The Eleventh Book. Those, Sir, that traffick in these seas, Fraught not their bark with fears. SIR ROBERT HOWARD. BLIND LADY. THALABA THE DESTROYER. THE ELEVENTH BOOK. FOOL, to think thy human hand Could check the chariot-wheels of Destiny! To dream of weakness in the all-knowing Mind, That his decrees should change! To hope that the united Powers Of Earth, and Air, and Hell, Might blot one letter from the Book of Fate, Fall now upon the body of thy child, Beat now thy breast, and pluck the bleeding hairs From thy grey beard, and lay Thine ineffectual hand to close her wound, And call on Hell to aid, And call on Heaven to send Its merciful thunderbolt! The young Arabian silently Beheld his frantic grief. The presence of the hated youth To raging anguish stung The wretched Sorcerer. "Aye! look and triumph!" he exclaim'd, "This is the justice of thy God! "A righteous God is he, to let "His vengeance fall upon the innocent head!.. "Curse thee, curse thee, Thalaba!" All feelings of revenge Had left Hodeirah's son. Pitying and silently he heard The victim of his own iniquities; Not with the busy hand |