# Clarel/Part 1/Canto 2
## 2. Abdon

A lamp in archway hangs from key— A lamp whose sidelong rays are shed On a slim vial set in bed
Of doorpost all of masonry.  That vial hath the Gentile vexed; 5 Within it holds Talmudic text,
Or charm. And there the Black Jew sits,
Abdon the host. The lamplight flits
O'er reverend beard of saffron hue
Sweeping his robe of Indian blue. 10  Disturbed and troubled in estate,
Longing for solacement of mate, Clarel in court there nearer drew,
As yet unnoted, for the host
In meditation seemed engrossed, 15 Perchance upon some line late scanned
In leathern scroll that drooped from hand.  Ere long, without surprise expressed,
The lone man marked his lonelier guest,
And welcomed him. Discourse was bred; 20 In end a turn it took, and led
To grave recital. Here was one
(If question of his word be none)
Descended from those dubious men,
The unreturning tribes, the Ten 25 Whom shout and halloo wide have sought,
Lost children in the wood of time.  Yes, he, the Black Jew, stinting naught,
Averred that ancient India's clime
Harbored the remnant of the Tribes, 30 A people settled with their scribes
In far Cochin. There was he born
And nurtured, and there yet his kin,
Never from true allegiance torn,
Kept Moses' law. 35  Cochin, Cochin (Mused Clarel). I have heard indeed Of those Black Jews, their ancient creed
And hoar tradition. Esdras saith
The Ten Tribes built in Arsareth— 40 Eastward, still eastward. That may be.  But look, the scroll of goatskin, see
Wherein he reads, a wizard book;
It is the Indian Pentateuch
Whereof they tell. Whate'er the plea 45 (And scholars various notions hold
Touching these missing clans of old),
This seems a deeper mystery;
How Judah, Benjamin, live on—
Unmixed into time's swamping sea 50 So far can urge their Amazon.  He pondered. But again the host,
Narrating part his lifetime tossed, Told how, long since, with trade in view,
He sailed from India with a Jew 55 And merchant of the Portuguese
For Lisbon. More he roved the seas And marts, till in the last event
He pitched in Amsterdam his tent.  "There had I lived my life," he said, 60 "Among my kind, for good they were;
But loss came loss, and I was led
To long for Judah—only her. But see." He rose, and took the light
And led within: "There ye espy 65 What prospect's left to such as I—
Yonder!"—a dark slab stood upright
Against the wall; a rude gravestone
Sculptured, with Hebrew ciphers strown.  "Under Moriah it shall lie 70 No distant date, for very soon,
Ere yet a little, and I die.
From Ind to Zion have I come,
But less to live, than end at home.
One other last remove!" he sighed, 75 And meditated on the stone, Lamp held aloft. That magnified
The hush throughout the dim unknown
Of night—night in a land how dead!  Thro' Clarel's heart the old man's strain 80 Dusky meandered in a vein One with the revery it bred;
His eyes still dwelling on the Jew
In added dream—so strange his shade
Of swartness like a born Hindoo, 85 And wizened visage which betrayed
The Hebrew cast. And subtile yet
In ebon frame an amulet
Which on his robe the patriarch wore—
And scroll, and vial in the door, 90 These too contributed in kind.  They parted. Clarel sought his cell
Or tomblike chamber, and—with mind
To break or intermit the spell,
At least perplex it and impede— 95 Lighted the lamp of olive oil,
And, brushing from a trunk the soil— 'Twas one late purchased at his need—
Opened, and strove to busy him With small adjustments. Bootless cheer! 100 While wavering now, in chanceful skim
His eyes fell on the word JUDEA
In paper lining of the tray,
For all was trimmed, in cheaper way,
With printed matter. Curious then 105 To know this faded denizen,
He read, and found a piece complete,
Briefly comprised in one poor sheet:
 "The World accosts—
 "Last one out of Holy Land, 110 What gift bring'st thou? Sychem grapes? Tabor, which the Eden drapes, Yieldeth garlands. I demand Something cheery at thy hand.
Come, if Solomon's Song thou singest, 115 Haply Sharon's rose thou bringest."
"The Palmer replies:
 "Nay, naught thou nam'st thy servant brings,
Only Judea my feet did roam;
And mainly there the pilgrim clings 120 About the precincts of Christ's tomb.
These palms I bring—from dust not free,
Since dust and ashes both were trod by me.  O'er true thy gift (thought Clarel).
Well, Scarce might the world accept, 'twould seem. 125 But I, shall I my feet impel
Through road like thine and naught redeem?
Rather thro' brakes, lone brakes,
I wind: As I advance they close behind.—  Thought's burden! on the couch he throws 130 Himself and it—rises, and goes
To peer from casement. 'Twas moonlight,
With stars, the Olive Hill in sight,
Distinct, yet dreamy in repose,
As of Katahdin in hot noon, 135 Lonely, with all his pines in swoon.  The nature and evangel clashed,
Rather, a double mystery flashed. Olivet, Olivet do I see?
The ideal upland, trod by Thee? 140  Up or reclined, he felt the soul
Afflicted by that noiseless calm, Till sleep, the good nurse, deftly stole
The bed beside, and for a charm
Took the pale hand within her own, 145 Nor left him till the night was gone.