Canto 30 (Delay!--Shall flute from forth the Gate…)

Delay!—Shall flute from forth the Gate Issue, to warble welcome here— Upon this safe returning wait In gratulation? And, for cheer, When inn they gain, there shall they see The door-post wreathed? Howe'er it be, Through Clarel a revulsion ran, Such as may seize debarking man First hearing on Coquimbo's ground That subterranean sullen sound Which dull foreruns the shock. His heart,

In augury fair arrested here, Upbraided him: Fool! and didst part From Ruth? Strangely a novel fear Obtruded—petty, and yet worse And more from reason too averse, Than that recurrent haunting bier Molesting him erewhile. And yet It was but irritation, fret— Misgiving that the lines he writ Upon the eve before the start For Siddim, failed, or were unfit— Came short of the occasion's tone: To leave her, leave her in grief's smart: To leave her—her, the stricken one: Now first to feel full force of it! Away! to be but there, but there! Vain goadings: yet of love true part. But then the pledge with letter sent, Though but a trifle, still might bear A token in dumb argument Expressive more than words. With knee Straining against the saddle-brace, He urges on; till, near the place Of Hebrew graves, a light they see Moving, and figures dimly trace:

Some furtive strange society. Yet nearer as they ride, the light Shuts down. "Abide!" enjoined the Druze; "Waylayers these are none, but Jews, Or I mistake, who here by night Have stolen to do grave-digger's work. During late outbreak in the town The bigot in the baser Turk Was so inflamed, some Hebrews dread Assault, even here among their dead. Abide a space; let me ride on." Up pushed he, spake, allayed the fright Of them who had shut down the light

At sound of comers. Close they draw— Advancing, lit by fan-shaped rays Shot from a small dark-lantern's jaw Presented pistol-like. They saw Mattocks and men, in outline dim On either ominous side of him From whom went forth that point of blaze. Resting from labor, each one stays His implement on grave-stones old. New-dug, between these, they behold Two narrow pits: and (nor remote) Twin figures on the ground they note Folded in cloaks. "And who rest there? Rolfe sidelong asked. "Our friends; have care!" Replied the one that held in view The lantern, slanting it a'shift, Plainer disclosing them, and, too, A broidered scarf, love's first chance gift, The student's (which how well he knew!) Binding one mantle's slender span. With piercing cry, as one distraught, Down from his horse leaped Clarel—ran And hold of that cloak instant caught And bared the face. Then (like a man Shot through the heart, but who retains His posture) rigid he remains— The mantle's border in his hand, His glazed eyes unremoved. The band Of Jews—the pilgrims—all look on Shocked or amazed. But speech he won: "No—yes: enchanted here!—her name?" "Ruth, Nathan's daughter," said aJew Who kenned him now—the youth that came Oft to the close; "but, thou—forbear; The dawn's at hand and haste is due:

See, by her side, 'tis Agar there." "Ruth? Agar?—art thou, God?—But ye— All swims, and I but blackness see.— How happed it? speak!" "The fever—grief: 'Twere hard to tell; was no relief." "And ye—your tribe 'twas ye denied Me access to this virgin's side In bitter trial: take my curse!— O blind, blind, barren universe! Now am I like a bough torn down, And I must wither, cloud or sun!— Had I been near, this had not been. Do spirits look down upon this scene?— The message? some last word was left?" "For thee? no, none; the life was reft Sudden from Ruth; and Agar died Babbling of gulls and ocean wide- - - Out of her mind." "And here's the furl Of Nathan's faith: then perish faith— 'Tis perjured!—Take me, take me, Death! Where Ruth is gone, me thither whirl, Where'er it be!" "Ye do outgo Mad Korah. Boy, this is the Dale

Of Doom, God's last assizes; so, Curb thee; even if sharp grief assail, Respect these precincts lest thou know An ill." "Give way, quit thou our dead!" Menaced another, striding out; "Art thou of us? turn thee about!" "Spurn—I'll endure; all spirit's fled When one fears nothing.—Bear with me, Yet bear!—Conviction is not gone Though faith's gone: that which shall not be It ought to be!" But here came on

With heavy footing, hollow heard, Hebrews, which bare rude slabs, to place Athwart the bodies when interred, That earth should weigh not on the face; For coffin was there none; and all Was make-shift in this funeral. Uncouthly here a Jew began To re-adjust Ruth's cloak. Amain Did Clarel push him; and, in hiss: "Not thou—for me!—Alone, alone In such bride-chamber to lie down! Nay, leave one hand out—like to this— That so the bridegroom may not miss To kiss it first, when soon he comes.— But 'tis not she!" and hid his face.

They laid them in the under-glooms— Each pale one in her portioned place. The gravel, from the bank raked down, Dull sounded on those slabs of stone, Grave answering grave—dull and more dull, Each mass growing more, till either pit was full.

As up from Kedron dumb they drew, Then first the shivering Clarel knew Night's damp. The Martyr's port is won— Stephen's; harsh grates the bolt withdrawn And, over Olivet, comes on Ash Wednesday in the gray of dawn.