| |
| THEY took their way (Vathek and his young bride, | |
| The sweet Nouronihar) through summer fields | |
| Of flowers, by sparkling rivers, fountains that | |
| Splashed o’er the turf, by palm and tamarisk trees, | |
| And where the dark pines talked to solitudes; | 5 |
| And oft beguiled the way with amorous songs, | |
| Kisses and looks voluptuous; and they quaffed | |
| At midday icéd waters which had grown | |
| Cool in the valley of Roenabad. One thing | |
| Did intervene to mar those quiet hours, | 10 |
Which was ambition.
But these days passed by: | |
| And then they journeyed among perilous sands, | |
| Which the hot blast of the desert swept at times | |
| To figures columnar; these subsiding, left | |
| Open to view the wide horizon, where, | 15 |
| Lifting their heads, like mountains, to the skies, | |
| Rose the dark towers of Istakar. The moon | |
| Hid her pale face eclipsed, and sore afraid | |
| Lest that the baleful atmosphere might shroud | |
| Her light forever; and interlunar stars | 20 |
| Shrank and grew dim, as when the morning shows | |
| His gray eye in the East. Forward they passed | |
| Midst crumbling walls, and shaking minarets, | |
| Where even the ivy grew not, and at last | |
| Stood ’neath the mighty palace of those kings | 25 |
| Who ruled before the flood. It seemed as built | |
| For all eternity; and its pillars threw | |
| On the black platform long, large lines of shadow, | |
| That lay upon the marble, like to things | |
| Substantial,—countless and sky-touching towers | 30 |
| (“Whose architecture was unknown amidst | |
| The records of the earth”) stood there, like that | |
| Vast pile our ancestry once dared to raise | |
| In old Chaldea, whence they met the wrath | |
| Of God, and nature’s own sweet language fled | 35 |
| The lips of men forever. Silence reigned; | |
| And glimmering darkness in the middle air | |
| Brooded, but shifting aye her shadowy wings, | |
| Let horror creep between, and doubtful light; | |
| And chill, sepulchral airs, that had no sound, | 40 |
| Touched the pale cheek of young Nouronihar: | |
| And Vathek felt his heart grow cold, and stayed | |
| His breath to listen, and he graspéd hard | |
| Her trembling hand for mere companionship. | |
| |
| The stars now shone anew; and right against | 45 |
| The palace, carvéd curiously, were seen | |
| Leopards and wingéd hippogriffs, and shapes | |
| Unknown but to the bottoms of the deep, | |
| And there, by all sea-monsters that we fear, | |
| Dreaded, and left alone; above these forms | 50 |
| Were traced mysterious characters, that did yield | |
| A welcome to the pair. Scarce had they read | |
| When from amongst the ruins came a sound | |
| Like anguish, and the yawning ground gave out | |
| Blue subterranean fires, that showed a door | 55 |
| Whose barréd labyrinths’ led to Hell. There stood | |
| The dwarféd Indian, grinning like a fiend; | |
| “Welcome!” he cried, “both welcome! Ye are come | |
| To see the prince of morning! Ye deserve | |
| To see, and ye shall see him.” Then he touched | 60 |
| The charméd lock, round which, invisibly, | |
| A hundred watchful demons wheeled, and kept | |
| Sacred the homes of starry Eblis. Wide | |
| It opened with a horrid sound, and shut | |
| (When Vathek and his bride had entered there) | 65 |
| Midst laughs, and shrieks exulting, like the noise | |
| Of mountainous thunder, or the withering voice | |
| Of him who from Vesuvius calls abroad | |
| In madness, and casts out his blazing foam | |
Like rivers toward the sea.
At last they saw | 70 |
| The Hall of Eblis: vaulted ’t was and high, | |
| So none might mark the roofs! The pillars that | |
| Stood like supporting giants, verged away | |
| In long innumerable avenues, but | |
| Met at a point bright as the sun, when he | 75 |
| Looks flaming on the sands of Palestine. | |
| Each column bore a different character, | |
| And by the lambent flames that played about | |
| Like snakes, and pointed their ethereal spires | |
| Towards the stupendous capitals (which seemed | 80 |
| Wrought in the finer times of Greece, when men | |
| Struck arméd Pallas from a senseless stone | |
| To life, and shaped those matchless deities, | |
| Venus, and stern Apollo, and the rest) | |
| Strange letters might be seen,—their import known | 85 |
| To none but the immortals. The sad pair | |
| Traversed a scene of luxury and woe; | |
| They trod on gold and flowers, while from the ground | |
| Voluptuous odors steamed, whose breath was sweet | |
| As hers whom story fabled once the Queen | 90 |
| Of Beauty; there saffron, and citron boughs, | |
| Cedar, and sweet perfuming sandalwoods | |
| Were burning; and distilled and fragrant waters | |
| Sparkled in crystal; but around them stalked | |
| Figures like men,—all silent,—with despair | 95 |
| On every face, and each did press his hand | |
| Against his heart, and shunned his fellow-wretch. | |
| |
| Upon a globe of fire sat Eblis. He | |
| Was prince of all the spirits that rebelled | |
| ’Gainst God and met perdition. He was young | 100 |
| Still; and, but that some pride burned in his eye, | |
| You might have pitied him. His flowing hair, | |
| Streaming like sunbeams, told he must have been | |
| An angel once, and fair, and beautiful; | |
| Nay, in his fallen station, he retained | 105 |
| A relic of his old nobility; | |
| And though he fell, you would have said he fell | |
| For aiming at—a world. “Creatures,” he said, | |
| “Creatures of clay! I number ye amongst | |
| My subjects and adorers: live ye here | 110 |
| Forever and forever.” Then his orb, | |
| Receding from the presence of the damned, | |
| Shrunk to a point of light, and as it shrunk | |
| The hearts of his believers withered, and burned | |
| Internally (as he had left behind | 115 |
| A portion of his fire), and on their souls | |
| Came darkness and dismay; and all knew then | |
| The unconsuming flame was come; and each | |
| Hated himself and fellow. Thus they lived | |
| For ages and for ages, a sad prey | 120 |
| To fires perpetual, and endless fear; | |
| Sorrow, although they loved not; hot desires, | |
| That never could be quelled; hunger and thirst, | |
| Fierce jealousy, and groundless doubt, and hate, | |
| And blasting envy, and (midst other ills) | 125 |
| Sense of contempt in others. Thus they lived: | |
| And not one creature ever after knew | |
| What ’t was to—hope. | |
| |
