Canto 18 (Huge be the buttresses enmassed…)

Huge be the buttresses enmassed Which shoulder up, like Titan men, Against the precipices vast The ancient minster of the glen.

One holds the library four-square, A study, but with students few: Books, manuscripts, and—cobwebs too. Within, the church were rich and rare But for the time-stain which ye see: Gilded with venerable gold, It shows in magnified degree Much like some tarnished casket old Which in the dusty place ye view Through window of the broker Jew. But Asiatic pomp adheres To ministry and ministers Of Basil's Church; that night 'twas seen In all that festival confers: Plate of Byzantium, stones and spars, Urim and Thummim, gold and green; Music like cymbals clashed in wars Of great Semiramis the queen. And texts sonorous they intone From parchment, not plebeian print; From old and golden parchment brown They voice the old Septuagint, And Gospels, and Epistles, all In the same tongue employed by Paul. Flags, beatific flags they view: Ascetics which the hair-cloth knew And wooden pillow, here were seen Pictured on satin soft—serene In fair translation. But advanced Above the others, and enhanced About the staff with ring and boss, They mark the standard of the Cross. That emblem, here, in Eastern form, For Derwent seemed to have a charm. "I like this Greek cross, it has grace;" He whispered Rolfe: "the Greeks eschew The long limb; beauty must have place— Attic! I like it. And do you?" "Better I'd like it, were it true." "What mean you there?"

"I do but mean 'Tis not the cross of Calvary's scene. The Latin cross (by that name known) Holds the true semblance; that's the one Was lifted up and knew the nail; 'Tis realistic—can avail!" Breathed Derwent then, "These arches quite Set off and aggrandize the rite: A goodly fane. The incense, though, Somehow it drugs, makes sleepy so. They purpose down there in ravine Having an auto, act, or scene, Or something. Come, pray, let us go."