Clarel — Part 4 — Canto 9

"Up, up! Around morn's standard rallyShe makes a sortic join the sally:Up, slugabeds; up, up!"That callEre matins did each pilgrim hear 5In cell, and knew the blithe voice clear."Beshrew thee, thou'rt poetical,"Rolfe murmured from his place withdrawn."Ay, brother; but 'tis not surprising:Apollo's the god of early rising. 10Up, up! The negro-groom of NightLeads forth the horses of the Dawn!Up, up!" So Derwent, jocund sprite--Although but two days now were passedSince he had viewed a sunrise last-- 15Persuaded them to join him there

And unto convent roof repair.Thought one: He's of no nature surly,So cheerful in the morning early.Sun-worship over, they came down: 20And Derwent lured them forth, and on.Behind the Convent lies a dale,The Valley of the Shepherds named,(And never may the title fail!)By old tradition fondly claimed 25To be in truth the very groundAbout whose hollow, on the moundOf hills, reclined in dozing wayThat simple group ere break of day,Which, startled by their flocks' dismay-- 30All bleating up to them in panicAnd sparkling in scintillant ray--Beheld a splendor diaphanic--Effulgence never dawn hath shot,Nor flying meteors of the night; 35And trembling rose, shading the sight;But heard the angel breathe--Fear not.So (might one reverently dareTerrene with heavenly to compare),So, oft in mid-watch on that sea 40Where the ridged Andes of PeruAre far seen by the coasting crew--

Waves, sails and sailors in accordIllumed are in a mystery,Wonder and glory of the Lord, 45Though manifest in aspect minor--Phosphoric ocean in shekinah.

And down now in that dale they go,Meeting a little St. John boyIn sackcloth shirt and belt of tow, 50Leading his sheep. Ever behindHe kept one hand, stained with a shrub,The which an ewe licked, never coy;And all the rest with docile mind

Followed; and fleece with fleece did rub. 55Beyond, hard by twin planted tents,Paced as in friendly conferenceTwo shepherds on the pastoral hill,Brown patriarchs in shaggy cloak;Peaceful they went, as in a yoke 60The oxen unto pasture oakTo lie in shade when noon is still.Nibbling the herb, or far or near,Advanced their flocks, and yet would veer,For width of range makes wayward will. 65

Ungar beheld: "What treat they of?Halving the land?--This might reclaimOld years of Lot and AbrahamJust ere they parted in remove:A peaceful parting: 'Let there be 70No strife, I pray thee, between meAnd thee, my herdmen and thine own;For we be brethren. See, the landIs all before thee, fenced by none:Then separate thyself from me, 75I pray thee. If now the left handThou, Lot, wilt take, then I will goUnto the right; if thou departUnto the right, then I will goUnto the left.'--They parted so, 80And not unwisely: both were wise.'Twas East and West; but North and South!"Rolfe marked the nip of quivering mouth,Passion repressed within the eyes;But ignorance feigned: "This calm," he said, 85"How fitly hereabout is shed:The site of Eden's placed not far;In bond 'tween man and animalSurvives yet under Asia's starA link with years before the Fall." 90"Indeed," cried Derwent, pleased thereat,"Blest, blest is here the creature's state

Those pigeons, now, in Saba's hold,Their wings how winsome would they foldAlighting at one's feet so soft. 95Doves, too, in mosque, I've marked aloft,At hour of prayer through window comeFrom trees adjacent, and a'thrillPerch, coo, and nestle in the dome,Or fly with green sprig in the bill. 100How by the marble fount in court,Where for ablution Turks resortEre going in to hear the Word,These small apostles they regardWhich of sweet innocence report. 105None stone the dog; caressed, the steed;Only poor Dobbin (Jew indeedOf brutes) seems slighted in the East."

Ungar, who chafed in heart of himAt Rolfe's avoidance of his theme 110(Although he felt he scarce could blame),Here turned his vexed mood on the priest:"As cruel as a Ttlrk: Whence cameThat proverb old as the crusades?From Anglo-Saxons. What are they? 115Let the horse answer, and blockadesOf medicine in civil fray!

The Anglo-Saxons--lacking graceTo win the love of any race;Hated by myriads dispossessed 120Of rights--the Indians East and West.These pirates of the sphere! grave looters--Grave, canting, Mammonite freebooters,Who in the name of Christ and Trade(Oh, bucklered forehead of the brass!) 125Deflower the world's last sylvan glade!""Alas, alas, ten times alas,Poor Anglo-Saxons!" Derwent sighed."Nay, but if there I lurched too wide,Respond to this: Old ballads sing 130Fair Christian children crucifiedBy impious Jews: you've heard the thing:Yes, fable; but there's truth hard by:How many Hughs of Lincoln, say,Does Mammon in his mills, to-day, 135Crook, if he do not crucify?""Ah, come," said Derwent; "come, now, comeThink you that we who build the homeFor foundlings, and yield sums immenseTo hospitals for indigencc " 140"Your alms-box, smaller than your tillAnd poor-house won't absolve your mill.But what ye are, a straw may tell--Your dearth of phrases affable.Italian, French--more tongues than these-- 145Addresses have of courtesiesIn kindliness of man toward man,By prince used and by artisan,And not pervertible in senseOf scorn or slight. Ye have the Sir, 150That sole, employed in snub or slur,Never in pure benevolence,And at its best a formal termOf cold regard.""Ah, why so warm 155In mere philology, dear sir?"Plead Derwent; "there, don't that conferSweet amity? I used the word."But Ungar heeded not--scarce heardAnd, earnest as the earnest tomb, 160With added feeling, sting, and gloomHis strange impeachment urged. ReplyCame none; they let it go; for whyArgue with man of bitter blood?But Rolfe he could but grieve within 165For countryman in such a mood--Knowing the cause, the origin.