Clarel — Part 1 — Canto 33

Over against the Temple hereA monastery unrestored--Named from Prediction of Our Lord--Crumbled long since. Outlying near,Some stones remain, which seats afford: 5And one, the fond traditions state,Is that whereon the Saviour sateAnd prophesied, and sad becameTo think, what, under sword and flame,The proud Jerusalem should be, 10Then spread before him sunnily--Pillars and palms--the white, the green--Marble enfoliaged, a fair scene;But now--a vision here conferredPale as Pompeii disinterred. 15

Long Rolfe, on knees his elbows restingAnd head enlocked in hands upright,Sat facing it in steadfast plightAnd brooded on that town slow wasting."And here," he said, "here did He sit-- 20In leafy covert, say--BeheldThe city, and wept over it:Luke's words, and hard to be excelled,So just the brief expression there:- ruth's rendering. "--With earnest air, 25More he threw out, in kind the same,The which did Clarel ponder still;For though the words might frankness claim,With reverence for site and name;No further went they, nor could fill 30Faith's measure--scarce her dwindled gillNow standard. On the plain of Troy(Mused Clarel) as one might look downFrom Gargarus with quiet joyIn verifying Homer's sites, 35Yet scarce believe in Venus' crownAnd rescues in those Trojan fightsWhereby she saved her supple son;So Rolfe regards from these wan heightsYon walls and slopes to Christians dear. 40Much it annoyed him and perplexed:Than free concession so sincere--Concession due both site and text--Dissent itself would less appearTo imply negation. 45But anonThey mark in groups, hard by the gateWhich overlooks Jehoshaphat,Some Hebrew people of the town."Who marvels that outside they come 50Since few within have seemly home,"Said Rolfe; "they chat there on the seats,But seldom gossip in their streets.Who here may see a busy one?Where's naught to do not much is done. 55How live they then? what bread can be?In almost every country knownRich Israelites these kinsmen own:The hat goes round the world. But see!"Moved by his words, their eyes more reach 60Toward that dull group. Dwarfed in the dreamOf distance sad, penguins they seemDrawn up on Patagonian beach.

"O city," Rolfe cried; "house on moor,With shutters burst and blackened door-- 65Like that thou showest; and the galesStill round thee blow the Banshee-wails:Well might the priest in temple start,Hearing the voice--'Woe, we depart!' "

Clarel gave ear, albeit his glance 70Diffident skimmed Vine's countenance,As mainly here he interest tookIn all the fervid speaker said,Reflected in the mute one's look:A face indeed quite overlaid 75With tremulous meanings, which evadeOr shun regard, nay, hardly brookFraternal scanning.Rolfe went on:"The very natives of the town 80Methinks would turn from it and fleeBut for that curse which is its crown--That curse which clogs so, poverty.See them, but see yon cowering men:The brood--the brood without the hen!"-- 85

"City, that dost the prophets stone,How oft against the judgment dread,How often would I fain have spreadMy wings to cover thee, mine own;And ye would not! Had'st thou but known 90The things which to thy peace belong!"Nehemiah it was, rejoining them--Gray as the old JerusalemOver which how earnestly he hung.But him the seated audience scan 95As he were sole surviving manOf tribe extinct or world. The rayWhich lit his features, died away;He flagged; and, as some trouble moved,Apart and aimlessly he roved. 100