Clarel — Part 4 — Canto 32

Day passed; and passed a second one,A third--fourth--fifth; and bound he sateIn film of sorrow without moan--Abandoned, in the stony straitOf mutineer thrust on wild shore, 5Hearing, beyond the roller's froth,The last dip of the parting oar.Alone, for all had left him so;Though Rolfe, Vine, Derwent--each was loth,

How loth to leave him, or to go 10Be first. From Vine he caught new senseDeveloped through fate's pertinence.Friendly they tarried--blameless went:Life, avaricious, still demandsHer own, and more; the world is rent 15With partings.But, since all are gone,Why lingers he, the stricken one?Why linger where no hope can be?Ask grief, love ask--fidelity 20In dog that by the corse abidesOf shepherd fallen--abides, abides

Though autumn into winter glides,Till on the mountain all is chillAnd snow-bound, and the twain lie still. 25

How oft through Lent the feet were ledOf this chastised and fasting oneTo neutral silence of the deadIn Kedron's gulf. One morn he sateDown poring toward it from the gate 30Sealed and named Golden. There a tomb,Erected in time's recent day,In block along the threshold layImpassable. From Omar's bloomCame birds which lit, nor dreamed of harm, 35On neighboring stones. His visage calmSeemed not the one which late showed playOf passion's throe; but here divineNo peace; ignition in the mineAnnounced is by the rush, the roar: 40These end; yet may the coal burn on--Still slumberous burn beneath the floorOf pastures where the sheep lie down.Ere long a cheerful choral strainHe hears; 'tis an Armenian train 45Embowered in palms they bear, which (green,And shifting oft) reveal the mienOf flamens tall and singers youngIn festal robes: a rainbow throng,Like dolphins off Madeira seen 50Which quick the ship and shout dismay.With the blest anthem, censers sway,Whose opal vapor, spiral borne,Blends with the heavens' own azure MornOf Palms; for 'twas Palm Sunday bright, 55Though thereof he, oblivious quite,Knew nothing, nor that here they cameIn memory of the green acclaimTriumphal, and hosanna-rollWhich hailed Him on the ass's foal 60

But unto Clarel that bright viewInto a dusk reminder grew:He saw the tapers--saw againThe censers, singers, and the wreathAnd litter of the bride of death 65Pass through the Broken Fountain's lane;In treble shrill and bass how deepThe men and boys he heard againThe undetermined contest keepAbout the bier--the bier Armenian. 70Yet dull, in torpor dim, he knewTht futile omen in review.

Yet three more days, and leadenlyFrom over Mary's port and arch,On Holy Thursday, he the march 75Of friars beheld, with litanyFiling beneath his feet, and bentWith crosses craped to sacramentDown in the glenned Gethsemane.Yes, Passion Week; the altars cower-- 80Each shrine a dead dismantled bower.

But when Good Friday dirged her gloomEre brake the morning, and each lightRound Calvary faded and the TOMB,

What exhalations met his sight:-- 85Illusion of grief's wakeful doom:The dead walked. There, amid the train,Wan Nehemiah he saw again--With charnel beard; and Celio passedAs in a dampened mirror glassed; 90Gleamed Mortmain, pallid as wolf-boneWhich bleaches where no man hath gone;And Nathan in his murdered guise--Sullen, and Hades in his eyes;Poor Agar, with such wandering mien 95As in her last blank hour was seen.And each and all kept lonely state,

Yea, man and wife passed separate.But Ruth--ah, how estranged in face!He knew her by no earthly grace: 100Nor might he reach to her in place.And languid vapors from them goLike thaw-fogs curled from dankish snow.

Where, where now He who helpeth us,The Comforter?--Tell, Erebus! 105