Canto 21 (Derwent fetched breath: "A healthy man…)

Derwent fetched breath: "A healthy man: His lungs are of the soundest leather." "Health's insolence in a Saurian," Said Rolfe. With that they fell together Probing the purport of the Jew In last ambiguous words he threw. But Derwent, and in lenient way, Explained it. "Let him have his say," Cried Rolfe; "for one I spare defiance With such a kangaroo of science." "Yes; qualify though," Derwent said, "For science has her eagles too." Here musefully Rolfe hung the head; Then lifted: "Eagles? ay; but few. And search we in their a-ries lone What find we, pray? perchance, a bone." "A very cheerful point of view!" "'Tis as one takes it. Not unknown That even in Physics much late lore But drudges after Plato's theme; Or supplements—but little more— Some Hindoo's speculative dream Of thousand years ago. And, own, Darwin is but his grandsire's son." "But Newton and his gravitation!" "Think you that system's strong persuasion Is founded beyond shock? O'ermuch 'Twould seem for man, a clod, to clutch God's secret so, and on a slate Cipher all out, and formulate The universe." "You Pyrrhonist! Why, now, perhaps you do not see— Your mind has taken such a twist— The claims of stellar chemistry." "What's that?" "No matter. Time runs on And much that's useful, grant, is won." "Yes; but more's claimed. Now first they tell The human mind is free to range. Enlargement—ay; but where's the change? We're yet within the citadel— May rove in bounds, and study out The insuperable towers about."

"Come; but there's many a merry man: How long since these sad times began?" That steadied Rolfe: "Where's no annoy I too perchance can take a joy— Yet scarce in solitude of thought: Together cymbals need be brought Ere mirth is made. The wight alone Who laughs, is deemed a witless one. And why? But that we'll leave unsought." "By all means!—O ye frolic shapes: Thou Dancing Faun, thou Faun with Grapes! What think ye of them? tell us, pray. "Fine mellow marbles." "But their hint?" "A mine as deep as rich the mint Of cordial joy in Nature's sway Shared somewhere by anterior clay When life was innocent and free: Methinks 'tis this they hint to me." He paused, as one who makes review Of gala days; then—warmly too— "Whither hast fled, thou deity So genial? In thy last and best, Best avatar—so ripe in form— Pure as the sleet—as roses warm— Our earth's unmerited fair guest—

A god with peasants went abreast: Man clasped a deity's offered hand; And woman, ministrant, was then How true, even in a Magdalen. Him following through the wilding flowers By lake and hill, or glad detained In Cana—ever out of doors— Ere yet the disenchantment gained What dream they knew, that primal band Of gipsy Christians! But it died; Back rolled the world's effacing tide: The 'world'—by Him denounced, defined— Him first—set off and countersigned,

Once and for all, as opposlte To honest children of the light. But worse cam—creeds, wars, stakes. Oh, men Made earth inhuman; yes, a den Worse for Christ's coming, since his love (Perverted) did but venom prove. In part that's passed. But what remains After fierce seethings? golden grains? Nay, dubious dregs: be frank, and own. Opinion eats; all crumbles down: Where stretched an isthmus, rolls a strait: Cut off, cut off! Can'st feel elate While all the depths of Being moan, Though luminous on every hand, The breadths of shallow knowledge more expand? Much as a light-ship keeper pines Mid shoals immense, where dreary shines His lamp, we toss beneath the ray Of Science' beacon. This to trim Is now man's barren office.—Nay," Starting abrupt, "this earnest way I hate. Let doubt alone; best skim, Not dive." "No, no," cried Derwent gay, Who late, upon acquaintance more, Took no mislike to Rolfe at core, And fain would make his knell a chime— Being pledged to hold the palmy time Of hope at least, not to admit That serious check might come to it: "No, sun doubt's root—'twill fade, 'twill fade! And for thy picture of the Prime, Green Christianity in glade— Why, let it pass; 'tis good, in sooth: Who summons poets to the truth?"

How Vine sidelong regarded him As 'twere in envy of his gift For light disposings: so to skim!

Clarel surmised the expression's drift, Thereby anew was led to sift Good Derwent's mind. For Rolfe's discoursc Prior recoil from Margoth's jeer Was less than startled shying here At earnest comment's random force. He shrunk; but owned 'twas weakness mere. Himself he chid: No more for me The petty half-antipathy: This pressure it need be endured: Weakness to strength must get inured; And Rolfe is sterling, though not less At variance with that parlor-strain Which counts each thought that borders pain A social treason. Sterling—yes, Despite illogical wild range Of brain and heart's impulsive counterchange.