The Poems and Prose Remains of Arthur Hugh Clough/Volume 2/Bethesda
BETHESDA.
A SEQUEL.
I saw again the spirits on a day,Where on the earth in mournful case they lay;Five porches were there, and a pool, and round,Huddling in blankets, strewn upon the ground,Tied-up and bandaged, weary, sore and spent,The maimed and halt, diseased and impotent.
For a great angel came, 'twas said, and stirredThe pool at certain seasons, and the wordWas, with this people of the sick, that theyWho in the waters here their limbs should layBefore the motion on the surface ceasedShould of their torment straightway be released.So with shrunk bodies and with heads down-dropt,Stretched on the steps, and at the pillars propt,Watching by day and listening through the night,They filled the place, a miserable sight.
And I beheld that on the stony floorHe too, that spoke of duty once before,No otherwise than others here to-day,Foredone and sick and sadly muttering lay.'I know not, I will do—what is it I would say?What was that word which once sufficed alone for all,Which now I seek in vain, and never can recall?'And then, as weary of in vain renewingHis question, thus his mournful thought pursuing,'I know not, I must do as other men are doing.'
But what the waters of that pool might be,Of Lethe were they, or Philosophy;And whether he, long waiting, did attainDeliverance from the burden of his painThere with the rest; or whether, yet before,Some more diviner stranger passed the doorWith his small company into that sad place,And, breathing hope into the sick man's face,Bade him take up his bed, and rise and go,What the end were, and whether it were so,Further than this I saw not, neither know.1849