Clarel/Part 3/Canto 10

10. Before the Gate
'Tis Kedron, that profound ravine Whence Saba soars. And all between Zion and Saba one may stray, Sunk from the sun, through Kedron's way. BY road more menacingly dead Than that which wins the convent's base No ghost to Tartarus is led. Through scuttle small, that keepeth place In floor of cellars which impend-- Cellars or cloisters--men ascend BY ladder which the monks let down

And quick withdraw; and thence yet on Higher and higher, flight by flight, They mount from Erebus to light, And off look, world-wide, much in tone Of Uriel, warder in the sun, Who serious views this earthly scene Since Satan passed his guard and entered in. But not by Kedron these now come Who ride from Siddim; no, they roam The roof of mountains--win the tall Towers of Saba, and huge wall Builded along the steep, and there A postern with a door, full spare Yet strong, a clamped and bucklered mass Bolted. In waste whose king is Fear, Sole port of refuge, it is here. Strange (and it might repel, alas) Fair haven's won by such a pass. In London Tower the Traitors' Gate Through which the guilty waters flow, Looks not more grim. Yet shalt thou know, If once thou enter, good estate. Beneath these walls what frays have been, What clash and outery, sabers crossed Pilgrim and Perizzite between; And some have here given up the ghost Before the gate in last despair. Nor, for the most part, lacking fair Sign-manual frs)m a mitered lord, Admission shall that arch afford To any.    Weary now the train At eve halt by the gate and knock. No answer. Belex shouts amain: As well invoke the Pico Rock. "Bide," breathes the Druze, and dropping rein, He points. A wallet's lowered down From under where a hood projects High up the tower, a cowl of stone,

Wherefrom alert an eye inspects All applicants, and unbeknown. Djalea promptly from his vest A missive draws, which duly placed In budget, rises from the ground And vanishes. So, without sound Monks fish up to their donjon dark The voucher from their Patriarch, Even him who dwells in damask state On Zion throned. Not long they wait: The postern swings. Dismounting nigh, The horses through the needle's eye, That small and narrow gate, they lead. But while low ducks each lofty steed, Behold how through the crucial pass Slips unabased the humble ass. And so they all with clattering din The stony fortress court-yard win. There see them served, and bidden rest; Horse, ass too, treated as a guest. Friars tend as grooms. Yet others call And lead them to the frater-hall Cliff-hung. By monks the board is spread; They break the monastery bread, Moist'ning the same with Saba's wine, Product of painful toil mid stones

In terraces, whose Bacchic zones That desert gird. Olive and vine To flinty places well incline, Once crush the flint. Even so they fared, So well for them the brethren cared. Refection done, for grateful bed Cool mats of dye sedate, were spread: The lamps were looked to, freshly trimmed; And last (at hint from mellow man Who seemed to know how all things ran, And who in place shall soon be hymned) A young monk-servant, slender-limbed, And of a comely countenance,

Set out one flask of stature tall, Against men's needs medicinal, Travelers, subject to mischance; Devout then, and with aspect bright Invoked Mar Saba's blessing--bade good night.

He goes. But now in change of tune, Shall friar be followed by buffoon? Saba supply a Pantaloon? Wise largess of true license yield. Howe'er the river, winding round, May win an unexpected bound; The aim and destiny, unsealed In the first fount, hold unrepealed.