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The Waste  Land
Thomas Stearns Eliot

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Epigraph

 
I have seen with my own eyes the Sibyl hanging in a jar, and when the boys asked her "What do you want?" She answered, "I want to die."


For Ezra Pound il miglior fabbro.

 

I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD

A
PRIL is the cruellest month, breeding

 

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

 

Memory and desire, stirring

 

Dull roots with spring rain.

 

Winter kept us warm, covering

  5

Earth in forgetful snow, feeding

 

A little life with dried tubers.

 

Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee

 

With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,

 

And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,

  10

And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.

 

Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.

 

And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,

 

My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,

 

And I was frightened. He said, Marie,

  15

Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.

 

In the mountains, there you feel free.

 

I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

 

 

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow

 

Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,

  20

You cannot say, or guess, for you know only

 

A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,

 

And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,

 

And the dry stone no sound of water. Only

 

There is shadow under this red rock,

  25

(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),

 

And I will show you something different from either

 

Your shadow at morning striding behind you

 

Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;

 

I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

  30

                Frisch weht der Wind

 

                Der Heimat zu.

 

                Mein Irisch Kind,

 

                Wo weilest du?

 

'You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;

  35

'They called me the hyacinth girl.'

 

—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,

 

Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not

 

Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither

 

Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,

  40

Looking into the heart of light, the silence.

 

Od' und leer das Meer.

 

 

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,

 

Had a bad cold, nevertheless

 

Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,

  45

With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,

 

Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,

 

(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)

 

Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,

 

The lady of situations.

  50

Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,

 

And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,

 

Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,

 

Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find

 

The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.

  55

I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.

 

Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,

 

Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:

 

One must be so careful these days.

 

 

Unreal City,

  60

Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,

 

A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,

 

I had not thought death had undone so many.

 

Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,

 

And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.

  65

Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,

 

To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours

 

With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.

 

There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying 'Stetson!

 

'You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!

  70

'That corpse you planted last year in your garden,

 

'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?

 

'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?

 

'Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,

 

'Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!

  75

'You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!'

 

 

II. A GAME OF CHESS

T
HE Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,

 

Glowed on the marble, where the glass

 

Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines

 

From which a golden Cupidon peeped out

  80

(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)

 

Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra

 

Reflecting light upon the table as

 

The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,

 

From satin cases poured in rich profusion;

  85

In vials of ivory and coloured glass

 

Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,

 

Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused

 

And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air

 

That freshened from the window, these ascended

  90

In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,

 

Flung their smoke into the laquearia,

 

Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.

 

Huge sea-wood fed with copper

 

Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,

  95

In which sad light a carvèd dolphin swam.

 

Above the antique mantel was displayed

 

As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene

 

The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king

 

So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale

 100

Filled all the desert with inviolable voice

 

And still she cried, and still the world pursues,

 

'Jug Jug' to dirty ears.

 

And other withered stumps of time

 

Were told upon the walls; staring forms

 105

Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.

 

Footsteps shuffled on the stair.

 

Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair

 

Spread out in fiery points

 

Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.

 110

 

'My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.

 

'Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak.

 

'What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?

 

'I never know what you are thinking. Think.'

 

 

I think we are in rats' alley

 115

Where the dead men lost their bones.

 

 

'What is that noise?'

 

                      The wind under the door.

 

'What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?'

 

                      Nothing again nothing.

 120

                                              'Do

 

'You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember

 

'Nothing?'

 

  I remember

 

Those are pearls that were his eyes.

 125

'Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?'

 

                                                         But

 

O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag—

 

It's so elegant

 

So intelligent

 130

'What shall I do now? What shall I do?'

 

'I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street

 

'With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow?

 

'What shall we ever do?'

 

                          The hot water at ten.

 135

And if it rains, a closed car at four.

 

And we shall play a game of chess,

 

Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.

 

 

When Lil's husband got demobbed, I said—

 

I didn't mince my words, I said to her myself,

 140

HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME

 

Now Albert's coming back, make yourself a bit smart.

 

He'll want to know what you done with that money he gave you

 

To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.

 

You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,

 145

He said, I swear, I can't bear to look at you.

 

And no more can't I, I said, and think of poor Albert,

 

He's been in the army four years, he wants a good time,

 

And if you don't give it him, there's others will, I said.

 

Oh is there, she said. Something o' that, I said.

 150

Then I'll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.

 

HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME

 

If you don't like it you can get on with it, I said.

 

Others can pick and choose if you can't.

 

But if Albert makes off, it won't be for lack of telling.

 155

You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.

 

(And her only thirty-one.)

 

I can't help it, she said, pulling a long face,

 

It's them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.

 

(She's had five already, and nearly died of young George.)

 160

The chemist said it would be alright, but I've never been the same.

 

You are a proper fool, I said.

 

Well, if Albert won't leave you alone, there it is, I said,

 

What you get married for if you don't want children?

 

HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME

 165

Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,

 

And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot—

 

HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME

 

HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME

 

Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.

 170

Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.

 

Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.

 

 

III. THE FIRE SERMON

T
HE river's tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf

 

Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind

 

Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed.

 175

Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.

 

The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,

 

Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends

 

Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed.

 

And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors;

 180

Departed, have left no addresses.

 

By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept...

 

Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,

 

Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.

 

But at my back in a cold blast I hear

 185

The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.

 

 

A rat crept softly through the vegetation

 

Dragging its slimy belly on the bank

 

While I was fishing in the dull canal

 

On a winter evening round behind the gashouse

 190

Musing upon the king my brother's wreck

 

And on the king my father's death before him.

 

White bodies naked on the low damp ground

 

And bones cast in a little low dry garret,

 

Rattled by the rat's foot only, year to year.

 195

But at my back from time to time I hear

 

The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring

 

Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.

 

O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter

 

And on her daughter

 200

They wash their feet in soda water

 

Et, O ces voix d'enfants, chantant dans la coupole!

 

 

Twit twit twit

 

Jug jug jug jug jug jug

 

So rudely forc'd.

 205

Tereu

 

 

Unreal City

 

Under the brown fog of a winter noon

 

Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant

 

Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants

 210

C.i.f. London: documents at sight,

 

Asked me in demotic French

 

To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel

 

Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.

 

 

At the violet hour, when the eyes and back

 215

Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits

 

Like a taxi throbbing waiting,

 

I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,

 

Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see

 

At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives

 220

Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,

 

The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights

 

Her stove, and lays out food in tins.

 

Out of the window perilously spread

 

Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays,

 225

On the divan are piled (at night her bed)

 

Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.

 

I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs

 

Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest—

 

I too awaited the expected guest.

 230

He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,

 

A small house agent's clerk, with one bold stare,

 

One of the low on whom assurance sits

 

As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.

 

The time is now propitious, as he guesses,

 235

The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,

 

Endeavours to engage her in caresses

 

Which still are unreproved, if undesired.

 

Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;

 

Exploring hands encounter no defence;

 240

His vanity requires no response,

 

And makes a welcome of indifference.

 

(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all

 

Enacted on this same divan or bed;

 

I who have sat by Thebes below the wall

 245

And walked among the lowest of the dead.)

 

Bestows on final patronising kiss,

 

And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit...

 

 

She turns and looks a moment in the glass,

 

Hardly aware of her departed lover;

 250

Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:

 

'Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over.'

 

When lovely woman stoops to folly and

 

Paces about her room again, alone,

 

She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,

 255

And puts a record on the gramophone.

 

 

'This music crept by me upon the waters'

 

And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.

 

O City city, I can sometimes hear

 

Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,

 260

The pleasant whining of a mandoline

 

And a clatter and a chatter from within

 

Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls

 

Of Magnus Martyr hold

 

Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.

 265

 

      The river sweats

 

      Oil and tar

 

      The barges drift

 

      With the turning tide

 

      Red sails

 270

      Wide

 

      To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.

 

      The barges wash

 

      Drifting logs

 

      Down Greenwich reach

 275

      Past the Isle of Dogs.

 

            Weialala leia

 

            Wallala leialala

 

 

      Elizabeth and Leicester

 

      Beating oars

 280

      The stern was formed

 

      A gilded shell

 

      Red and gold

 

      The brisk swell

 

      Rippled both shores

 285

      Southwest wind

 

      Carried down stream

 

      The peal of bells

 

      White towers

 

            Weialala leia

 290

            Wallala leialala

 

 

'Trams and dusty trees.

 

Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew

 

Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees

 

Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.'

 295

'My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart

 

Under my feet. After the event

 

He wept. He promised "a new start".

 

I made no comment. What should I resent?'

 

'On Margate Sands.

 300

I can connect

 

Nothing with nothing.

 

The broken fingernails of dirty hands.

 

My people humble people who expect

 

Nothing.'

 305

      la la

 

 

To Carthage then I came

 

 

Burning burning burning burning

 

O Lord Thou pluckest me out

 

O Lord Thou pluckest

 310

 

burning

 

 

IV. DEATH BY WATER

P
HLEBAS the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,

 

Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep seas swell

 

And the profit and loss.

 

                          A current under sea

 315

Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell

 

He passed the stages of his age and youth

 

Entering the whirlpool.

 

                          Gentile or Jew

 

O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,

 320

Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.

 

 

V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID



A
FTER the torchlight red on sweaty faces

 

After the frosty silence in the gardens

 

After the agony in stony places

 

The shouting and the crying

 325

Prison and place and reverberation

 

Of thunder of spring over distant mountains

 

He who was living is now dead

 

We who were living are now dying

 

With a little patience

 330

 

Here is no water but only rock

 

Rock and no water and the sandy road

 

The road winding above among the mountains

 

Which are mountains of rock without water

 

If there were water we should stop and drink

 335

Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think

 

Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand

 

If there were only water amongst the rock

 

Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit

 

Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit

 340

There is not even silence in the mountains

 

But dry sterile thunder without rain

 

There is not even solitude in the mountains

 

But red sullen faces sneer and snarl

 

From doors of mudcracked houses
                                 If there were water

 345

  And no rock

 

  If there were rock

 

  And also water

 

  And water

 

  A spring

 350

  A pool among the rock

 

  If there were the sound of water only

 

  Not the cicada

 

  And dry grass singing

 

  But sound of water over a rock

 355

  Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees

 

  Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop

 

  But there is no water

 

 

Who is the third who walks always beside you?

 

When I count, there are only you and I together

 360

But when I look ahead up the white road

 

There is always another one walking beside you

 

Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded

 

I do not know whether a man or a woman

 

—But who is that on the other side of you?

 365

 

What is that sound high in the air

 

Murmur of maternal lamentation

 

Who are those hooded hordes swarming

 

Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth

 

Ringed by the flat horizon only

 370

What is the city over the mountains

 

Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air

 

Falling towers

 

Jerusalem Athens Alexandria

 

Vienna London

 375

Unreal

 

 

A woman drew her long black hair out tight

 

And fiddled whisper music on those strings

 

And bats with baby faces in the violet light

 

Whistled, and beat their wings

 380

And crawled head downward down a blackened wall

 

And upside down in air were towers

 

Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours

 

And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.

 

 

In this decayed hole among the mountains

 385

In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing

 

Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel

 

There is the empty chapel, only the wind's home.

 

It has no windows, and the door swings,

 

Dry bones can harm no one.

 390

Only a cock stood on the rooftree

 

Co co rico co co rico

 

In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust

 

Bringing rain

 

 

Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves

 395

Waited for rain, while the black clouds

 

Gathered far distant, over Himavant.

 

The jungle crouched, humped in silence.

 

Then spoke the thunder

 

A

 400

Datta: what have we given?

 

My friend, blood shaking my heart

 

The awful daring of a moment's surrender

 

Which an age of prudence can never retract

 

By this, and this only, we have existed

 405

Which is not to be found in our obituaries

 

Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider

 

Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor

 

In our empty rooms

 

A

 410

Dayadhvam: I have heard the key

 

Turn in the door once and turn once only

 

We think of the key, each in his prison

 

Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison

 

Only at nightfall, aetherial rumours

 415

Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus

 

A

 

Damyata: The boat responded

 

Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar

 

The sea was calm, your heart would have responded

 420

Gaily, when invited, beating obedient

 

To controlling hands

 

 

                      I sat upon the shore

 

Fishing, with the arid plain behind me

 

Shall I at least set my lands in order?

 425

 

London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down

 

 

Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina

 

Quando fiam ceu chelidon—O swallow swallow

 

Le Prince d'Aquitaine à la tour abolie

 

These fragments I have shored against my ruins

 430

Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo's mad againe.

 

Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.

 

 

            Shantih shantih shantih

 

 
NOTES
Not only the title, but the plan and a good deal of the incidental symbolism of the poem were suggested by Miss Jessie L. Weston's book on the Grail legend: From Ritual to Romance (Macmillan). Indeed, so deeply am I indebted, Miss Weston's book will elucidate the difficulties of the poem much better than my notes can do; and I recommend it (apart from the great interest of the book itself) to any who think such elucidation of the poem worth the trouble. To another work of anthropology I am indebted in general, one which has influenced our generation profoundly; I mean The Golden Bough; I have used especially the two volumes Adonis, Attis, Osiris. Anyone who is acquainted with these works will immediately recognize in the poem certain references to vegetation ceremonies.

 
I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD

 
Line 20 Cf. Ezekiel 2:7.

 
23. Cf. Ecclesiastes 12:5.

 
31. V. Tristan und Isolde, i, verses 5–8.

 
42. Id. iii, verse 24.

 
46. I am not familiar with the exact constitution of the Tarot pack of cards, from which I have obviously departed to suit my own convenience. The Hanged Man, a member of the traditional pack, fits my purpose in two ways: because he is associated in my mind with the Hanged God of Frazer, and because I associate him with the hooded figure in the passage of the disciples to Emmaus in Part V. The Phoenician Sailor and the Merchant appear later; also the 'crowds of people', and Death by Water is executed in Part IV. The Man with Three Staves (an authentic member of the Tarot pack) I associate, quite arbitrarily, with the Fisher King himself.

 
60. Cf. Baudelaire:
Fourmillante cité, cité pleine de rêves,
Où le spectre en plein jour raccroche le passant.

 
63. Cf. Inferno, iii. 55–7:
                      si lunga tratta
di gente, ch'io non avrei mai creduto
  che morte tanta n'avesse disfatta.

 
64. Cf. Inferno, iv. 25–27:
Quivi, secondo che per ascoltare,
non avea pianto, ma' che di sospiri,
che l'aura eterna facevan tremare.

 
68. A phenomenon which I have often noticed.

 
74. Cf. the Dirge in Webster's White Devil.

 
76. V. Baudelaire, Preface to Fleurs du Mal.

 
II. A GAME OF CHESS

 
77. Cf. Antony and Cleopatra, II. ii. 190.

 
92. Laquearia. V. Aeneid, I. 726:
dependent lychni laquearibus aureis incensi, et noctem flammis funalia vincunt.

 
98. Sylvan scene. V. Milton, Paradise Lost, iv. 140.

 
99. V. Ovid, Metamorphoses, vi, Philomela.

 
100. Cf. Part III, l. 204.

 
115. Cf. Part III, l. 195.

 
118. Cf. Webster: 'Is the wind in that door still?'

 
126. Cf. Part I, l. 37, 48.

 
138. Cf. the game of chess in Middleton's Women beware Women.

 
III. THE FIRE SERMON
 
176. V. Spenser, Prothalamion.

 
192. Cf. The Tempest, I. ii.

 
196. Cf. Marvell, To His Coy Mistress.

 
197. Cf. Day, Parliament of Bees:
When of the sudden, listening, you shall hear,
A noise of horns and hunting, which shall bring
Actaeon to Diana in the spring,
Where all shall see her naked skin...

 
199. I do not know the origin of the ballad from which these lines are taken: it was reported to me from Sydney, Australia.

 
202. V. Verlaine, Parsifal.

 
210. The currants were quoted at a price 'carriage and insurance free to London'; and the Bill of Lading, etc., were to be handed to the buyer upon payment of the sight draft.

 
218. Tiresias, although a mere spectator and not indeed a 'character', is yet the most important personage in the poem, uniting all the rest. Just as the one-eyed merchant, seller of currants, melts into the Phoenician Sailor, and the latter is not wholly distinct from Ferdinand Prince of Naples, so all the women are one woman, and the two sexes meet in Tiresias. What Tiresias sees, in fact, is the substance of the poem. The whole passage from Ovid is of great anthropological interest:
...Cum Iunone iocos et 'maior vestra profecto est
Quam, quae contingit maribus', dixisse, 'voluptas.'
Illa negat; placuit quae sit sententia docti
Quaerere Tiresiae: venus huic erat utraque nota.
Nam duo magnorum viridi coeuntia silva
Corpora serpentum baculi violaverat ictu
Deque viro factus, mirabile, femina septem
Egerat autumnos; octavo rursus eosdem
Vidit et 'est vestrae si tanta potentia plagae',
Dixit 'ut auctoris sortem in contraria mutet,
Nunc quoque vos feriam!' percussis anguibus isdem
Forma prior rediit genetivaque venit imago.
Arbiter hic igitur sumptus de lite iocosa
Dicta Iovis firmat; gravius Saturnia iusto
Nec pro materia fertur doluisse suique
Iudicis aeterna damnavit lumina nocte,
At pater omnipotens (neque enim licet inrita cuiquam
Facta dei fecisse deo) pro lumine adempto
Scire futura dedit poenamque levavit honore.

 
221. This may not appear as exact as Sappho's lines, but I had in mind the 'longshore' or 'dory' fisherman, who returns at nightfall.

 
253. V. Goldsmith, the song in The Vicar of Wakefield.

 
257. V. The Tempest, as above.

 
264. The interior of St. Magnus Martyr is to my mind one of the finest among Wren's interiors. See The Proposed Demolition of Nineteen City Churches (P. S. King & Son, Ltd.).

 
266. The Song of the (three) Thames-daughters begins here. From line 292 to 306 inclusive they speak in turn. V. Götterdammerung, III. i: The Rhine-daughters.

 
279. V. Froude, Elizabeth, vol. I, ch. iv, letter of De Quadra to Philip of Spain:
  In the afternoon we were in a barge, watching the games on the river. (The queen) was alone with Lord Robert and myself on the poop, when they began to talk nonsense, and went so far that Lord Robert at last said, as I was on the spot there was no reason why they should not be married if the queen pleased.

 
293. Cf. Purgatorio, V. 133:
'Ricorditi di me, che son la Pia;
Siena mi fe', disfecemi Maremma.'

 
307. V. St. Augustine's Confessions: 'to Carthage then I came, where a cauldron of unholy loves sang all about mine ears'.

 
308. The complete text of the Buddha's Fire Sermon (which corresponds in importance to the Sermon on the Mount) from which these words are taken, will be found translated in the late Henry Clarke Warren's Buddhism in Translation (Harvard Oriental Series). Mr. Warren was one of the great pioneers of Buddhist studies in the Occident.

 
309. From St. Augustine's Confessions again. The collocation of these two representatives of eastern and western asceticism, as the culmination of this part of the poem, is not an accident.

 
V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID
 
In the first part of Part V three themes are employed: the journey to Emmaus, the approach to the Chapel Perilous (see Miss Weston's book), and the present decay of eastern Europe.

 
357. This is Turdus aonalaschkae pallasii, the hermit-thrush which I have heard in Quebec County. Chapman says (Handbook of Birds in Eastern North America) 'it is most at home in secluded woodland and thickety retreats.... Its notes are not remarkable for variety or volume, but in purity and sweetness of tone and exquisite modulation they are unequalled.' Its 'water-dripping song' is justly celebrated.

 
360. The following lines were stimulated by the account of one of the Antarctic expeditions (I forget which, but I think one of Shackleton's): it was related that the party of explorers, at the extremity of their strength, had the constant delusion that there was one more member than could actually be counted.

 
367–77. Cf. Hermann Hesse, Blick ins Chaos:
Schon ist halb Europa, schon ist zumindest der halbe Osten Europas auf dem Wege zum Chaos, fährt betrunken im heiligen Wahn am Abgrund entlang und singt dazu, singt betrunken und hymnisch wie Dmitri Karamasoff sang. Ueber diese Lieder lacht der Bürger beleidigt, der Heilige und Seher hört sie mit Tränen.

 
401. 'Datta, dayadhvam, damyata' (Give, sympathize, control). The fable of the meaning of the Thunder is found in the Brihadaranyaka--Upanishad, 5, 1. A translation is found in Deussen's Sechzig Upanishads des Veda, p. 489.

 
407. Cf. Webster, The White Devil, V, vi:
                                  ...they'll remarry
Ere the worm pierce your winding-sheet, ere the spider
Make a thin curtain for your epitaphs.

 
411. Cf. Inferno, xxxiii. 46:
ed io sentii chiavar l'uscio di sotto
all'orribile torre.
  Also F. H. Bradley, Appearance and Reality, p. 346:
  My external sensations are no less private to myself than are my thoughts or my feelings. In either case my experience falls within my own circle, a circle closed on the outside; and, with all its elements alike, every sphere is opaque to the others which surround it.... In brief, regarded as an existence which appears in a soul, the whole world for each is peculiar and private to that soul.

 
424. V. Weston, From Ritual to Romance; chapter on the Fisher King.

 
427. V. Purgatorio, xxvi. 148.
'Ara vos prec per aquella valor
'que vos guida al som de l'escalina,
'sovegna vos a temps de ma dolor.'
 Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina.
 
428. V. Pervigilium Veneris. Cf. Philomela in Parts II and III.

 
429. V. Gerard de Nerval, Sonnet El Desdichado.

 
431. V. Kyd's Spanish Tragedy.

 
433. Shantih. Repeated as here, a formal ending to an Upanishad. 'The Peace which passeth understanding' is a feeble translation of the conduct of this word.

 

 

 

 

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