Canto 6 (At night upon the darkling main…)

At night upon the darkling main To ship return with muffled sound The rowers without comment vain— The messmate overboard not found: So, baffled in deep quest but late, These on the mountain. But from chat With Belex in campaigning mood, Derwent drew nigh. The sight of him Ruffled the Swede- cyoked a whim Which took these words: "O, well bestowed! Hither and help us, man of God: Doctor of consolation, here! Be warned though: truth won't docile be To codes of good society." Allowing for pain's bitter jeer, Or hearing but in part perchance, The comely cleric pilgrim came With what he might of suiting frame, And air approaching nonchalance; And "How to serve you, friends?" he said. "Ah, that!" cried Rolfe; "for we, misled, We peer from brinks of all we know; Our eyes are blurred against the haze: Canst help us track in snow on snow The footprint of the Ancient of Days?" "Scarce without snow-shoes;" Derwent mild In gravity; "But come; we've whiled The time; up then, and let us go." "Delay," said Mortmain; "stay, roseace: What word is thine for sinking heart, What is thy wont in such a case, Who sends for thee to act thy part Consoling—not in life's last hour Indeed—but when some deprivation sore Unnerves, and every hope lies flat?" That troubled Derwent, for the tone

Brake into tremble unbeknown E'en to the speaker. Down he sat Beside them: "Well, if such one—nay! But never yet such sent for me— I mean, none in that last degree; Assume it though: to him I'd say— 'The less in hand the more in store, Dear friend.' No formula I'd trace, But honest comfort face to face; And, yes, with tonic strong I'd brace, Closing with cheerful Paul in lore Of text—Rejoice ye evermore. " The Swede here of a sudden drooped, A hump dropped on him, one would say; He reached and some burnt gravel scooped, Then stared down on the plain away. The priest in fidget moved to part. "Abide," said Mortmain with a start; "Abide, for more I yet would know: Is God an omnipresent God? Is He in Siddim yonder? No? If anywhere He's disavowed How think to shun the final schism— Blind elements, flat atheism?" Whereto the priest: "Far let it be That ground where Durham's prelate stood

Who saw no proof that God was good But only righteous.—Woe is me! These controversies. Oft I've said That never, never would I be led Into their maze of vanity. Behead me—rid me of pride's part And let me live but by the heart!" "Hast proved thy heart? first prove it. Stay: The Bible, tell me, is it true, And thence deriv'st thy flattering view?" But Derwent glanced aside, as vexed; Inly assured, nor less perplexed How to impart; and grieved too late

At being drawn within the strait Of vexed discussion: nor quite free From ill conjecture, that the Swede, Though no dissembler, yet indeed Part played on him: "Why question me? Why pound the text? Ah, modern be, And share the truth's munificence. Look now, one reasons thus: Immense Is tropic India; hence she breeds Brahma tremendous, gods like seeds. The genial clime of Hellas gay Begat Apollo. Take that way; Nor query—Ramayana true? The Iliad?" Mortmain nothing said, But lumped his limbs and sunk his head. Then Rolfe to Derwent: "But theJew: Since clime and country, as you own, So much effect, how with theJew Herein?" There Derwent sat him down Afresh, well pleased and leisurely, As one in favorite theory Invoked: "That bondman from his doom By Nile, and subsequent distress, With punishment in wilderness, Methinks he brought an added gloom To nature here. Here church and state He founded—would perpetuate Exclusive and withdrawn. But no: Advancing years prohibit rest; All turns or alters for the best. Time ran; and that expansive light Of Greeks about the bordering sea, Their happy genial spirits bright, Wit, grace urbane, amenity Contagious, and so hard to ban By bigot law, or any plan; These influences stole their way, Affecting here and there a Jew; Likewise the Magi tincture too Derived from the Captivity: Hence Hillel's fair reforming school, Liberal gloss and leavening rule. How then? could other issue be At last but ferment and a change? True, none recanted or dared range: To Moses' law they yet did cling, But some would fain have tempering— In the bare place a bit of green. And lo, an advent—the Essene, Gentle and holy, meek, retired, With virgin charity inspired: Precursor, nay, a pledge, agree, Of light to break from Galilee. And, ay, He comes: the lilies blow! In hamlet, field, and on the road, To every man, in every mode How did the crowning Teacher show His broad and blessed comity. I do avow He still doth seem Pontiff of optimists supreme!" The Swede sat stone-like. Suddenly:

"Leave thy carmine! From thorns the streak Ruddies enough that tortured cheek. 'Twas Shaftesbury first assumed your tone, Trying to cheerfulize Christ's moan." "Nay now," plead Derwent, earnest here, And in his eyes the forming tear; "But hear me, hear!" "No more of it!" And rose. It was his passion-fit. The other changed; his pleasant cheer, Confronted by that aspect wild, Dropped like the flower from Ceres' child In Enna, seeing the pale brow Of Pluto dank from scud below.

Though by Gethsemane, where first Derwent encountered Mortmain's mien.

Christian forbearance well he nursed, Allowing for distempered spleen; Now all was altered, quite reversed— 'Twas now as at the burial scene By Siddim's marge. And yet—and yet Was here a proof that priest had met His confutation? Hardly so (Mused Clarel) but he longed to know How it could be, that while the rest Contented scarce the splenetic Swede, They hardly so provoked the man To biting outburst unrepressed As did the cleric's gentle fan. But had the student paid more heed To Derwent's look, he might have caught Hints of reserves within the thought. Nor failed the priest ere all too late His patience here to vindicate.