Canto 30 (All distant through that afternoon…)

All distant through that afternoon The student kept, nor might attune His heart to any steadfast thought But Ruth—still Ruth, yet strange involved With every mystery unresolved In time and fate. In cloud thus caught,

Her image labored like a star Fitful revealed in midnight heaven When inland from the sea-coast far The storm-rack and dark scud are driven. Words scarce might tell his frame, in sooth: 'Twas Ruth, and oh, much more than Ruth.

That flank of Kedron still he held Which is built up; and, passing on— While now sweet peal of chimings swelled From belfry old, withdrawn in zone— A way through cloisters deep he won And winding vaults that slope to hight; And heard a voice, espied a light In twinkle through far passage dim, And aimed for it, a friendly gleam; And so came out upon the Tree Mid-poised, and ledge-built balcony Inrailed, and one who, leaning o'er Beneath the Palm—from shore to shore Of Kedron's overwhelming walls And up and down her gap and grave, A golden cry sent, such as calls To creatures which the summons know. And, launching from crag, tower, and cave Beatified in flight they go: St. Saba's doves, in Saba bred. For wonted bounty they repair, These convent-pensioners of air; Fly to their friend; from hand outspread Or fluttering at his feet are fed. Some, iridescent round his brow, Wheel, and with nimbus him endow. Not fortune's darling here was seen, But heaven's elect. The robe of blue So sorted with the doves in hue Prevailing, and clear skies serene Without a cloud; so pure he showed— Of stature tall, in aspect bright—

He looked an almoner of God, Dispenser of the bread of light. 'Twas not the intellectual air— Not solely that, though that be fair: Another order, and more rare— As high above the Plato mind As this above the Mammon kind. In beauty of his port unsealed, To Clarel part he stood revealed At first encounter; but the sweet Small pecking bills and hopping feet Had previous won; the host urbane, In courtesy that could not feign, Mute welcome yielding, and a seat. It charmed away half Clarel's care, And charmed the picture that he saw, To think how like that turtle pair Which Mary, to fulfill the law, From Bethlehem to temple brought For offering; these Saba doves Seemed natives—not of Venus' court Voluptuous with wanton wreath— But colonnades where Enoch roves, Or walks with God, as Scripture saith. Nor myrtle here, but sole the Palm Whose vernal fans take rich release

From crowns of foot-stalks golden warm. O martyr's scepter, type of peace, And trouble glorified to calm! What stillness in the almoner's face: Nor Fomalhaut more mild may reign Mellow above the purple main Of autumn hills. It was a grace Beyond medallions ye recall. The student murmured, filial— "Father," and tremulously gleamed, "Here, sure, is peace." The father beamed; The nature of the peace was such It shunned to venture any touch

Of word. "And yet," went Clarel on But faltered there. The saint but glanced. "Father, if Good, 'tis unenhanced: No life domestic do ye own Within these walls: woman I miss. Like cranes, what years from time's abyss Their flight have taken, one by one, Since Saba founded this retreat: In cells here many a stifled moan Of lonely generations gone; And more shall pine as more shall fleet."

With dove on wrist, he, robed, stood hushed, Mused on the bird, and softly brushed. Scarce reassured by air so mute, Anxiously Clarel urged his suit. The celibate let go the dove; Cooing, it won the shoulder—lit Even at his ear, as whispering it. But he one pace made in remove, And from a little alcove took A silver-clasped and vellum book; And turned a leaf, and gave that page For answer.— Rhyme, old hermit-rhyme Composed in Decius' cruel age By Christian of Thebyean clime: 'Twas David's son, and he of Dan With him misloved that fled the bride And Job whose wife but mocked his ban Then rose, or in redemption ran— The rib restored to Adam's side And man made whole, as man began. And lustral hymns and prayers were here: Renouncings, yearnings, charges dread Against our human nature dear: Worship and wail, which, if misled Not less might fervor high instill In hearts which, striving in their fear Of clay, to bridle, curb or kill;

In the pure desert of the will Chastised, live the vowed life austere.

The given page the student scanned: Started—reviewed, nor might withstand. He turned; the celibate was gone; Over the gulf he hung alone: Alone, but for the comment caught Or dreamed, in face seen far below, Upturned toward the Palm in thought, Or else on him—he scarce might know. Fixed seemed it in assent indeed Which indexed all? It was the Swede. Over the Swede, upon the stair— Long Bethel-stair of ledges brown Sloping as from the heaven let down— Apart lay Vine; lowermost there, Rolfe he discerned; nor less the three, While of each other unaware, In one consent of frame might be. How vaguely, while yet influenced so By late encounter, and his glance Rested on Vine, his reveries flow Recalling that repulsed advance He knew by Jordan in the wood,

And the enigma unsubdued— Possessing Ruth, nor less his heart Aye hungering still, in deeper part Unsatisfied. Can be a bond (Thought he) as David sings in strain That dirges beauteous Jonathan, Passing the love of woman fond? And may experience but dull The longing for it? Can time teach? Shall all these billows win the lull And shallow on life's hardened beach?—

He lingered. The last dove had fled, And nothing breathed—breathed, waved, or fed, Along the uppermost sublime

Blank ridge. He wandered as in sleep; A saffron sun's last rays were shed More still, more solemn waxed the time, Till Apathy upon the steep Sat one with Silence and the Dead.