Clarel/Part 3/Canto 27

27. Man and Bird
"Yes, pat it comes in here for me: He says, that one fine day at sea-- 'Twas when he younger was and spry-- Being at mast-head all alone, While he his business there did ply,

Strapping a block where halyards run, He felt a fanning overhead-- Looked up, and so into the eye Of a big bird, red-billed and black In plume. It startled him, he said, It seemed a thing demoniac. From poise, it went to wheeling round him; Then, when in daze it well had bound him, It pounced upon him with a buffet; He, enraged, essayed to cuff it, But only had one hand, the other Still holding on the spar. And so, While yet they shouted from below, And yet the wings did whirr and smother, The bird tore at his old wool cap,

And chanced upon the brain to tap. Up went both hands; he lost his stay, And down he fell--he, and the bird Maintaining still the airy fray-- And, souse, plumped into sea; and heard, While sinking there, the piercing gird Of the grim fowl, that bore away The prize at last." "And did he drown?"  "Why, there he goes!" and pointed him Where still the mariner wended on: "'Twas in smooth water; he could swim. They luffed and flung the rope, and fired The harpoon at the shark untired Astern, and dragged him--not the shark, But man--they dragged him 'board the barque; And down he dropped there with a thump, Being water-logged with spongy lump Of quilted patches on the shirt Of wool, and trowsers. All inert He lay. He says, and true's the word, That bitterer than the brine he drank Was that shrill gird the while he sank."  "A curious story, who e'er heard Of such a fray 'twixt man and bird!"-- "Bird? but he deemed it was the devil, And that he carried off his soul In the old cap, nor was made whole 'Till some good vicar did unravel The snarled illusion in the skein, And he got back his soul again."  "But lost his cap. A curious story-- A bit of Nature's allegory. And--well, what now? You seem perplexed."  "And so I am.--Your friend there, see, Up on yon peak, he puzzles me. Wonder where I shall find him next? Last time 'twas where the corn-cribs by Bone-cribs, I mean; in church, you know;

The blessed martyrs' holy bones, Hard by the porch as in you go-- Sabaites' bones, the thousand ones Of slaughtered monks--so faith avers. Dumb, peering in there through the bars He stood. Then, in the spiders' room, I saw him there, yes, quite at home In long-abandoned library old, Conning a venerable tome, While dust of ages round him rolled; Nor heeded he the big fly's buzz, But mid heaped parchment leaves that mold Sat like the bankrupt man of Uz Among the ashes, and read and read. Much learning, has it made him mad? Kedron well suits him, 'twould appear: Why don't he stay, yes, anchor here, Turn anchorite?"              And do ye pun, And he, he such an austere one? (Thought Derwent then.) Well, run your rig-- Hard to be comic and revere; And once 'twas tittered in mine ear St. Paul himself was but a prig. Who's safe from the derision.?--Here Aloud: "Why, yes; our friend is queer,

And yet, as some esteem him, not Without some wisdom to his lot." "Wisdom? our Cyril is deemed wise. In the East here, one who's lost his wits For saint or sage they canonize: That's pretty good for perquisites. I'll tell you: Cyril (some do own) Has gained such prescience as to man (Through seldom seeing any one), To him's revealed the mortal span Of any wight he peers upon. And that's his hobby--as we proved But late.

"Then not in vain we've roved, Winning the oracle whose caprice Avers we've yet to run our lease." "Length to that lease! But let's return, Give over climbing, and adjourn." "Just as you will." "But first to show A curious caverned place hard by. Another crazed monk--start not so-- He's gone, clean vanished from the eye! Another crazed one, deemed inspired, Long dwelt in it. He never tired-- Ah, here it is, the vestibule."

They reach an inner grotto cool, Lighted by fissure up in dome; Fixed was each thing, each fixture stone: Stone bed, bench, cross, and altar--stone. "How like you it--Habbibi's home? You see these writings on the wall? His craze was this: he heard a call Ever from heaven: O scribe, write, write! Write this--that writc to these indite-- To them! Forever it was--write! Well, write he did, as here you see. What is it all?" "Dim, dim to me," Said Derwent; "ay, obscurely traced; And much is rubbed off or defaced. But here now, this is pretty clear: 'I, Self I am the enemy Of all. From me deliver me, O Lord. '--Poor man!--But here, dim here: 'There is a hell over which mere hell Serves--for--a--heaven.'--Oh, terrible! Profound pit that must be!--What's here Halffaded: '. . . teen . . six, The hundred summers run, Except it be in cicatrix The aloe--flowers--none.'-- Ah, Nostradamus; prophecy Is so explicit.--But this, see. Much blurred again: '. . . testimony, .....  grownfat andgray, The lion down, and--full of honey, The bears shall rummage--him--in--May.'-- Yes, bears like honey.--Yon gap there Well lights the grotto; and this air Is dry and sweet; nice citadel For study." "Or dessert-room. So, Hast seen enough? then let us go. Write, write--indite!--what peer you at?" Emerging, Derwent, turning round, Small text spied which the door-way crowned. "Ha, new to me; and what is that?" The Islesman asked; "pray read it o'er." " 'Ye here who enter Habbi's den, Beware what hence ye take!' " "Amen! Why didn't he say that before? But what's to take? all's fixture here." "Occult, occult," said Derwent, "queer. Returning now, they made descent, The pilot trilling as they went:

"King Cole sang as he clinked the can, Sol goes round, and the mill-horse too: A thousand pound for a fire-proof man!    The devil vows he's the sole true-blue;       And the prick-louse sings,      See the humbug of kings-- 'Tis I take their measure, ninth part of a man!"

Lightly he sheds it off (mused then The priest), a man for Daniel's den.

In by-place now they join the twain, Belex, and Og in red Fez bald;

And Derwent, in his easy vein Ear gives to chat, with wine and gladness, Pleased to elude the Siddim madness, And, yes, even that in grotto scrawled; Nor grieving that each pilgrim friend For time now leave him to unbend. Yet, intervening even there, A touch he knew of gliding care: We loiterers whom life can please (Thought he) could we but find our mates Ever! but no; before the gates Of joy, lie some who carp and tease: Collisions of men's destinies!-- But quick, to nullify that tone He turned to mark the jovial one Telling the twain, the martial pair, Of Cairo and his tarry there; And how, his humorous soul to please, He visited the dervishes, The dancing ones: "But what think ye? The captain-dervish vowed to me That those same cheeses, whirl-round-rings He made, were David's--yes, the king's Who danced before the Ark. But, look: This was the step King David took;" And cut fantastic pigeon-wings.