Canto 23 (Next day the wanderer drawing near…)

Next day the wanderer drawing near Saluting with his humble cheer, Made Clarel start. Where now the look That face but late in slumber took? Had he but dreamed it? It was gone. But other thoughts were stirring soon, To such good purpose, that the saint Through promptings scarce by him divined, Anew led Clarel thro' constraint Of inner bye-ways, yet inclined

Away from his peculiar haunt, And came upon a little close, One wall whereof a creeper won. On casement sills, small pots in rows Showed herb and flower, the shade and sun— Surprise how blest in town but sere. OW breathed the guide, "They harbor here Agar, and my young raven, Ruth. And, see, there's Nathan, nothing loath, Just in from Sharon, 'tis his day; And, yes—the Rabbi in delay."— The group showed just within the door Swung open where the creeper led. In lap the petting mother bore The half reclining maiden's head— The stool drawn neighboring the chair; In front, erect, the father there, Hollow in cheek, but rugged, brown— Sharon's red soil upon his shoon— With zealot gesture urged some plea Which brought small joy to Agar's eyes, Whereto turned Ruth's. In scrutiny Impassive, wrinkled, and how wise (If wisdom be but craft profound) Sat the hoar Rabbi. This his guise: In plaits a head-dress agate-bound,

A sable robe with mystic hem— Clasps silver, locked in monogram.

An unextinguished lamp they view Whose flame scarce visibly did sway, Which having burned till morning dew Might not be quenched on Saturday The unaltered sabbath of the Jew. Struck by the attitudes, the scene, And loath, a stranger, to advance Obtrusive, coming so between; While, in emotion new and strange, Ruth thrilled him with life's first romance; Clarel abashed and faltering stood, With cheek that knew a novel change. But Nehemiah with air subdued Made known their presence; and Ruth turned, And Agar also, and discerned The stranger, and a settle placed: Matron and maid with welcome graced Both visitors, and seemed to find In travel-talk which here ensued Relief to burdens of the mind. But by the sage was Clarel viewed With stony and unfriendly look— Fixed inquisition, hard to brook. And that embarrassment he raised The Rabbi marked, and colder gazed. But in redemption from his glance— For a benign deliverance On Clarel fell the virgin's eyes, Pure home of all we seek and prize, And crossing with their humid ray The Levite's arid eyes of gray— But skill is none to word the rest: To Clarel's heart there came a swell Like the first tide that ever pressed Inland, and of a deep did tell.

Thereafter, little speech was had Save syllables which do but skim; Even in these, the zealot—made A slave to one tyrannic whim— Was scant; while still the sage unkind Sat a torpedo-fish, with mind Intent to paralyze, and so Perchance, make Clarel straight forego Acquaintance with his flock, at least With two, whose yearnings—he the priest More than conjectured—oft did flow Averse from Salem. None the less A talismanic gentleness

Maternal welled from Agar faint; Thro' the sad circle's ill constraint Her woman's way could yet instill Her prepossession, her good will; And when at last they bade good-bye— The visitors—another eye Spake at the least of amity.