Canto 29 (It was the day preceding Lent…)

It was the day preceding Lent, Shrove Tuesday named in English old (Forefathers' English), and content, Some yet would tarry, to behold The initiatory nocturn rite. 'Twas the small hour, as once again, And final now, in mounted plight They curve about the Bethlehem urn Or vine-clad hollow of the swain, And Clarel felt in every vein— At last, Jerusalem! 'Twas thence They started—thither they return, Rounding the waste circumference. Now Belex in his revery light Rolls up and down those guineas bright Whose minted recompense shall chink In pouch of sash when travel's hrink

Of end is won. Djalea in face Wears an abstraction, lit by grace Which governed hopes of rapture lend: On coins his musings likewise bend— The starry sequins woven fair Into black tresses. But an air Considerate and prudent reigns; For his the love not vainly sure: 'Tis passion deep of man mature For one who half a child remains: Yes, underneath a look sedate, What throbs are known! But desolate Upon the pilgrims strangely fall Eclipses heavier far than come To hinds, which, after carnival, Return to toil and querulous home. Revert did they? in mind recall Their pilgrimage, yes, sum it all? Could Siddim haunt them? Saba's bay? Did the deep nature in them say— Two, two are missing—laid away In deserts twin? They let it be, Nor spake; the candor of the heart Shrank from suspected counterpart. But one there was (and Clarel he)

Who, in his aspect free from cloud, Here caught a gleam from source unspied, As cliff may take on mountain-side, When there one small brown cirque ye see, Lit up in mole, how mellowly, Day going down in somber shroud— October-pall. But tell the vein Of new emotion, inly held, That so the long contention quelled— Languor, and indecision, pain. Was it abrupt resolve? a strain Wiser than wisdom's self might teach?

Yea, now his hand would boldly reach And pluck the nodding fruit to him, Fruit of the tree of life. If doubt Spin spider-like her tissue out, And make a snare in reason dim— Why hang a fly in flimsy web? One thing was clear, one thing in sooth: Stays not the prime of June or youth: At flood that tide makes haste to ebb. Recurred one mute appeal of Ruth (Now first aright construed, he thought), She seemed to fear for him, and say: "Ah, tread not, sweet, my father's way, In whom this evil spirit wrought And dragged us hither where we die!" Yes, now would he forsake that road— Alertly now and eager hie To dame and daughter, where they trod The Dolorosa—quick depart With them and seek a happier sky. Warblings he heard of hope in heart, Responded to by duty's hymn; He, late but weak, felt now each limb In strength how buoyant. But, in truth, Was part caprice, sally of youth? What pulse was this with burning beat? Whence, whence the passion that could give Feathers to thought, yea, Mercury's feet? The Lyonese, to sense so dear, Nor less from faith a fugitivc- Had he infected Clarel here? But came relapse: What end may prove? Ah, almoner to Saba's dove, Ah, bodeful text of hermit-rhyme! But what! distrust the trustful eyes? Are the sphered breasts full of mysteries Which not the maiden's self may know? May love's nice balance, finely slight, Take tremor from fulfilled delight?

Can nature such a doom dispense As, after ardor's tender glow, To make the rapture more than pall With evil secrets in the sense, And guile whose bud is innocencc Sweet blossom of the flower of gall? Nay, nay: Ah! God, keep far from me Cursed Manes and the Manichee! At large here life proclaims the law: Unto embraces myriads draw Through sacred impulse. Take thy wife; Venture, and prove the soul of life, And let fate drive.—So he the while, In shadow from the ledges thrown, As down the Bethlehem hill they file— Abreast upon the plain anon Advancing. Far, in upland spot A light is seen in Rama paling; But Clarel sped, and heeded not, At least recalled not Rachel wailing.

Aside they win a fountain clear, The Cistern of the Kings—so named Because (as vouched) the Magi here Watered their camels, and reclaimed

The Ray, brief hid. Ere this they passed Clarel looked in and there saw glassed Down in the wave, one mellow star; Then, glancing up, beheld afar Enisled serene, the orb itself:— Apt auspice here for journeying elf.

And now those skirting slopes they tread Which devious bar the sunken bed Of Hinnom. Thence uplifted shone In hauntedness the deicide town Faint silvered. Gates, of course, were barred; But at the further eastern one,

St. Stephen's—there the turbaned guard (To Belex known) at whispered word Would ope. Thither, the nearer way, ByJeremy's grot—they shun that ground, For there an Ottoman camp's array Deters. Through Hinnom now they push Their course round Zion by the glen Toward Rogel—whither shadowy rush And where, at last, in cloud convene (Ere, one, they sweep to gloomier hush) Those two black chasms which enfold Jehovah's hight. Flanking the well, Ophel they turn, and gain the dell Of Shaveh. Here the city old, Fast locked in torpor, fixed in blight, No hum sent forth, revealed no light: Though, facing it, cliff-hung Siloam— Sepulchral hamlet—showed in tomb A twinkling lamp. The valley slept— Obscure, in monitory dream Oppressive, roofed with awful skies Whose stars like silver nail-heads gleam Which stud some lid over lifeless eyes.