21. The Priest and Rolfe -

Derwent fetched breath: " A healthy man:
His lungs are of the soundest leather."
" Health 's insolence in a Saurian,"
Said Rolfe. With that they fell together
Probing the purport of the Jew
In last ambiguous words he threw.
But Derwent, and in lenient way,
Explained it.
" Let him have his say,"
Cried Rolfe; " for one, I spare defiance
With such a kangaroo of science."
" Yes; qualify though," Derwent said,
" For science has her eagles too."
Here musefully Rolfe hung the head;
Then lifted: " Eagles? ay; but few.
And search we in their aeries lone
What find we, pray? perchance, a bone."
" A very cheerful point of view!"
" 'Tis as one takes it. Not unknown
That even in Physics much late lore
But drudges after Plato's theme;
Or supplements — but little more —
Some Hindoo's speculative dream
Of thousand years ago. And, own,
Darwin is but his grandsire's son."
" But Newton and his gravitation!"
" Think you that system's strong persuasion"
Is founded beyond shock? O'ermuch
'Twould seem for man, a clod, to clutch
God's secret so, and on a slate
Cipher all out, and formulate
The universe." " You Pyrrhonist!
Why, now, perhaps you do not see —
Your mind has taken such a twist —
The claims of stellar chemistry."
" What 's that?" " No matter. Time runs on
And much that 's useful, grant, is won."
" Yes; but more 's claimed. Now first they tell
The human mind is free to range.
Enlargement — ay; but where 's the change?
We 're yet within the citadel —
May rove in bounds, and study out
The insuperable towers about."
" Come; but there 's many a merry man:
How long since these sad times began?"
That steadied Rolfe: " Where 's no annoy
I too perchance can take a joy —
Yet scarce in solitude of thought:
Together cymbals need be brought
Ere mirth is made. The wight alone
Who laughs, is deemed a witless one.
And why? But that we 'll leave unsought."
" By all means! — O ye frolic shapes:
Thou Dancing Faun, thou Faun with Grapes!
What think ye of them? tell us, pray."
" Fine mellow marbles."
" But their hint?"
" A mine as deep as rich the mint
Of cordial joy in Nature's sway
Shared somewhere by anterior clay
When life was innocent and free:
Methinks 'tis this they hint to me."
He paused, as one who makes review
Of gala days; then — warmly too —
" Whither hast fled, thou deity
So genial? In thy last and best,
Best avatar — so ripe in form —
Pure as the sleet — as roses warm —
Our earth's unmerited fair guest —
A god with peasants went abreast:
Man clasped a deity's offered hand;
And woman, ministrant, was then
How true, even in a Magdalen.
Him following through the wilding flowers
By lake and hill, or glad detained
In Cana — ever out of doors —
Ere yet the disenchantment gained
What dream they knew, that primal band
Of gipsy Christians! But it died;
Back rolled the world's effacing tide:
The " world " — by Him denounced, defined —
Him first — set off and countersigned,
Once and for all, as opposite
To honest children of the light.
But worse came — creeds, wars, stakes. Oh, men
Made earth inhuman; yes, a den
Worse for Christ's coming, since His love
(Perverted) did but venom prove.
In part that 's passed. But what remains
After fierce seethings? golden grains?
Nay, dubious dregs: be frank, and own.
Opinion eats; all crumbles down:
Where stretched an isthmus, rolls a strait:
Cut off, cut off! Canst feel elate
While all the depths of Being moan,
Though luminous on every hand,
The breadths of shallow knowledge more expand?
Much as a lightship keeper pines
Mid shoals immense, where dreary shines
His lamp, we toss beneath the ray
Of Science' beacon. This to trim
Is now man's barren office — Nay,"
Starting abrupt, " this earnest way
I hate. Let doubt alone; best skim,
Not dive."
" No, no," cried Derwent gay,
Who late, upon acquaintance more,
Took no mislike to Rolfe at core,
And fain would make his knell a chime —
Being pledged to hold the palmy time
Of hope — at least, not to admit
That serious check might come to it:
" No, sun doubt's root — 'twill fade, 'twill fade!
And for thy picture of the Prime,
Green Christianity in glade —
Why, let it pass; 'tis good, in sooth:
Who summons poets to the truth?"

How Vine sidelong regarded him
As 'twere in envy of his gift
For light disposings: so to skim!
Clarel surmised the expression's drift,
Thereby anew was led to sift
Good Derwent's mind. For Rolfe's discourse —
Prior recoil from Margoth's jeer
Was less than startled shying here
At earnest comment's random force.
He shrunk; but owned 'twas weakness mere.
Himself he chid: No more for me
The petty half-antipathy:
This pressure it need be endured:
Weakness to strength must get inured;
And Rolfe is sterling, though not less
At variance with that parlour-strain
Which counts each thought that borders pain
A social treason. Sterling — yes,
Despite illogical wild range
Of brain and heart's impulsive counterchange.