Canto 27 (Days fleet. No vain enticements lure…)

Days fleet. No vain enticements lure Clarel to Agar's roof. Her tact Prevailed: the Rabbi might not act His will austere. And more and more A prey to one devouring whim, Nathan yet more absented him. Welcome the matron ever had For Clarel. Was the youth not one New from the clime she doated on? And if indeed an exile sad By daisy in a letter laid Reminded be of home-delight, Tho' there first greeted by the sight Of that transmitted flower—how then Not feel a kin emotion bred At glimpse of face of countryman Tho' stranger? Yes, a Jewess—born In Gentile land where nature's wreath Exhales the first creation's breath— The waste of Judah made her lorn. The student, sharing not her blood, Nearer in tie of spirit stood Than he she called Rabboni. So In Agar's liking did he grow— Deeper in heart of Ruth; and learned

The more how both for freedom yearned; And much surmised, too, left unsaid By the tried mother and the maid. Howe'er dull natures read the signs Where untold grief a hermit pines— The anxious, strained, weak, nervous air Of trouble, which like shame may wear Her gaberdine; though soul in feint May look pathetic self-restraint, For ends pernicious; real care, Sorrow made dumb where duties move, Never eluded love, true love, A deep diviner. Here, for space The past of wife and daughter trace. Of Agar's kin for many an age Not one had seen the heritage Of Judah; Gentile lands detained. So, while they clung to Moses' lore Far from the land his guidance gained, 'Twas Eld's romance, a treasured store Like plate inherited. In fine It graced, in seemly way benign, That family feeling of the Jew, Which hallowed by each priestly rite, Makes home a temple—sheds delight

Naomi ere her trial knew. Happy was Agar ere the seas She crossed for Zion. Pride she took— Pride, if in small felicities— Pride in her little court, a nook Where morning-glories starred the door: So sweet without, so snug within. At sunny matin meal serene Her damask cloth she'd note. It bore In Hebrew text about the hem, Mid broidered cipher and device IF I FORGET THEE, O JERUSALEM! And swam before her humid eyes,

In rainbowed distance, Paradise. Faith, ravished, followed Fancy's path In more of bliss than nature hath. But ah, the dream to test by deed, To seek to handle the ideal And make a sentiment serve need: To try to realize the unreal! 'Twas not that Agar reasoned—nay, She did but feel, true woman's way. What solace from the desert win Far from known friends, familiar kin? How nearer God? The chanted Zion Showed graves, but graves to gasp and die on. Nathan, her convert, for his sake Grief had she stifled long; but now, The nursling one lay pale and low. Oft of that waxen face she'd think Beneath the stones; her heart would sink And in hard bitterness repine, "Slim grass, poor babe, to grave of thine!"

Ruth, too, when here a child she came, Would blurt in reckless childhood's way, "'Tis a bad place." But the sad dame Would check; and, as the maiden grew, Counsel she kept—too much she knew. But how to give her feelings play? With cherished pots of herbs and flowers She strove to appease the hungry hours; Each leaf bedewed with many a tear For Gentile land, how green and dear! What tho' the dame and daughter both In synagogue, behind the grate Dividing sexes, oftimes sat? It was with hearts but chill and loath; Never was heaven served by that Cold form.—With Clarel seemed to come A waftage from the fields of home,

Crossing the wind from Judah's sand, Reviving Agar, and of power To make the bud in Ruth expand With promise of unfolding hour.