Canto 39 (In northern clime how tender show…)

In northern clime how tender show The meads beneath heaven's humid Bow When showers draw off and dew-drops cling To sunset's skirt, and robins sing Though night be near. So did the light Of love redeem in Ruth the trace Of grief, though scarce might it efface. From wider rambles which excite The thought, or study's lone repose, Daily did Clarel win the close. With interest feminine and true The matron watched that love which grew; She hailed it, since a hope was there Made brighter for the grief's degree: How shines the gull ye watch in air White, white, against the cloud at sea. Clarel, bereft while still but young, Mother or sister had not known; To him now first in life was shown, In Agar's frank demeanor kind, What charm to woman may belong When by a natural bent inclined To goodness in domestic play: On earth no better thing than this— It canonizes very clay: Madonna, hence thy worship is. But Ruth: since Love had signed with Fate The bond, and the first kiss had sealed, Both for her own and Agar's state Much of her exile-grief seemed healed: New vistas opened; and if still Forebodings might not be forgot As to her sire's eventual lot, Yet hope, which is of youth, could thrill. That frame to foster and defend, Clarel, when in her presence, strove The unrest to hide which still could blend

With all the endearings of their love. Ruth part divined the lurking care, But more the curb, and motive too: It made him but love's richer heir; So much the more attachment grew. She could not think but all would prove Subject in end to mighty Love. That cloud which in the present reigned, By flushful hope's aurora stained, At times redeemed itself in hues Of shell, and humming-bird, and flower. Could heaven two loyal hearts abuse? The death-moth, let him keep his bower.