Canto 19 (Such passion!--But have hearts forgot…)

Such passion!—But have hearts forgot That ties may form where words be not? The spiritual sympathy Transeends the social. Which appears In that presentiment, may be, Of Clarel's inquietude of fears Proved just. Yes, some retreat to win Even more secluded than the court The Terra Santa locks within: Celio had found withdrawn resort And lodging in the deeper town.

There, by a gasping ill distressed— Such as attacks the hump-bowed one— After three days the malady pressed: He knew it, knew his course was run, And, turning toward the wall, found rest. 'Twas Syrians watched the parting hour— And Syrian women shrilled the cry That wailed it. This, with added store, Learned Clarel, putting all else by To get at items of the dead. Nor, in the throb that casts out fear, Aught recked he of a scruple here; But, finding leaves that might bestead,

The jotted journaled thoughts he read. A second self therein he found, But stronger—with the heart to brave All questions on that primal ground Laid bare by faith's receding wave. But lo, arrested in event— Hurried down Hades' steep descent; Cut off while in progressive stage Perchance, ere years might more unfold: Who young dies, leaves life's tale half told. How then? Is death the book's fly-page? Is no hereafter? If there be, Death foots what record? how forestalls Acquittance in eternity? Advance too, and through age on age? Here the tree lies not as it falls; For howsoe'er in words of man The word and will of God be feigned, No incompletion's heaven ordained. Clarel, through him these reveries ran.