# Clarel/Part 1/Canto 3
## 3. The Sepulchre

In Crete they claimed the tomb of Jove
In glen over which his eagles soar;
But thro' a peopled town ye rove
To Christ's low urn, where, nigh the door,
Settles the dove. So much the more 5 The contrast stamps the human God
Who dwelt among us, made abode
With us, and was of woman born;
Partook our bread, and thought no scorn
To share the humblest, homeliest hearth, 10 Shared all of man except the sin and mirth.
Such, among thronging thoughts, may stir
In pilgrim pressing thro' the lane That dusty wins the reverend fane,
Seat of the Holy Sepulchre, 15 And naturally named therefrom.  What altars old in cluster rare
And grottoshrines engird the Tomb: Caves and a crag; and more is there;
And halls monastic join their gloom. 20 To sum in comprehensive bounds
The Passion's drama with its grounds,
Immense the temple winds and strays
Finding each storied precinct out—
Absorbs the sites all roundabout— 25 Omnivorous, and a world of maze.  And yet time was when all here stood Separate, and from rood to rood, Chapel to shrine, or tent to tent, Unsheltered still the pilgrim went 30 Where now enroofed the whole coheres— Where now thro' influence of years And spells by many a legend lent, A sort of nature reappears— Sombre or sad, and much in tone 35 Perhaps with that which here was known Of yore, when from this Salem height, Then sylvan in primeval plight, Down came to Shaveh's Dale, with wine
And bread, after the four Kings' check, 40 The Druid priest Melchizedek,
Abram to bless with rites divine.  What rustlings here from shadowy spaces,
Deep vistas where the votary paces,
Will, strangely intermitting, creep 45 Like steps in Indian forest deep.
How birdlike steals the singer's note
Down from some rail or arch remote:
While, glimmering where kneelers be,
Small lamps, dispersed, with glowworm light 50 Mellow the vast nave's azure night,
And make a haze of mystery:
The blur is spread of thousand years,
And Calvary's seen as through one's tears.  In cloistral walks the dome detains 55 Hermits, which during public days
Seclude them where the shadow stays,
But issue when charmed midnight reigns,
Unshod, with tapers lit, and roam,
According as their hearts appoint, 60 The purlieus of the central Tomb
In round of altars; and anoint
With fragrant oils each marble shelf;
Or, all alone, strange solace find
And oratory to their mind 65 Lone locked within the Tomb itself.  Cells note ye as in bower a nest
Where some sedate rich devotee
Or grave guestmonk from over sea
Takes up through Lent his votive rest, 70 Adoring from his saintly perch
Golgotha and the guarded Urn,
And mysteries everywhere expressed;
Until his soul, in rapt sojourn,
Add one more chapel to the Church. 75  The friars in turn which tend the Fane, Dress it and keep, a home make there Nor pass for weeks the gate. Again Each morning they ascend the stair
Of Calvary, with cloth and broom, 80 For dust thereon will settle down,
And gather, too, upon the Tomb
And places of the Passion's moan.
Tradition, not device and fraud
Here rules—tradition old and broad. 85 Transfixed in sites the drama's shown—
Each given spot assigned; 'tis here
They scourged Him; soldiers yonder nailed
The Victim to the tree; in jeer
There stood the Jews; there Mary paled; 90 The vesture was divided here.  A miracle play of haunted stone—
A miracle play, a phantom one,
With power to give pause or subdue.
So that whatever comment be 95 Serious, if to faith unknown—
Not possible seems levity
Or aught that may approach thereto.  And, sooth, to think what numbers here,
Age after age, have worn the stones 100 In suppliance or judgment fear;
What mourners—men and women's moans,
Ancestors of ourselves indeed;
What souls whose penance of remorse
Made poignant by the elder creed, 105 Found honest language in the force
Of chains entwined that ate the bone;
How here a'Becket's slayers clung
Taking the contrite anguish on,
And, in release from fast and thong, 110 Buried upon Moriah sleep;
With more, much more; such ties, so deep,
Endear the spot, or false or true
As an historic site. The wrong
Of carpings never may undo 115 The nerves that clasp about the plea
Tingling with kinship through and through—
Faith childlike and the tried humanity.  But little here moves hearts of some;
Rather repugnance grave, or scorn 120 Or cynicism, to mark the dome
Beset in court or yard forlorn
By pedlars versed in wonted tricks,
Venders of charm or crucifix;
Or, on saint days, to hark the din 125 As during market day at inn,
And polyglot of Asian tongues
And island ones, in interchange
Buzzed out by crowds in costumes strange
Of nations divers. Are these throngs Merchants? 130 Is this Cairo's bazar And concourse?
Nay, thy strictures bar. It is but simple nature, see;
None mean irreverence, though free.  Unvexed by Europe's grieving doubt
Which asks And can the Father be? 135 Those children of the climes devout,
On festival in fane installed, Happily ignorant, make glee
Like orphans in the playground walled.  Others the duskiness may find 140 Imbued with more than nature's gloom; These, loitering hard by the Tomb,
Alone, and when the day's declined—
So that the shadow from the stone
Whereon the angel sat is thrown 145 To distance more, and sigh or sound
Echoes from place of Mary's moan,
Or cavern where the cross was found; Or mouse stir steals upon the ear
From where the soldier reached the spear— 150 Shrink, much like Ludovico erst
Within the haunted chamber. Thou,
Less sensitive, yet haply versed
In everything above, below—
In all but thy deep human heart; 155 Thyself perchance mayst nervous start
At thine own fancy's final range Who here wouldst mock: with mystic smart
The subtile Eld can slight avenge.
But gibe—gibe on, until there crawl 160 About thee in the scorners' seat,
Reactions; and pride's Smyrna shawl
Plague strike the wearer. Ah, retreat!  But how of some which still deplore
Yet share the doubt? Here evermore 165 'Tis good for such to turn afar
From the Skull's place, even Golgotha,
And view the cedarn dome in sun
Pierced like the marble Pantheon:
No blurring pane, but open sky: 170 In there day peeps, there stars go by,
And, in still hours which these illume,
Heaven's dews drop tears upon the Tomb.  Nor lack there dreams romance can thrill:
In hush when tides and towns are still, 175 Godfrey and Baldwin from their graves
(Made meetly near the rescued Stone)
Rise, and in arms. With beaming glaives
They watch and ward the urn they won.  So fancy deals, a light achiever: 180 Imagination, earnest ever,
Recalls the Friday far away,
Relives the crucifixion day—
The passion and its sequel proves,
Sharing the three pale Marys' frame; 185 Thro' the eclipse with these she moves
Back to the house from which they came
To Golgotha. O empty room, O leaden heaviness of doom—
O cowering hearts, which sore beset
Deem vain the promise now, and yet 190 Invoke him who returns no call;
And fears for more that may befall.
O terror linked with love which cried
"Art gone? is't o'er? and crucified?"  Who might foretell from such dismay 195 Of blank recoilings, all the blest Lilies and anthems which attest
The floral Easter holiday?