Canto 6 (Over uplands now toward eve they…)

Over uplands now toward eve they pass By higher uplands tinged with grass. Lower it crept as they went on— Grew in advance, and rugged the ground; Yea, seemed before these pilgrims thrown To carpet them to royal bound. Each rider here in saddle-seat Lounges relaxed, and glads his sight; Solomon whinnies; those small feet Of Zar tread lightly and more light: Even Agath's ass the awakened head Turns for a nibble. So they sped, Till now Djalea turns short aside, Ascends, and by a happy brink Makes halt, and beckons them to ride And there with him at pleasure drink A prospect good. Below, serene In oliveyards and vineyards fair,

They view a theater pale green Of terraces, which stair by stair Rise toward most venerable walls On summits twin, and one squared heap Of buttressed masonry based deep Adown the crag on lasting pedestals. Though on that mount but towers convene, And hamlet none nor cot they see, They cannot choose but know the scene; And Derwent's eyes show humidly: "What other hill? We view it here: Blessed in story, and heart-cheer, Hail to thee, Bethlehem of Judaea!

Oh, look: as if with conseious sense Here nature shows meet reverence: See, at the sacred mountain's feet How kneels she with her fragrance sweet, And swathes them with her grasses fair: So Mary with the spikenard shed A lowly love, and bowed her head And made a napkin of her trailing hair."

He turned, but met no answering eyes; The animation of surprise Had vanished; strange, but they were dumb: What wayward afterthought had come? Those dim recurrings in the mind, Sad visitations ill defined, Which led the trio erst that met Upon the crown of Olivet Nehemiah's proffer to decline When he invited them away To Bethany—might such things sway Even these by Bethlehem? The sign Derwent respected, and he said No more. And so, with spirits shrunk Over the placid hills they tread And win the stronghold of the monk.