Poems
But Har and Heva stood and watched him till he entered the wood;
And then they went and wept to Mnetha, but they soon forgot their tears.
Over the weary hills the blind man took his lonely way;
To him the day and night alike was dark and desolate.
But far he had not gone when Ijim from his woods came down,
Met him at entrance of the forest, in a dark and lonely way.
“Who art thou, eyeless wretch, that thus obstructest the lion’s path?
Ijim shall rend thy feeble joints, thou tempter of dark Ijim!
Thou hast the form of Tiriel, but I know thee well enough!
Stand from my path, foul fiend! Is this the last of thy deceits—
To be a hypocrite, and stand in shape of a blind beggar?”
The blind man heard his brother’s voice, and kneeled down on his knee.
“O brother Ijim, if it is thy voice that speaks to me,—
Smite not thy brother Tiriel, though weary of his life.
My sons have smitten me already; and, if thou smitest me,
The curse that rolls over their heads will rest itself on thine.
’Tis now seven years since in my palace I beheld thy face.”
“Come, thou dark fiend, I dare thy cunning! know that Ijim scorns
To smite thee in the form of helpless age and eyeless policy;
Rise up, for I discern thee, and I dare thy eloquent tongue.
Come, I will lead thee on thy way, and use thee as a scoff.”
“O, brother Ijim, thou beholdest wretched Tiriel:
Kiss me, my brother, and then leave me to wander desolate!”
“No, artful fiend, but I will lead thee; dost thou want to go?
Reply not, lest I bind thee with the green flags of the brook;
Ay, now thou art discovered, I will use thee like a slave.”
When Tiriel heard the words of Ijim, he sought not to reply:
He knew ’twas vain, for Ijim’s words were as the voice of Fate.
And they went on together, over hills, through woody dales,
Blind to the pleasures of the sight, and deaf to warbling birds.
All day they walked, and all the night beneath the pleasant moon,
Westwardly journeying, till Tiriel grew weary with his travel.
“O Ijim, I am faint and weary, for my knees forbid
To bear me further. Urge me not, lest I should die with travel.
A little rest I crave, a little water from a brook,
Or I shall soon discover that I am a mortal man,
And thou wilt lose thy once-loved Tiriel. Alas! how faint I am!”
“Impudent fiend!” said Ijim, “hold thy glib and eloquent tongue;—
Tiriel is a king, and thou the tempter of dark Ijim.
Drink of this running brook, and I will bear thee on my shoulders.”
He drank; and Ijim raised him up, and bore him on his shoulders.
All day he bore him; and, when evening drew her solemn curtain,
Entered the gates of Tiriel’s palace, and stood and called aloud.
“Heuxos, come forth! I here have brought the fiend that troubles Ijim.
Look! know’st thou aught of this grey beard, or of these blinded eyes?”
Heuxos and Lotho ran forth at the sound of Ijim’s voice,
And saw their aged father borne upon his mighty shoulders.
Their eloquent tongues were dumb, and sweat stood on their trembling
limbs;
They knew ’twas vain to strive with Ijim. They bowed and silent stood.
“What, Heuxos! call thy father, for I mean to sport to-night.
This is the hypocrite that sometimes roars a dreadful lion;
Then I have rent his limbs, and left him rotting in the forest
For birds to eat. But I have scarce departed from the place
But like a tiger he would come, and so I rent him too.
Then like a river he would seek to drown me in his waves,
But soon I buffeted the torrent; anon like to a cloud
Fraught with the swords of lightning, but I braved the vengeance too.
Then he would creep like a bright serpent, till around my neck
While I was sleeping he would twine: I squeezed his poisonous soul.
Then like a toad or like a newt would whisper in my ears;
Or like a rock stood in my way, or like a poisonous shrub.
At last I caught him in the form of Tiriel blind and old,
And so I’ll keep him. Fetch your father, fetch forth Myratana.”
They stood confounded, and thus Tiriel raised his silver voice.
“Serpents, not sons, why do you stand? Fetch hither Tiriel,
Fetch hither Myratana, and delight yourselves with scoffs;
For poor blind Tiriel is returned, and this much-injured head
Is ready for your bitter taunts. Come forth, sons of the curse!”
Meantime the other sons of Tiriel ran around their father,
Confounded at the terrible strength of Ijim. They knew ’twas vain,
Both spear and shield were useless, and the coat of iron mail,
When Ijim stretched his mighty arm; the arrow from his limbs
Rebounded, and the piercing sword broke on his naked flesh.
“Then it is true, Heuxos, that thou hast turned thy aged parent
To be the sport of wintry winds,” said Ijim: “is this true?
It is a lie, and I am like the tree torn by the wind.
Thou eyeless fiend and you dissemblers! Is this Tiriel’s house?
It is as false as Matha, and as dark as vacant Orcus.
Escape, ye fiends, for Ijim will not lift his hand against ye.”
So saying, Ijim gloomy turned his back, and silent sought
The secret forests, and all night wandered in desolate ways.
And aged Tiriel stood and said: “Where does the thunder sleep?
Where doth he hide his terrible head? and his swift and fiery daughters,
Where do they shroud their fiery wings, and the terrors of their hair?
Earth, thus I stamp thy bosom! rouse the earthquake from his den,
To raise his dark and burning visage through the cleaving ground,
To thrust these towers with his shoulders! Let his fiery dogs
Rise from the centre, belching flames and roaring dark smoke!
Where art thou, Pestilence, that bathest in fogs and standing lakes?
Raise up thy sluggish limbs, and let the loathsomest of poisons
Drop from thy garments as thou walkest, wrapped in yellow clouds!
Here take thy seat in this wide court; let it be strewn with dead;
And sit and smile upon these cursed sons of Tiriel!
Thunder, and fire, and pestilence, hear you not Tiriel’s curse?”
He ceased. The heavy clouds confused rolled round the lofty towers,
Discharging their enormous voices at the father’s curse.
The earth trembled, fires belched from the yawning clefts,
And, when the shaking ceased, a fog possessed the accursed clime.
The cry was great in Tiriel’s palace. His five daughters ran,
And caught him by the garments, weeping with cries of bitter woe.
“Ay, now you feel the curse, you cry! but may all ears be deaf
As Tiriel’s, and all eyes as blind as Tiriel’s, to your woes!
May never stars shine on your roofs, may never sun nor moon
Visit you, but eternal fogs hover around your walls!—
Hela, my youngest daughter, thou shalt lead me from this place;
And let the curse fall on the rest, and wrap them up together!”
He ceased, and Hela led her father from the noisome place.
In haste they fled, while all the sons and daughters of Tiriel,
Chained in thick darkness, uttered cries of mourning all the night.
And in the morning, lo! an hundred men in ghastly death,
The four daughters, stretched on the marble pavement, silent, all
Fallen by the pestilence,—the rest moped round in guilty fears;
And all the children in their beds were cut off in one night.
Thirty of Tiriel’s sons remained, to wither in the palace—
Desolate, loathed, dumb, astonished—waiting for black death.
And Hela led her father through the silence of the night,
Astonished, silent, till the morning beams began to spring.
“Now, Hela, I can go with pleasure, and dwell with Har and Heva,
Now that the curse shall clean devour all those guilty sons.
This is the right and ready way; I know it by the sound
That our feet make. Remember, Hela, I have saved thee from death;
Then be obedient to thy father, for the curse is taken off thee.
I dwelt with Myratana five years in the desolate rock;
And all that time we waited for the fire to fall from heaven,
Or for the torrents of the sea to overwhelm you all.
But now my wife is dead, and all the time of grace is past.
You see the parent’s curse. Now lead me where I have commanded.”
“O leagued with evil spirits, thou accursed man of sin,—
True, I was born thy slave. Who asked thee to save me from death?
’Twas for thyself, thou cruel man, because thou wantest eyes.”
“True, Hela, this is the desert of all those cruel ones.
Is Tiriel cruel? Look! his daughter—and his youngest daughter—
Laughs at affection, glories in rebellion, scoffs at love.
I have not ate these two days; lead me to Har and Heva’s tent,
Or I will wrap thee up in such a terrible father’s curse
That thou shalt feel worms in thy marrow creeping through thy bones;
Yet thou shalt lead me. Lead me, I command, to Har and Heva.”
“O cruel! O destroyer! O consumer! O avenger!
To Har and Heva I will lead thee; then would that they would curse,—
Then would they curse as thou hast cursed! But they are not like thee!
O, they are holy and forgiving, filled with loving mercy,
Forgetting the offences of their most rebellious children,
Or else thou wouldest not have lived to curse thy helpless children.”
“Look on my eyes, Hela, and see (for thou hast eyes to see)
The tears swell from my stony fountains; wherefore do I weep?
Wherefore from my blind orbs art thou not seized with poisonous stings?
Laugh, serpent, youngest venomous reptile of the flesh of Tiriel!
Laugh, for thy father Tiriel shall give thee cause to laugh,
Unless thou lead me to the tent of Har, child of the curse!”
“Silence thy evil tongue, thou murderer of thy helpless children,
I lead thee to the tent of Har: not that I mind thy curse,
But that I feel they will curse thee, and hang upon thy bones
Fell shaking agonies, and in each wrinkle of that face
Plant worms of death to feast upon the tongue of terrible curses!”
“Hela, my daughter, listen! Thou art the daughter of Tiriel.
Thy father calls. Thy father lifts his hand unto the heavens,
For thou hast laughed at my tears, and cursed thy aged father:
Let snakes rise from thy bedded locks, and laugh among thy curls!”
He ceased. Her dark hair upright stood, while snakes infolded round
Her madding brows: her shrieks appalled the soul of Tiriel.
“What have I done, Hela, my daughter? Fear’st thou now the curse,
Or wherefore dost thou cry? Ah, wretch, to curse thy aged father!
Lead me to Har and Heva, and the curse of Tiriel
Shall fail. If thou refuse, howl in the desolate mountains.”
She, howling, led him over mountains and through frighted vales,
Till to the caves of Zazel they approached at eventide.
Forth from their caves old Zazel and his sons ran, when they saw
Their tyrant prince blind, and his daughter howling and leading him.
They laughed and mocked; some threw dirt and stones as they passed by.
But, when Tiriel turned around and raised his awful voice,
Some fled away; but Zazel stood still, and thus began:—
“Bald tyrant, wrinkled cunning, listen to Zazel’s chains;
’Twas thou that chained thy brother Zazel! Where are now thine eyes?
Shout, beautiful daughter of Tiriel; thou singest a sweet song!
Where are you going? Come and eat some roots, and drink some water.
Thy crown is bald, old man; the sun will dry thy brains away,
And thou wilt be as foolish as thy foolish brother Zazel.”
The blind man heard, and smote his breast, and trembling passed on.
They threw dirt after them, till to the covert of a wood
The howling maiden led her father, where wild beasts resort,
Hoping to end her woes; but from her cries the tigers fled.
All night they wandered through the wood; and, when the sun arose,
They entered on the mountains of Har. At noon the happy tents
Were frighted by the dismal cries of Hela on the mountains.
But Har and Heva slept fearless as babes on loving breasts.