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Файл:Clarel A Poem and Pilgrimage in the Holy Land I
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Or change! All’s chymestry. Aye so.” –
“Resurget” – faintly Derwent there.
“In pace” – Vine, nor more would dare.
Rolfe in his reaching heart did win
Prelude remote, yet gathering in:
“Moist, moist with sobs and balsam shed –
Warm tears, cold odors from the urn –
They hearsed in heathen Rome their dead
Nor hopeful of the soul’s return.
– Embracing them, in marble set,
‘ The mimic gates of Orcus met –
The Pluto-bolt, the fatal one
Wreathed over by the hung festoon.
How fare we now? But were it clear
In nature or in lore devout
That parted souls live on in cheer,
Gladness would be shut pathos out.
His poor thin life: the end? no more?
The end here by the Dead Sea shore?”
He turned him, as awaiting nod
Or answer from earth, air, or skies;
But be it ether or the clod,
The elements yield no replies.
Cross-legged on a cindery hight,
Belex, the fatalist, smoked on.
Slow whiffs; and then, “It needs be done:
Come, beach the loins there, Bethlehemite.” –
CLAREL
361
HERMAN MELVILLE
Inside a hollow free from stone
With camel-ribs they scooped a trench;
And Derwent, rallying from blench
Of Mortmain’s brow, and nothing loth
Tacit to vindicate the cloth,
Craved they would bring to him the Book,
Now ownerless. The same he took,
And thence had culled brief service meet,
But closed, reminded of the psalm
Heard when the salt fog shrunk the palm –
They wending toward these waters’ seat –
Raised by the saint, as e’en it lent
A voice to low presentiment:
Naught better might one here repeat:
“Though through the valley ofthe shade
Ipass, no evil do Ifear;
His candle shineth on my head:
Lo, he is with me, even here. “
That o’er, they kneeled – with foreheads bare
Bowed as he made the burial prayer.
Even Margoth bent him; but ‘twas so
As some hard salt at sea will do
Holding the narrow plank that bears
The shotted hammock, while brief prayers
Are by the master read mid war
Relentless of wild elements –
362
The sleet congealing on the spar:
It was a sulking reverence.
The body now the Arabs placed
Within the grave, and then with haste
Had covered, but for Rolfe’s restraint:
“The Book!” – The Bible of the saint –
With that the relics there he graced,
Yea, put it in the hand: “Since now
The last long journey thou dost go,
Why part thee from thy friend and guide!
And better guide who knoweth? Bide.”
They closed. And came a rush, a roar –
Aloof, but growing more and more,
Nearer and nearer. They invoke
The long Judaic range, the hight
Of nearer mountains hid from sight
By the blind mist. Nor spark nor smoke
Of that plunged wake their eyes might see;
But, hoarse in hubbub, horribly,
With all its retinue around –
Flints, dust, and showers of splintered stone,
An avalanche of rock down tore,
In somerset from each rebound –
Thud upon thump – down, down and down –
And landed. Lull. Then shore to shore
Rolled the deep echo, fold on fold,
CLAREL
Which, so reverberated, bowled
And bowled far down the long El Ghor.
363
HERMAN MELVILLE
They turn; and, in that silence sealed,
What works there from behind the veil?
A counter object is revealed –
A thing of heaven, and yet how frail:
Up in thin mist above the sea
Humid is formed, and noiselessly,
The fog-bow: segment of an oval
Set in a colorless removal
Against a vertical shaft, or slight
Slim pencil of an aqueous light.
Suspended there, the segment hung
Like to the May-wreath that is swung
Against the pole. It showed half spent –
Hovered and trembled, paled away, and – went.
END OF PART II
Литературно-художественное издание
Herman Melville
Clarel: A Poem and Pilgrimage
in the Holy Land I
Выпускающий редактор: И. Краснова
Редактор: П. Воронин
Корректор: И. Иванова
Компьютерная верстка: Т. Серёгина
Художественное оформление: М. Кылосова
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