Canto 7 (In street at hand a silence…)

In street at hand a silence reigns Which Nature's hush of loneness feigns. Few casements, few, and latticed deep, High raised above the head below, That none might listen, pry, or peep, Or any hint or inkling know Of that strange innocence or sin Which locked itself so close within. The doors, recessed in massy walls, And far apart, as dingy were As Bastile gates. No shape astir Except at whiles a shadow falls Athwart the way, and key in hand Noiseless applies it, enters so And vanishes. By dry airs fanned, The languid hyssop waveth slow, Dusty, on stones by ruin rent. 'Twould seem indeed the accomplishment Whereof the greater prophet tells In truth's forecasting canticles Where voice of bridegroom, groom and bride Is hushed. Each silent wall and lane— The city's towers in barren pride Which still a stifling air detain, So irked him, with his burden fraught, Timely the Jaffa Gate he sought, Thence issued, and at venture went Along a vague and houseless road Save narrow houses where abode The Turk in man's last tenement Inearthed. But them he heeded not, Such trance his reveries begot: "Christ lived a Jew: and in Judea May linger any breath of Him? If nay, yet surely it is here One best may learn if all be dim." Sudden it came in random play "Here to Emmaus is the way;" And Luke's narration straight recurred, How the two falterers' hearts were stirred Meeting the Arisen (then unknown) And listening to his lucid word As here in place they traveled on. That scene, in Clarel's temper, bred A novel sympathy, which said— I too, I too; could I but meet Some stranger of a lore replete, Who, marking how my looks betray The dumb thoughts clogging here my feet, Would question me, expound and prove, And make my heart to burn with love— Emmaus were no dream today! He lifts his eyes, and, outlined there, Saw, as in answer to the prayer, A man who silent came and slow Just over the intervening brow Of a nigh slope. Nearer he drew Revealed against clear skies of blue; And—in that Syrian air of charm— He seemed, illusion such was given, Emerging from the level heaven, And vested with its liquid calm. Scarce aged like time's wrinkled sons, But touched by chastenings of Eld, Which halloweth life's simpler ones; In wasted strength he seemed upheld Invisibly by faith serene— Paul's evidence of things not seen. No staff he carried; but one hand A solitary Book retained. Meeting the student's, his mild eyes Fair greeting gave, in faint surprise. But, noting that untranquil face, Concern and anxiousness found place Beyond the occasion and surmise: "Young friend in Christ, what thoughts molest That here ye droop so? Wanderest Without a guide where guide should be? Receive one, friend: the book—take ye. From man to book in startled way The youth his eyes bent. Book how gray And weatherstained in woeful plight— Much like that scroll left bare to blight, Which poet pale, when hope was low, Bade one who into Libya went, Fling to the wasteful element, Yes, leave it there, let wither so. Ere Clarel ventured on reply Anew the stranger proffered it, And in such mode he might espy It was the page of—Holy Writ. Then unto him drew Clarel nigher: "Thou art?" "The sinner Nehemiah."