Canto 18 (Pertaining unto nations three…)

Pertaining unto nations three— Or, rather, each unto its clan— Greek, Latin, and Armenian, About the fane three convents be. Confederate on the mountain fair, Blunt buttressed huge with masonry, They mass an Ehrenbreitstein there. In these, and in the Empress' fane Enough they gather to detain Or occupy till afternoon; When some of them the ridge went down To view that legendary grot Whose milky chalkiness of vest Derived is (so the hinds allot) From droppings of Madonna's breast: A fairy tale: yet, grant it, due To that creative love alone Wherefrom the faun and cherub grew, With genii good and Oberon.

Returning, part way up the hight, Ungar they met; and Vine in sight.

Here all repose them. "Look away, Cried Derwent, westward pointing;—see, How glorified yon vapors be! It is the dying of the day; A hopeful death-bed: yes, need own There is a morrow for the sun."

So, mild they sat in pleased delay. Vine turned—what seemed a random word Shyly let fall; and they were stirred Thereby to broach anew the theme— How wrought the sites of Bethlehem On Western natures. Here some speech Was had; and then: "For me," Rolfe said, "From Bethlehem here my musings reach Yes—frankly—to Tahiti's beach." "Tahiti?" Derwent; "you have sped!" "Ay, truant humor. But to me That vine-wreathed urn of Ver, in sea Of halcyons, where no tides do flow Or ebb, but waves bide peacefully At brim, by beach where palm trees grow That sheltered Omai's olive race— Tahiti should have been the place

For Christ in advent." "Deem ye so? Or on the topic's budding bough But lights your fancy's robin?" "Nay, " Said Ungar, "err one if he say The God's design was, part, to broach Rebuke of man's factitious life; So, for his first point of approach, Came thereunto where that was rife, The land of Pharisees and scorn— Juda-a, with customs hard as horn." This, chief, to Rolfe and Derwent twain. But Derwent, if no grudge he knew, Still felt some twinges of the pain

(Vibrations of the residue) That morning in the dale incurred; Wherefore, at present he abstained When Ungar spake, from any word Receptive. Rolfe reply maintained; And much here followed, though of kind Scarce welcome to the priest. Resigned He heard; till, at a hint, the Cave He named: "If on the first review Its shrines seemed each a gilded grave Yet, reconsidered, they renew The spell of the transmitted story— The grace, the innocence, the glory: Shepherds, the Manger, and the CHILD: What wonder that it has beguiled So many generations! Ah, Though much we knew in desert late Beneath no kind auspicious star, Of lifted minds in poised debate— 'Twas of the brain. Consult the heart! Spouse to the brain—can coax or thwart: Does she renounce the trust divine? Hide it she may, but scarce resign; Like to a casket buried deep Which, in a fine and fibrous throng, The rootlets of the forest keep— 'Tis tangled in her meshes strong." "Yes, yes," cried Rolfe; "that tone delights; But oh, these legends, relics, sites! Of yore, you know, Greeks showed the place Where Argo landed, and the stone That served to anchor Argo; yes, And Agamemnon's scepter, throne; Mars' spear; and so on. More to please, Where the goddess suckled Hercules— Priests showed that spot, a sacred one." "Well then, Madonna's but a dream, The Manger and the Crib. So deem:

So be it; but undo it! Nay, Little avails what sages say: Tell Romeo that Juliet's eyes Are chemical; e'en analyze The iris; show 'tis albumen— Gluten—fishjelly mere. What then? To Romeo it is still love's sky: He loves: enough! Though Faith no doubt Seem insubstantial as a sigh, Never ween that 'tis a water-spout Dissolving, dropping into dew At pistol-shot. Besides, review That comprehensive Christian scheme: It catches man at each extreme: Simplc august; strange as a dream, Yet practical as plodding life: Not use and sentiment at strife." They hearken: none aver dissent, Nor one confirms him; while his look Unwitting an expression took, Scarce insincere, yet so it lent Provocative to Ungar's heart; Who, bridling the embittered part, Thus spake: "This yieldeth no content: Your implication lacketh stay: There is a callousness in clay.

Christ's pastoral parables divine, Breathing the sweet breath of sweet kine, As wholesome too; how many feel? Feel! rather put it—comprehend? Not unto all does nature lend The gift; at hight such love's appeal Is hard to know, as in her deep Is hate; a prior love must steep The spirit; head nor heart have marge Commensurate in man at large." "Indulge me," Derwent; "Grant it so As you present it; 'tis most strange How Christ could work his powerful change: The world turned Christian long ago." "The world but joined the Creed Divine With prosperous days and Constantine; The world turned Christian, need confess, But the world remained the world, no less: The world turned Christian: where's the odds? Hearts change not in the change of gods. Despite professions, outward shows— So far as working practice goes, More minds with shrewd Voltaire have part Than now own Jesus in the heart. " "Not rashly judge," said Derwent grave; "Prudence will here decision waive." "No: shift the test. How Buddha pined! Pierced with the sense of all we bear, Not only ills by fate assigned, But misrule of our selfish mind, Fain would the tender sage repair. Well, Asia owns him. But the lives: Buddha but in a name survives— A name, a rite. Confucius, too: Does China take his honest hue? Some forms they keep, some forms of his; But well we know them, the Chinese. Ah, Moses, thy deterring dart!— Etherial visitants of earth, Foiled benefactors, proves your worth But sundry texts, disowned in mart, Light scratched, not graved on man's hard heart? 'Tis penalty makes sinners start."