Still o'er the wilderness

Settled the moveless mist.

The timid antelope, that heard their steps, Stood doubtful where to turn in that dim light; The ostrich, blindly hastening, met them full; At night, again in hope, Young Thalaba lay down;

The morning came, and not one guiding ray Through the thick mist was visible, The same deep moveless mist that mantled all. O for the vulture's scream,

Who haunts for prey the abode of humankind!
O for the plover's pleasant cry,

To tell of water near!
O for the camel-driver's song!
For now the water-skin grows light,
Though of the draught, more eagerly desired,
Imperious prudence took with sparing thirst.
Öft from the third night's broken sleep,
As in his dreams he heard

The sound of rushing winds,

Started the anxious youth, and looked abroad,
In vain! for still the deadly calm endured.
Another day passed on:

The water-skin was drained;
But then one hope arrived,

For there was motion in the air!

The sound of the wind arose anon, That scattered the thick mist, And lo! at length the lovely face of heaven!

They looked around, no wells were near,
No tent, no human aid!

Flat on the camel lay the water-skin,
And their dumb servant difficultly now,
Over hot sands and under the hot sun,
Dragged on with patient pain.
But O the joy! the blessed sight!
When in that burning waste the travellers
Saw a green meadow, fair with flowers besprent,
Azure and yellow, like the beautiful fields
Of England, when amid the growing grass
The blue-bell bends, the golden king-cup shines,
In the merry month of May!

O joy! the travellers

Gaze on each other with hope-brightened eyes, For sure through that green meadow flows The living stream! and, lo! their famished beast Sees the restoring sight!

Hope gives his feeble limbs a sudden strength; He hurries on!-The herbs so fair to eye Were senna, and the gentian's blossom blue, And kindred plants, that with unwatered root Fed in the burning sand, whose bitter leaves Even frantic famine loathed.

In uncommunicating misery

Silent they stood. At length Lobaba cried, 'Son, we must slay the camel, or we die For lack of water! Thy young hand is firm, Draw forth the knife and pierce him!' . . . The young man

Paused with reluctant pity; but he saw His comrade's red and painful countenance, And his own burning breath came short and quick, And at his feet the gasping beast

Lies, overworn with want.

Then from his girdle Thalaba took the knife With stern compassion, and from side to side, Across the camel's throat,

Drew deep the crooked blade. Servant of man, that merciful deed For ever ends thy suffering; but what doom Waits thy deliverer! 'Little will thy death Avail us!' thought the youth, As in the water-skin he poured The camel's hoarded draught: It gave a scant supply,

The poor allowance of one prudent day.

Son of Hodeirah, though thy steady soul
Despaired not, firm in faith,

Yet not the less did suffering nature feel
Her pangs and trials. Long their craving thirst
Struggled with fear, by fear itself inflamed;
But drop by drop, that poor,
That last supply is drained!

Still the same burning sun! no cloud in heaven!
The hot air quivers, and the sultry mist
Floats o'er the desert, with a show

Of distant waters, mocking their distress! ...

Whilst he spake, Lobaba's eye,
Full on the distance fixed,
Attended not his speech.
Its fearful meaning drew
The looks of Thalaba.

Columns of sand came moving on,
Red in the burning ray,

Like obelisks of fire.

They rushed before the driving wind;
Vain were all thoughts of flight!

They had not hoped escape

Could they have backed the dromedary then, Who in his rapid race

Gives to the tranquil air a drowning force.

High, high in heaven upcurled
The dreadful sand-spouts moved;
Swift as the whirlwind that impelled their way,
They rushed toward the travellers!
The old magician shrieked,

And, lo! the foremost bursts
Before the whirlwind's force,

Scattering afar a burning shower of sand. .

When Thalaba from adoration rose, The air was cool, the sky With welcome clouds o'ercast, Which soon came down in rain. He lifted up his fevered face to heaven, And bared his head, and stretched his hands To that delightful shower,

And felt the coolness flow through every limb, Freshening his powers of life.