Clarel — Part 1 — Canto 43

But what!--nay, nay: without adieuOf vital word, dear presence true,Part shall I?--break away from love?But think: the circumstances move,And warrant it. Shouldst thou abide, 5Cut off yet wert thou from her sideFor time: tho' she be sore distressed,Herself would whisper: "Go--'tis best."

Unstable! It was in a street,Half vault, where few or none do greet, 10He paced. Anon, encaved in wallA fount arrests him, sculpture wroughtAfter a Saracen design--Ruinous now and arid allSave dusty weeds which trail or twine. 15While lingering in way that broughtThe memory of the Golden BowlAnd Pitcher broken, music roseYoung voices; a procession shows:A litter rich, with flowery wreath, 20Singers and censers, and a veil.She comes, the bride; but, ah, how pale:Her groom that Blue-Beard, cruel Death,Wedding his millionth maid to-day;She, stretched on that Armenian bier, 25Leaves home and each familiar way--Quits all for him. Nearer, more near--Till now the ineffectual flameOf burning tapers borne he saw:The westering sun puts these to shame. 30

But, hark: responsive marching choirs,Robed men and boys, in rhythmic lawA contest undetermined keep:Ay, as the bass in dolings deepThe serious, solemn thought inspires-- 35In unconcern of rallying sort

The urchin-treble shrills retort;But, true to part imposed, againThe beards dirge out. And so they windTill thro' the city gate the train 40Files forth to sepulcher.BehindLeft in his hermitage of mind,What troubles Clarel? See him thereAs if admonishment in air 45He heard. Can love be fearful so?Jealous of fate? the future? allReverse--mischance? nay, even the pallAnd pit?--No, I'll not leave her: no,'Tis fixed; I waver now no more.-- 50But yet again he thought it o'er,And self-rebukeful, and with mock:Thou superstitious doubter--own,Biers need be borne; why such a shockWhen passes this Armenian one? 55The word's dispatched, and wouldst recall?'Tis but for fleeting interval.