Canto 26 (In adolescence thrilled by hope…)

In adolescence thrilled by hope Which fain would verify the gleam And find if destiny concur, How dwells upon life's horoseope Youth, always an astrologer, Forecasting happiness the dream!

Slumber interred them; but not all, For so it chanced that Clarel's cell Was shared by one who did repel The poppy. 'Twas a prodigal, Yet pilgrim too in casual way, And seen within the grots that day, But only seen, no more than that. In years he might be Clarel's mate. Not talkative, he half reclined In revery of dreamful kind; Or might the fable, the romance Be tempered by experience? For ruling under spell serene, A light precocity is seen. That mobile face, voluptuous air No Northern origin declare, But Southern—where the nations bright, The costumed nations, circled be In garland round a tideless sea Eternal in its fresh delight. Nor less he owned the common day; His avocation naught, in sooth— A toy of Mammon; but the ray And fair aureola of youth

Deific makes the prosiest clay. From revery now by Clarel won He brief his story entered on: A native of the banks of Rhone He traveled for a Lyons house Which dealt in bales luxurious; Detained by chance at Jaffa gray, Rather than let ripe hours decay, He'd run o'er, in a freak of fun, Green Sharon to Jerusalem, And thence, not far, to Bethlehem. Thy silvery voice, irreverent one! 'Twas musical; and Clarel said: "Greatly I err, or thou art he Who singing along the hill-side sped At fall of night." "And heard you me? 'Twas sentimental, to be sure: A little Spanish overture, A Tombez air, which months ago A young Peruvian let flow. Locked friends we were; he's gone home now." To Clarel 'twas a novel style And novel nature; and awhile Mutely he dwelt upon him here. Earnest to know how the most drear

Solemnity of Judah's glade Affect might such a mind, he said Something to purpose; but he shied. One essay more; whereat he cried: "Amigo! favored lads there are, Born under such a lucky star, They weigh not things too curious, see, Albeit conforming to their time And usages thereof, and clime: Well, mine's that happy family." The student faltered—felt annoy: Absorbed in problems ill-defined, Am I too curious in my mind;

And, baffled in the vain employ, Foregoing many an easy joy? That thought he hurried from; and so Unmindful in perturbed estate Of that light intimation late, He said: "On hills of dead Judaoa Wherever one may faring go, He dreams—Fit place to set the bier Of Jacob, brought from Egypt's mead: Here's Atad's threshing-floor." "Indeed? " Scarce audible was that in tone; Nor Clarel heard it, but went on: "'Tis Jephthah's daughter holds the hight; She, she's the muse here.—But, I pray, Confess toJudah's mournful sway." He held his peace. "You grant the blight?" "No Boulevards." "Do other lands Show equal ravage you've beheld?" "Oh, yes," and eyed his emerald In ring. "But here a God commands, A judgment dooms: you that gainsay?" Up looked he quick, then turned away, And with a shrug that gave mute sign That here the theme he would decline. But Clarel urged. As in despair The other turned—invoked the air: "Was it in such talk, Don Rovenna, We dealt in Seville, I and you? No! chat of love-wile and duenna And saya-manto in Peru. Ah, good Limeno, dear amigo, What times were ours, the holidays flew; Life, life a revel and clear allegro; But home thou'rt gone; pity, but true!" At burst so lyrical, yet given Not all without some mock in leaven, Once more did Clarel puzzled sit; But rallying in spite of it,

Continued: "Surely now, 'tis clear That in the aspect of Judaea—" "My friend, it is just naught to me! Why, why so pertinacious be? Refrain!" Here, turning light away, As quitting so the theme: "How gay Damascus! orchard of a town: Not yet she's heard the tidings though." "Tidings?" "Tidings of long ago: Isaiah's dark burden, malison: Of course, to be perpetual fate: Bat, serpent, screech-owl, and all that. But truth is, grace and pleasure there, In Abana and Pharpar's streams (O shady haunts! O sherbert-air!) So twine the place in odorous dreams, How may she think to mope and moan, The news not yet being got to town That she's a ruin! Oh, 'tis pity, For she, she is earth's senior city!— Pray, who was he, that man of state Whose footman at Elisha's gate Loud rapped? The name has slipped. Howe'er, That Damascene maintained it well: 'We've better streams than Israel,

Yea, fairer waters.' " Weetless here Clarel betrayed half cleric tone: "Naaman, you mean. Poor leper one, 'Twas Jordan healed him. " "As you please." And hereupon the Lyonese— (Capricious, or inferring late That he had yielded up his state To priggish inroad) gave mute sign 'Twere well to end. "But Palestine, Insisted Clarel, "do you not Concede some strangeness to her lot?"

"Amigo, how you persecute! You all but tempt one to refute These stale megrims. You of the West, What devil has your hearts possessed, You can't enjoy?—Ah, dear Rovenna, With talk of donna and duenna, You came too from that hemisphere, But freighted with quite other cheer: No pedant, no!" Then, changing free, Laughed with a light audacity: "Well, me for one, dameJudah here Don't much depress: she's not austere— Nature has lodged her in good zone— The true wine-zone of Noah: the Cape Yields no such bounty of the grape. Hence took King Herod festal tone; Else why the tavern-cluster gilt Hang out before that fane he built The second temple?" Catching thus A buoyant frolic impetus, He bowled along: "Herewith agrees The ducat of the Maccabees, Graved with the vine. Methinks I see The spies from Eshcol, full of glee Trip back to camp with clusters swung From jolting pole on shoulders hung: 'Cheer up, 'twill do; it needs befit; Lo ye, behold the fruit of it!' And, tell me, does not Solomon's harp (Oh, that it should have taken warp In end!) confirm the festa? Hear: 'Thy white neck is like ivory; I feed among thy lilies, dear: Stay me with flagons, comfort me With apples; thee would I enclose! Thy twin breasts are as two young roes.' "

Clarel protested, yet as one Part lamed in candor; and took tone

In formal wise: "Nay, pardon me, But you misdeem it: Solomon's Song Is allegoric—needs must be." "Proof, proof, pray, if'tis not too long." "Why, Saint Bernard " "Who? Sir Bernard? Never that knight for me left card!" "No, Saint Bernard, 'twas he of old The Song's hid import first unrolled— Confirmed in every after age: The chapter-headings on the page Of modern Bibles (in that Song) Attest his rendering, and prolong: A mystic burden." "Eh? so too The Bonzes Hafiz' rhyme construe Which lauds the grape of Shiraz. See, They cant that in his frolic fire Some bed-rid fakir would aspire In foggy symbols. Me, oh me!— What stuff of Levite and Divine! Come, look at straight things more in line, Blue eyes or black, which like you best? Your Bella Donna, how's she dressed?" 'Twas very plain this sprightly youth Little suspected the grave truth

That he, with whom he thus made free, A student was, a student late Of reverend theology: Nor Clarel was displeased thereat. The other now: "There is no tress Can thrall one like a Jewess's. A Hebrew husband, Hebrew-wed, Is wondrous faithful, it is said; Which needs be true; for, I suppose, As bees are loyal to the rose, So men to beauty. Of his girls, On which did the brown Indian king, Ahasuerus, shower his pearls?

Why, Esther: Judah wore the ring. And Nero, captain of the world, His arm about aJewess curled— Bright spouse, Poppaea. And with good will Some Christian monarchs share the thrill, In palace kneeling low before CrownedJudah, like those nobs of yore. These Hebrew witches! well-a-day OfJeremiah what reck they?"

Clarel looked down: was he depressed? The prodigal resumed: "Earth's best, Earth's loveliest portrait, daintiest Reveals Judaean grace and form: Urbino's ducal mistress fair— Ay, Titian's Venus, golden-warm. Her lineage languishes in air Mysterious as the unfathomed sea: That grave, deep Hebrew coquetry! Thereby Bathsheba David won In bath a purposed bait!—Have done!— Blushing? The cuticle's but thin! Blushing? yet you my mind would win. Priests make a goblin of theJew: Shares he not flesh with me—with you?" What wind was this? And yet it swayed Even Clarel's cypress. He delayed All comment, gazing at him there. Then first he marked the clustering hair Which on the bright and shapely brow At middle part grew slantly low: Rich, tumbled, chestnut hood of curls Like to a Polynesian girl's, Who, inland eloping with her lover, The deacon-magistrates recover— With sermon and black bread reprove Who fed on berries and on love. So young (thought Clarel) yet so knowing; With much of dubious at the heart, Yet winsome in the outward showing; With whom, with what, hast thou thy part? In flaw upon the student's dream A wafture of suspicion stirred: He spake: "The Hebrew, it would seem, You study much; you have averred More than most Gentiles well may glean In voyaging mere from scene to scene Of shifting traffic." Irksomeness Here vexed the other's light address; But, ease assuming, gay he said: "Oh, in my wanderings, why, I've met, Among all kinds, Hebrews well-read, And some nor dull nor bigot-bred; Yes, I pick up, nor all forget." So saying, and as to be rid Of further prosing, he undid His vesture, turned him, smoothed his cot: "Late, late; needs sleep, though sleep's a sot." "A word," cried Clarel: "bear with me: Just nothing strange at all you see Touching the Hebrews and their lot?" Recumbent here: "Why, yes, they share That oddity the Gypsies heir: About them why not make ado? The Parsees are an odd tribe too; Dispersed, no country, and yet hold

By immemorial rites, we're told. Amigo, do not scourge me on; Put up, put up your monkish thong! Pray, pardon now; by peep of sun Take horse I must. Good night, with song:

"Lights of Shushan, if your urn Mellow shed the opal ray, To delude one—damsels, turn, Wherefore tarry? why betray?

Drop your garlands and away! Leave me, phantoms that but feign; Sting me not with inklings vain!

"But, if magic none prevail, Mocking in untrue romance; Let your Paradise exhale Odors; and enlink the dance; And, ye rosy feet, advance Till ye meet morn's ruddy Hours Unabashed in Shushan's bowers!"

No more: they slept. A spell came down And Clarel dreamed, and seemed to stand Betwixt a Shushan and a sand The Lyonese was lord of one, The desert did the Tuscan own, The pale pure monk. A zephyr fanned; It vanished, and he felt the strain Of clasping arms which would detain His heart from such ascetic range. He woke; 'twas day; he was alone, The Lyonese being up and gone: Vital he knew organic change, Or felt, at least, that change was working— A subtle innovator lurking. He rose, arrayed himself, and won The roof to take the dawn's fresh air, And heard a ditty, and looked down. Who singing rode so debonair? His cell-mate, flexible young blade, Mounted in rear of cavalcade Just from the gate, in rythmic way Switching a light malacca gay:

"Rules, who rules? Fools the wise, makes wise the fools— Every ruling overrules? Who the dame that keeps the house,

Provides the diet, and oh, so quiet, Brings all to pass, the slyest mouse? Tell, tell it me: Signora Nature, who but she!"