Canto 41 (They parted in the port. Near…)

They parted in the port. Near by, Long stone stairs win the battlement Of wall, aerial gallery; And thither now the student bent To muse abroad. The sun's last rays Shed round a nearing train the haze Of mote and speck. Advanced in view And claiming chief regard, came two Dismounted, barefoot; one in dress Expressive of deep humbleness

Of spirit, scarce of social state— His lineaments rebutted that, Tho' all was overcast with pain— The visage of a doom-struck man Not idly seeking holy ground. Behind, his furnished horse did bound Checked by a groom in livery fair. The master paced in act of prayer Absorbed—went praying thro' the gate. The attentive student, struck thereat, The wall crossed—from the inner arch, Viewed him emerging, while in starch Of prelate robes, some waiting Greeks Received him, kissed him on both cheeks, Showing that specializing love And deference grave, how far above What Lazarus in grief may get; Nor less sincere those priests were yet. Second in the dismounted list Was one, a laic votarist, The cross and chaplet by his side, Sharing the peace of eventide In frame devout. A Latin he, But not, as seemed, of high degree. Such public reverence profound In crossing Salem's sacred bound Is not so common, in late day, But that the people by the way In silent-viewing eyes confessed The spectacle had interest. Nazarene Hebrews twain rode next, By one of the escort slyly vexed. In litter borne by steady mules A Russian lady parts the screen; A rider, as the gate is seen, Dismounts, and her alighting rules— Her husband. Checkered following there, Like envoys from all Adam's race, Mixed men of various nations pace,

I Such as in crowded steamer come And disembark at Jaffa's stair. Mute mid the buzz of chat and prayer, Plain-clad where others sport the plume, What countrymen are yonder three? The critic-coolness in their eyes Disclaims emotion's shallow sea; Or misapply they precept wise, Nil admirari? Or, may be, Rationalists these riders are, Men self-sufficing, insular. Nor less they show in grave degree Tolerance for each poor votary.

Now when the last rays slanting fall, yhe last new comer enters in: The gate shuts after with a din. Tarries the student on the wall. Dubieties of recent date— Scenes, words, events—he thinks of all.

As, when the autumn sweeps the down, And gray skies tell of summer gone, The swallow hovers by the strait— Impending on the passage long; Upon a brink and poise he hung. The bird in end must needs migrate Over the sea: shall Clarel too Launch o'er his gulf, e'en Doubt, and woo Remote conclusions? Unresigned, He sought the inn, and tried to read |The Fathers with a filial mind. In vain; heart wandered or repined. The Evangelists may serve his need: Deep as he felt the beauty sway, Estrangement there he could but heed, Both time and tone so far away |From him the modern. Not to dwell, IRising he walked the floor, then stood

Irresolute. His eye here fell Upon the blank wall of the cell, The wall before him, and he viewed A place where the last coat of lime— White flakes whereof lay dropped below— Thin scaling off, laid open so Upon the prior coat a rhyme Pale penciled. In one's nervous trance Things near will distant things recall, And common ones suggest romance: He thought of her built up in wall, Cristina of Coll'alto; yes, The verse here breaking from recess— Tho' immaterial, but a thought In some sojurning traveler wrought— Scribbled, overlaid, again revealed— Seemed like a tragic fact unsealed: So much can mood possess a man. He read: obscurely thus it ran:—

"For me who never loved the stride, Triumph and taunt that shame the winning side— Toward Him over whom, in expectation's glow, Elate the advance of rabble-banners gleam— Turned from a world that dare renounce Him so My unweaned thoughts in steadfast trade-wind stream. If Atheists and Vitriolists of doom Faith's gathering night with rockets red illume— So much the more in pathos I adore The low lamps flickering in Syria's Tomb."—

"What strain is this?—But, here, in blur:— 'After return from Sepulcher: B. L.' "—On the ensuing day He plied the host with question free: Who answered him, "A pilgrim—nay, How to remember! English, though— A fair young Englishman. But stay:" And after absence brief he slow

With volumes came in hand: "These, look— He left behind by chance."—One book, With portrait of a mitered man, Treated of high church Anglican, Confession, fast, saint-day—deplored That rubric old was not restored. But under Finis there was writ A comment that made grief of it. The second work had other cheer— Started from Strauss, disdained Renan— By striding paces up to Pan; Nor rested, but the goat-god here Capped with the red cap in the twist Of Proudhon and the Communist. But random jottings in the marge Disclosed some reader of the text Whose fervid comments did discharge More dole than e'en dissent. Annexed, In either book was penciled small: "B. L.: Oxford: St. Mary's Hall."

Such proved these volumes—such, as scanned By Clarel, wishful to command Some hint that might supply a clew Better enabling to construe The lines their owner left on wall.