Canto 12 (Infer the wilds which next pertain…)

Infer the wilds which next pertain. Though travel here be still a walk, Small heart was theirs for easy talk.

Oblivious of the bridle-rein Rolfe fell to Lethe altogether, Bewitched by that uncanny weather Of sultry cloud. And home-sick grew The banker. In his reverie blue The cigarette, a summer friend, Went out between his teeth—could lend No solace, soothe him nor engage. And now disrelished he each word Of sprightly, harmless persiflage Wherewith young Glaucon here would fain Evince a jaunty disregard. But hush betimes o'ertook the twain— The more impressive, it may be, For that the senior, somewhat spent, Florid overmuch and corpulent, Labored in lungs, and audibly. Rolfe, noting that the sufferer's steed Was far less easy than his own, Relieved him in his hour of need By changing with him; then in tone Aside, half musing, as alone, "Unwise he is to venture here, Poor fellow; 'tis but sorry cheer For Mammon. Ill would it accord If nabob with asthmatic breath Lighted on Holbein's Dance of Death Sly slipped among his prints from Claude. Cosmetic-users scarce are bold To face a skull. That sachem old Whose wigwam is man's heart within— How taciturn, and yet can speak, Imparting more than books can win; Not Pleasure's darling cares to seek Such counselor: the worse he fares; Since—heedless, taken unawares— Arrest he finds.—Look: at yon ground How starts he now! So Abel's hound Snuffing his prostrate master wan, Shrank back from earth's first murdered man.— But friend, how thrivest?" turning there To Derwent. He, with altered air, Made vague rejoinder, nor serene: His soul, if not cast down, was vexed By Nature in this dubious scene: His theory she harsh perplexed— The more so for wild Mortmain's mien: And Nehemiah in eldritch cheer: "Lord, now Thou goest forth from Seir; Lord, now from Edom marchest Thou!"—

Shunning the Swede—disturbed to know The saint in strange clairvoyance so, Clarel yet turned to meet the grace Of one who not infected dwelt— Yes, Vine, who shared his horse's pace In level sameness, as both felt At home in dearth. But unconcern That never knew Vine's thoughtful turn The venerable escort showed: True natives of the waste abode, They moved like insects of the leaf— Tint, tone adapted to the fief.