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Clarel

a poem and pilgrimage in the Holy Land

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Clarel protested, yet as one
Part lamed in candor; and took tone
In formal wise: “Nay, pardon me,
But you misdeem it: Solomon's Song
Is allegoric—needs must be.”
“Proof, proof, pray, if 'tis not too long.”
“Why, Saint Bernard—”
“Who? Sir Bernard?
Never that knight for me left card!”
“No, Saint Bernard, 'twas he of old
The Song's hid import first unrolled—
Confirmed in every after age:
The chapter-headings on the page
Of modern Bibles (in that Song)
Attest his rendering, and prolong:
A mystic burden.”
“Eh? so too
The Bonzes Hafiz' rhyme construe
Which lauds the grape of Shiraz. See,
They cant that in his frolic fire
Some bed-rid fakir would aspire
In foggy symbols. Me, oh me!—
What stuff of Levite and Divine!
Come, look at straight things more in line,
Blue eyes or black, which like you best?
Your Bella Donna, how's she dressed?”
'Twas very plain this sprightly youth

541

Little suspected the grave truth
That he, with whom he thus made free,
A student was, a student late
Of reverend theology:
Nor Clarel was displeased thereat.
The other now: “There is no tress
Can thrall one like a Jewess's.
A Hebrew husband, Hebrew-wed,
Is wondrous faithful, it is said;
Which needs be true; for, I suppose,
As bees are loyal to the rose,
So men to beauty. Of his girls,
On which did the brown Indian king,
Ahasuerus, shower his pearls?
Why, Esther: Judah wore the ring.
And Nero, captain of the world,
His arm about a Jewess curled—
Bright spouse, Poppæa. And with good will
Some Christian monarchs share the thrill,
In palace kneeling low before
Crowned Judah, like those nobs of yore.
These Hebrew witches! well-a-day,
Of Jeremiah what reck they?”