
With joy the thoughtless youth
That grateful shadowing hailed;
For grateful was the shade,
While thro’ the silver-lighted haze
Guiding their way, appeared the beamless Sun.
But soon that beacon failed;
A heavier mass of cloud
Impenetrably deep,
Hung o’er the wilderness.
“Knowest thou the track?” quoth Thalaba,
“Or should we pause, and wait the wind
“To scatter this bewildering fog?”
The Sorcerer answered him
“Now let us hold right on,...

unthinking that from all the earth
“The heart ascends to him.
“We sent to call on God;
“Ah fools! on a time
The Angels at the wickedness of man
Expressed indignant wonder: that in vain
Tokens and signs were given, and Prophets sent,...
Strange obstinacy this! later years
Sacred to study, teach me to regret
Youth’s unforeseeing indolence, and hours
That cannot be recalled!

Southey remained Poet Laureate of Britain for 30 years, and eventually died in 1843. Shortly after leaving, he crossed paths with Samuel Taylor Coleridge, with whom he formed a friendship which would mold his early life and continue until his later years. Unfortunately, Wat Tyler was not published, the scheme to emigrate to America to practice "Pantisocracy" never came to fruition, and his friendship with Coleridge became increasingly strained.

who can tell the unspeakable misery
“Of solitude like this!
“No sound hath ever reached my ear
“Save of the passing wind....
“The fountain’s everlasting flow;
“The forest in the gale,
“The pattering of the shower,
“Sounds dead and mournful all.
“No bird hath ever closed her wing
“Upon these solitary bowers,
“No insect sweetly buzzed amid these groves,
“From all things that have life,
“Save only me, concealed.
“This Tree alone that o’er my head
“Hangs, down its hospitable boughs,
“And bends its whispering leaves
“As tho’ to welcome me,
“Seems to partake[20] of life;
“I love it as my friend, my only friend!

“I know not for what ages I have dragged
“This miserable life,
“How often I have seen
“These antient trees renewed,
“What countless generations of mankind
“Have risen and fallen asleep,
“And I remain the same!
“My garment hath not waxed old,
“Nor the sole of my shoe hath worn.

“I dare not breathe the prayer to die,
“O merciful Lord God!...
“But when it is thy will,
“But when I have atoned
“For mine iniquities,
“And sufferings have made pure
“My soul with sin defiled,
“Release me in thine own good time,...
“I will not cease to praise thee, O my God!”

Silence ensued awhile,
Then Zeinab answered him.
“Blessed art thou, O Aswad!

inevitable death!
Driven by the breath of God
A column of the Desert met his way.