THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES Silver Store Silver Store COLLECTED FROM MEDIAEVAL, CHRISTIAN, AND JEWISH MINES By S. BARING-GOULD, M.A. New Edition (Fifth Impression) London : SKEFFINGTON & SON, 34, Southampton Street, Strand, W.C. Publishers to His Majesty the King. DEDICATED •ID THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE DOWAGER VISCOUNTESS DOWNE. 959680 PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION. In a former work, " Post-Mediaeval Preachers," the author drew attention to a class of ancient writers who are rarely studied, and whose very names are known only to the book-hunter. From these and kindred sources, and also from the Talmud, the majority of the legends and anecdotes in this volume have been drawn. No apology is offered for introducing them to the public. It is not in the power of many to toil through ponderous tomes, written in languages with which they are not familiar ; and it is proper for those who have facility and leisure for this study, to employ what they have acquired for the public good. It has afforded the writer no little pleasure to bring, like Goldner, roses of gold out of the gloomy, tangled overgrowth of Mediaeval fancy and superstition, in the hopes that the viii. Preface to First Edition. drudgery and routine of nineteenth century life may not have dulled the keenness of public perception of the beautiful and pure and true. Although the sources whence some of these tales have been drawn are not strictly speaking Mediaeval, yet the writers from whose volumes they have been immediately derived did not invent the stories, but took them from earlier writers. In such cases as the originals have not been accessible to me, I have given the reference to the later compilation. Some may object to the introduction of lighter pieces at the end of the book ; but the " Silver Store " would not have fairly represented the genial, laughter-loving, as well as moral and devout temper of the ages which invented these tales, had the element of grotesqueness been excluded. The droll and the lovely were strangely intermixed and wonderfully blended in the Mediaeval mind, as is instanced in the architectural master- pieces of the middle ages, where the quaint gurgoyle harmonizes with the angel and the flower. Two or three of the humorous pieces at the end of the volume certainly hit the ladies rather hard. It must be remembered by forbearing and forgiving woman, that the perpetrators of these stories were confirmed old bachelors. Preface to First Edition. ix. Lest the writer should be supposed to sympathise with these ungenerous attacks, he has appended in the notes the originals on which the verses are based, which will clear him of the imputation of having invented these Hbels, and will afford the curious choice specimens of monkish Latin. Let the fair sex remember also, that, where the writer has been free to express his own sentiments, as in Dr. Bonomi, he has not spared the lords of creation, and that compensation is offered in the former part of the volume. Surely Beruriah and Ruth will make amends for Mrs. Malone and the Judge's wife. A few of the pieces in the " Silver Store " have already appeared in " Fraser's Magazine," and one in '* Temple Bar." DALTON, THIRSK, March i, iS6S. PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION. The author of these verses entirely disclaims to be a poet ; he has done nothing more than versify sundry legends and anec- dotes that he has come across in his reading, in hopes that in this form they may give pleasure to those who are not exacting in their demands. They were written and published fourteen years ago, and have gone out of print. A few additional pieces have been added, but none of more recent origin, as none have been written more recently. The sources from which these tales have been drawn are inaccessible to most readers, and this serves as the author's apology for their introduction. Lew Trenchard, Devon, March, 1882. CONTENTS. PAGE THE devil's confession .... I THE SECRET OF LIFE . . . . lO mother's love . . , . . '13 THE BUILDING OF S. SOPHIA . . . 15 EASTER ....... 24 THE CURSING HOUR ..... 26 ROBIN redbreast's CORN . . . -35 THE RABBI JOACHIM ..... 39 THE EMPTY SOCKET . . . . .44 THE TRIBUTE OF THE MOUNTAINS ... 52 TURN AGAIN . . . . . • 5^ POPE BONIFACE VIII. - ... 63 GOLDNER . . . . . .66 THE LITTLE SCHOLAR . . . , 72 THORKELL-MANI , . . , , » 77 xii. Contents. A PARABLE ...••• BLIND AUSTIN ..... LANCELOT ...... THE SWALLOWS OF CITEAUX POOR ROBIN ...... THE OLIVE TREE .... BISHOP BENNO AND THE FROGS . . THE UNIVERSAL MOTHER . . . THE LOAN ...... DOCTOR FAUSTUS .... THE wife's TREASURE .... THE ARMS OF MAYENCE .... THE MASS FOR THE DEAD .... THE THREE CROWNS .... THE rabbi's SON-IN-LAW : I. THE WEDDING OF AKIBA . . ■ • ^5° II. THE MORROW OF THE WEDDING • > • ^5^ III. THE RETURN • • • • • ^"^ THE MINER OF FALUN ..... l68 THE GIFT OF THE KING . . . . I? I PAGE 80 81 89 93 98 102 105 no III 118 "5 128 133 142 Contents. xiii. HUMOROUS POEMS. PAGE DOCTOR BONOMI . . . . , . l8l LIGHTENING THE VESSEL . . . .197 THE SENTENCE OF THE THIEF . . , , 20I NOTES 205 Stiver ^tore^ THE DEVIL'S CONFESSION. C^SARTUS Heisterbachensis. De Afiraculis et Yisionibus sui Temporis, lib. iii. c. 26. A.D. 123a Through the tall minster windows of Cologne The flaming saffron of the evening shone ; A golden dove, suspended in the choir, It turned into a bird of living fire, Floating above the sacramental shrine. It was the evening of that Maundy night, When, in the ghastly glimmering moonlight, The Saviour prostrate fell in sweat of blood, And by His side an awe-struck angel stood. Cljr BtitiVS CanicSSian. Wiping the pain-drops from the face divine. In the confessionals, from hour to hour, Sat the priests, wielding the absolving power, And penitents were thronging all the fane, Seeking release from the long gnawing pain Of conscience poisoned by the tooth of sin. And many a sob broke out upon the still Dim air, and sent an answering thrill Through unlocked hearts ; and, praying on their knees, They bent, and waited their turn of release From horrors haunting the waste soul within. A little space apart, with restless eyes, Upon his face a blank look of surprise, And on his brow a shadow of great dread — Not kneeling, not erect, with out-thrust head — Stood a mute stranger in a nook of gloom, Where lay a prelate with a seven-clasped book, And, in one hand, a floreate pastoral crook, Sculptured in alabaster on his tomb. The strangers dress was carved with antique slash, djc ©rfatl'iS Conff)S^t0n. Around his waist was knotted a red sash, And in his bonnet danced a scarlet plume. He was a fallen spirit. Now he saw, With a wild flutter of hope, hate, and awe, Soul's that were blackened with guilt's deepest stain Pass to their shriving, and come forth again Assoiled and white ; then caught a distant ring Of angel's chanting, "To the Lamb be praise Who from the Book of Death does sins erase With His own blood ! O ecstasy untold ! When brought the lost sheep back into the fold, And found the coin marked with the image of the King." He thought " If these from chains are sent forth free, Can there, O can there be a chance for me ? That I, who long from Heaven have outcast been, I who the joys of Paradise have seen, Flowing from union with a holy God ; That I, who tasted have the woes of Hell, Since before Michael's flashing lance I fell And all the passages of gloom have trod, 5rt)c SBebiV^ Confcssiion, Where burns the fire of an undying Hate, Burning to strangle, scorch, and suffocate, And Envy's worm feeds ever ; where. Horror of all, is unrelieved Despair ; That I, like these, may also go forth shriven, Once more become a denizen of Heaven !" When the last foot was gone, and all the aisle Was silent, he stepped forth with leer of guile, And, gliding down to a confessional, brushed In by a priest in meditation hushed, And said : " To thee will I unclose my sin Of lawless thought, and word, and evil deed, That I, of all the consequences freed, When the bright doors are open may pass in." Then said the priest, " Begin, in God's trine Name." " I have a hitch of speech, and cannot frame The words in German." " Then in thine own tongue.' The Devil muttered, with a sort of scoff : Cijc 59cbtr;S Cnnfrjf^faii. " Nomine Dagon, Beelzebub, Ashtaroth. My sins, O father ! are of deepest dye. They bar me out from tranquil courts on high, Where endless anthems to my God are sung." Then from his lips was his confession hissed ; It was of crimes a long appalling hst. But scarce had he advanced a little way Ere the confessor ordered, angry : " Stay ! Thou art not kneeling, son, that I can see." " Father, there's something crooked in my knee." " Go on, then," said the priest, in lower tone. " I've sinned exceedingly, through fault my own, Have wakened up in peaceful families strife, Have urged the husband on to hate the wife. And the child bade against its parents rise. The thief I prompted to his villainy ; The adult'rous flame was kindled hot by me ; I turned the glances of malignant eyes ; As sower, sowed in families mistrust ; And Friendship cankered I with envy's rust ; The murderer I prompted to his deed, Clje Bffair^ €anits^ion. 1 roused the insatiable money-greed — Men's eyes I dazzled with the blink of gold, And taught that Heaven could be bought and sold ; And faith I staggered, planting weeds of doubt. The sland'rous lie by me was defdy wrought ; Pure minds I sullied with polluting thought, Working like leaven." Here fiercely he laughed out, A hideous burst of wild discordant laughter Shaking the wall, and quivering in each rafter, And flung in echoes all along the roof. The old confessor, starting, terrified, Said : " In the sacred Name of Him who died, Profane one ! outrage not the holy rite ! " " Pardon me, father, pray ; my breast I smite. I have convulsions, but at thy reproof The fit is past. And now let me proceed." Then he unfolded many a godless deed, And muttered on an hour and was not done. So the confessor stopped him, saying, " Son, Thou couldst not crowd these many actions in Elbe BebiVi Canfe^^tan. A hundred years of unremitted sin." "A hundred times ten hundred, rather say, Labouring at crime, unflagging, night and day, Through all the ages since the hour I fell." Shuddered the priest, and made the holy sign, " In the Name of God, and of His Son divine. Who art thou ? answer." "A spirit lost of hell." The priest leapt up with an affrighted cry : " Angels of Jesus, stand me succouring by." Then he relapsed, and laid aside his dread : " Why hast thou sought this sacrament ? " he said, " Wherefore these horrors to my ear reveal ? " " I saw thee vested with a wondrous might, To make the sons of darkness heirs of light, Blackest of souls become as drifted snow ; And, to the sentence of the priest below The Judge of all things setteth to His seal. Then thought I : Oh ! if shattered were my chain, I might the gates of Paradise regain. Say, is there any gleam of hope for me ? " 5ri)C BcUVi CanffiSitDit. " I know the mercy of the Crucified Is very lofty, deep, exceeding wide ; Then if thy sorrow only be sincere, In the Lord's name, I bid thee have no fear ; The blood of Christ will reach as far as thee." " Father, why question thou my strong desire To fly the abysses of eternal fire, And from keen misery obtain release. And refuge in the home of endless peace ? There comes a thrill on me as now I grope, With feeble glimmer for a thread of hope." " Son, ere I utter the absolving word, Of thy contrition I must be assured ; Therefore on thee a penance I impose." " Give me ten thousand of acutest woes, And from my purpose, mark you, if I swerve, Bid me be bound upon a flaming wheel, Set with the sharpest blades of tempered steel, Bid it revolve in fire at whirlwind speed, Parch me, and lacerate, and make me bleed Ci)« SBefail'^ Confession. And suffer with the finest mortal nerve. Turn into flaming drops my coursing tears, Bid me thus writhe through fifty thousand years, And I will hug the woe and not repine." •' Son," said the pastor, " no such test be thine. As thou didst fall through thy unbounded pride, Bow to the figure of the Crucified But once, and utter with a broken sigh, — ' I am not worthy to look up to Heaven ; Oh, be free pardon to the rebel given.' " " What ?" said the Devil, with an angry cry, " Bow to a God so lost to sense of shame, As to take human nature and man's name ! Bow to a God who could Himself demean To suck the breast, and sweep the kitchen clean, And saw up chips for Joseph ? One who died Upon a gallows with a mangled side ! Ha ! when another twist of Fortune's wheel Would have sent me up, and cast Him below ! Ha ! To the Son of Mary shall I bow ?" And with a curse, he turned upon his heel. THE SECRET OF LIFE, With a boom of cannon, and dance of plume, And flourish of banners fair, With a flash of helmet, cuirass, and sword, And trumpets' shrill fanfare ; On the Kaiser's Name Day, Prague was in festal array. First a troop of Pandours on leopards' hides Cast over their steeds milk white, With their jackets ajaunt and coquettish flaunt Of lances atipped with light. What a crowd hedged the way On the Emperor's Name Day ! Cri)e ferret af itifr. 11 On her shoulder aloft a mother held Her infant the show to see. All the bells were ringing, the choirs singing, The city kept jubilee. The two-headed eagle, black and gold, The wind over the Rath-house unrolled. But the child was askew with tortured spine, Its neck was ableed and sore, And the white little face, a tear trace, The signet of suff' ring bore. The prophecy there writ plain Of a grave or a future of pain. All the pageant and pomp she heeded not. But twisted herself away, On her mother's shoulder, and eager took Her Prayer Book, wherewith to play, Where a cross was inlaid. And — with that she played. 12 Ctjc ^ntct of Eife. On the symbol of Death she laid her hand, And along it she drew each line, Then stooping she kissed, and again she kissed, — Still playing — the sacred sign. To the babe was revealed Things to wise men concealed. MOTHER'S LOVE.* In a village, early morning, Open stood a chapel door ; To the chiming bell I entered, Knelt me on the holy floor. It was harvest time of labour, Few were there in worship bent, Whilst the celebrant at altar Ministered the Sacrament. Then a mother stole by meekly, Bearing at her breast a child ; * This little incident was mentioned in a Bavarian magazine some years ago, in which I saw it, when staying in the mountains, but I do not recollect what the magazine was. 14 jHotljrr'^ Enfae. Mother's love, and love of Heaven, Doubly lit her features mild. With a mixed emotion stirred Saw I how that mother stood, After that the priest had meted To her mouth the Angels' Food. How with fervour o'er her baby, Bowing to its lips of red, With a kiss to it imparted, Half the Sacramental Bread. Oh ! of mother's love the fervour I Flower of God on earth below ! Sharing all things, self-forgetting, Heaven itself it would bestow. THE BUILDING OF S. SOPHIA, (i) Justinian, Emperor and Augustus, bent Upon Byzantium's embellishment, Whilst musing, sudden started up and cried : " There is no worthy minster edified Under the Ruler of earth, sea, and skies, The One eternal, and the only wise. Great Solomon a temple built of old To the Omnipotent, at cost untold. Great was his power, but mine must his surpass As ruddy gold excels the yellow brass. I too a costly church will dedicate, To preach God's Majesty and tell my state." Then called the Emperor an artist skilled, With sense of beauty and proportions filled, 16 5r^c 33titlifing; of ^. ^op^ia. And said, " In Wisdom's name I bid thee build. Built of the best, best ways, and make no spare, The cost entire my privy purse shall bear. Solomon took gifts of gold, and wood, and stone, But I, Justinian, build the Church alone. Then go, ye heralds ! forth to square and street, With trumpet blare, and everywhere repeat, That a great minster shall erected be By our august pacific Majesty ; And bid none reckon in the work to share, For we ourselves the entire expense will bear." And as Justinian lay that night awake, Weary and waiting for white day to break, The thought rose up, " Now when this flesh is dead, My soul, by its attendant spirit led, Shall hear the angel at the great gate call, What ho ! Justinian comes, magnifical, Who to the Eternal Wisdom Uncreate, A church did build, endow, and consecrate. The like of which by man was never trod : Then rise, Justinian ! to the realm of God." €lfe JJuinitns at ^. ^ojifjia. 17 Now day and night the workmen build ; apace The church arises, full of form and grace ; The walls upstart, the porch and portals wide Are traced, the marble benches down each side, The sweeping apse, the basement of the piers, The white hewn stone is laid in level tiers. Upshoot the columns, then the arches turn, The roof with gilded scales begins to burn. Next, white as mountain snow the mighty dome Hangs like a moon above the second Rome. Within, mosaic seraphs spread their wings, And cherubs circle round the King of kings. On whirling wheels, besprent with myriad eyes ; And golden, with gold hair, against blue skies. Their names beside them, twelve Apostles stand; Six on the left, and six on the right hand. And from an aureole of jewelled rays. The Saviour's countenance doth calmly gaze. Fixed is the silver altar, raised the screen, A golden network prinked red, blue, and green, With icons studded, hung with lamps of fire; B 18 Cbe 3ButHftns of ^. ^njpbia. And ruby curtained round the sacred choir. Then, on a slab above the western door, Through which, next day, the multitude shall pour, That all may see and read, the sculptors grave : — This House to God, Justinian Emperor gave." And now, with trumpet blast and booming gong Betwixt long lines of an expectant throng, The imperial procession sweeps along. The saffron flags and crimson banners flare Against the fair blue sky above the square. In front the walls of Hagia Sophia glow, A frost of jewels set in banks of snow Begemmed, and purple wreathed, the sacred sign, Labarum, moves, the cross of Constantine. Then back the people start on either side, As ripples past a molten silver tide Of Asian troops in polished mail ; next pass Byzantine guards, a wave of Corinth brass. And then, with thunder tramp, the Varanger bands Of champions gathered from grey northern lands, eri)? Jjuiliiins at ^. ^njif)ta. 19 Above whom Odin's raven flaps its wing ; And, in their midst, in a gold-harnessed ring Of chosen heroes, on a cream-white steed In gilded trappings, of pure Arab breed, To dedicate his church doth Csesar ride In all his splendour, majesty, and pride. With fuming frankincense and flickering lights, The vested choir come forth as he alights. Now shrill the silver clarions loud and long, And clash the cymbals, bellows hoarse the gong. A wild barbaric crash. Then on the ear Surges the solemn chanting, full and clear : " Lift up your heads ye gates, and open swing, Ye everlasting doors before the King ! " Back start the silver valves — in sweeps the train Next throng the multiiude the sacred fane. Justinian enters, halts a little space, With haughty exultation on his face, And, at a glance, the stately church surveys. Then reads above the portal of the nave — 20 Clje JUuilatufl of S". ^optfa. "This House to God, Euphrasia, widow, gave." "What ho ! " he thunders, with a burst of ire. As to his face flashes a scarlet fire ; " Where is the sculptor ? Silence all you choir 1 Where is the sculptor ? " Fails the choral song, A hush falls instant on the mighty throng. " Bring forth the sculptor who yon sentence wrought ; His merry jest he'll find full dearly bought." Then fell before him, trembling, full of dread. The graver. " Csesar, God-preserved ! " he said, " I carved not that ! exchanged has been the name From that I chiselled. I am not to blame. This is a miracle, — no mortal hand Could banish one and make another stand, And on the marble leave nor scar nor trace, ' Where was the name deep cut, it did efface. Beside the letters. Sire ! the stone is whole." " Ha ! " scoffed the Emperor, " now by my soul. I deemed the age of marvels passed away ! " srije 23uinrtng al ^. ^cjjljta. 21 Forth stepped the Patriarch with, " Sire, I pray, Hearken ! I saw him carve, nor I alone, Thy name and title which have fled the stone : And I believe the finger was Divine Which set another name and cancelled thine — The finger that, which wrote upon the wall Belshazzar's doom, in Babel's sculptured hall • The finger that, which cut in years before On Sinai's top, on tables twain, the Law." Justinian's brow grew dark with wrath and fear . " Who is Euphrasia, widow, I would hear, This lady who my orders sets at naught, And robs me of the recompense I sought. Who is Euphrasia?" But none spake a word. *' What ! of this wealthy lady have none heard ? " Again upon the concourse silence fell, For none could answer make, and tidings tell. " What ! no man know ! Go some the city round, And ask if such be in Byzantium found." 22 Efit 38utltttng of ^. ^opljia. Then said a priest, and faltered : " Of that name Is one, but old, and very poor, and lame, Who has a cottage close upon the quay ; But she, most surely. Sire, it cannot be." " Let her be brought." Then some the widow seek And lead the aged woman, tottering, weak, With tattered dress, and thin white straying hair, Bending upon a stick, and with feet bare. "Euphrasia," said the monarch sternly, "speak ! Wherefore didst thou my strict commandment break And give, against my orders, to this pile ?" The widow answered simply, with faint smile, " Sire ! it was nothing, for I only threw A little straw before the beasts which drew The marble from the ships, before I knew Thou wouldst be angry. Sire ! I had been ill Three weary months, and on my window-sill A little linnet perched, and sang each day So sweet, it cheered me as in bed 1 lay, / 5ri)E 33utnitn5 af ^. ^opi)ia. 23 And filled my heart with love to Him who sent The linnet to me ; then, with full intent To render thanks, when God did health restore, I from my mattress pulled a little straw And cast it to the oxen that did draw The marble burdens — I did nothing more." "Look !" said the Caesar, "read above that door! Small though thy gift, it was the gift of love, And is accepted of our King above ; And mine rejected as the gift of pride By Him who humble lived and humble died. Widow, God grant hereafter, when we meet, I may attain a footstool at thy feet ! " EASTER. At the breaking of the day, Very early on her way Mary Magd'len spices bears Weeping penitential tears. Through the gloom She seeks the tomb, At the breaking of the day. Heaven's purple heights are bowed , Very early dropped a cloud Out of Heaven, the larks up sprang, And a joyous carol sang ; Gabriel white, His face alight, Stood upon the shining cloud. (SugUv. 25 With the dawning hght he came, Round him quivered amber flame, Almonds burst their buds and bloomed, Celandine their gold assumed. Jonquils woke. The cuckoo spoke, When in radiant robes he came. At the rising of the sun, This celestial song was sung — Death is conquered, winter's o'erj Life is sprung to light once more. From the prison The Lord is risen, Rising with the rising sun. On the grass still hangs the dew. Tears in Mary's eyelids too. Banish sorrow, briny tears. Desolation, heartache, fears. Wipe thine eye. The dew was dry When the news through Jewry flevr. THE CURSING HOUR. A TALMUDIC LEGEND. Convulsed, with frequent moan^ Jehoshua hid alone, And wept and shuddered in the gloom. Concealed in a secluded room. And bitterly he cried, "Would God that I had died A little infant on the breast Of my sweet mother now at rest." About his knee Passionately He knit his hanQs, and rocking, said, " Tranquillity is with the dead." S:i)e CuriSuTfl $?Dur. 27 Then wailed, " The anguish and the tears, The gibes, the insults borne for years, The bruised spirit, and the pain Of wounded pride." Then frantically, once again, " Would I had died 1 Ill-used and spurned of Christian feet, And spat upon in every street, And made to grovel in the dust ; Away from seats of justice thrust. To-day as I stole out, A frenzied rabble rout Assailed the helpless, aged Jew ; And here I cower, crushed through and through The marrow of my soul, By insults they did roll On me ! — And, placid all the while That I was hunted through the town, Tortured and faint, — with beaming smile The yellow sun looked down. Oh, sun ! oh, sun 1 28 HLfft €uxSinQ ||0ur. That once did lighten on the plain Of Mamre, whereon 'midst the slain Stood Abraham, the victory won ! Oh, burnished ball that hung O'er Miriam as she sung With tinkling timbrel in her hand The song of triumph on the strand Strewn with the Gentile foe I That in the sky didst glow, And fight for Joshua ! That shone On the refulgent ivory throne Of Solomon ! Oh, sun ! oh, sun ! Accursed globe of fire ! I hate The' sun that could, and would not sate My vengeance on the throng. Whilst I was writhing in my wrong, And I a Jew ! From out the blue It looked, and saw, and smiled ; An Eastern I, the sun's own child ! Cljp Curbing i^our. 29 But I have heard the Mischna say That at the cockcrow, ere the day Shall bud, if son of Abram call On God to curse, that curse will fall. And I shall watch through hours of gloom, Gathered upon my bed, Awaiting hungrily the hour of doom, On every Gentile head, To bid a blight descend, to impetrate A lingering death on all who hate The forlorn Jew." And thus the wrathful Hebrew sate With knitted fingers, scowling, late, Whilst fell the dew. And slowly slid the watches by, The violet of the evening sky Had deepened into indigo. The mist was like a sheet of snow Upon the pastures lying low. The corncrake in the herbage wet, l"he sighs that in the thorn-hedge fret, 30 E^t €\iriins Hour. The nightingale, the river's rush, Alone disturb the solemn hush. The constellations in their rank Arose or stood, or wheeled or sank, And Venus, like a tear, A tear of light from Heaven's eye, Went trickling down the western sky. For call of chanticleer Jehoshua waited on his bed And mumbled woes, with drooping head. The moon arose, a sickle bright. And flashed the river into light, And sent a silver gleam To where the Hebrew crouched, and wrote A " Salem, peace ! " where'er it smote. Jehoshua from his mattress sprung, Together both the shutters flung To check the stainless bean^ Then moaning shrunk away, " O come, do not delay, Thou slow approaching moment, come, Ctjc Cur^iiifl i^aur. 31 Wherein to recompense the sum Of Gentile trespass with so dire A curse that it shall gnaw like fire Their very marrow — deafening ears, And blinding eyes with scalding tears, And vitals wringing with sharp pain, Poisoning each muscle, nerve, and vein.' His fevered bitter tongue rehearsed These imprecations, to allay the thirst Of his resentment ; whilst the night, Type of all troubles, drew towards light And as the cockcrow hour. Fraught with such deadly power, Approached, a cooler air awoke And o'er the earth its breezes broke, And fanned the face of Nature fair, Bringing refreshment everywhere. Then on Jehoshua's temples fell, A languor irrepressible. And, as a slender vap'rous thread. That play's about a mountain's head, 32 C6e Cursing l^aur. Now gathers strength, and slowly glides Its hazy reefs adown the sides, And torrent, crag, and gully hides ; So soft and slow about the brain Where all was virulence and pain, A soothing slumber slid, And gently hid With its grey curtain every thought, And purposes reduced to naught- Aloft, above a ragged nest Where stands the solemn stork at rest, And crowns the roof of russet tile. Again appears the golden smile ; The night is done. Returns the sun. Then 'twixt the shutters shot a ray Brilliant and warm, where sleeping lay Jehoshua, with breathing calm, And placid brow, and with one palm Upon the other, and his cheek Elft Curbing l^our. 33 Thereon reposed. Then suddenly he woke And started up and spoke : — " The hour, the opportunity To curse are passed from me. Fled is my wrath." Then looking forth, Descried the freshened earth, the dew That wet the herbs, the brighter hue Upon the flowers, The sparkling showers Of diamond drops from off the trees That scattered in the morning breeze. " Throughout the night, ay ! at the time When curses fall — from the sublime The Eternal blessings shed. The door Of heaven opens to outpour Good gifts on earth, not to inhale Our prayers of hate, and make avail The vengeful curse. From Paradise At cockcrow flies a seraph ; from his eyes The morning flashes, from his wings 34 Cibc CuriSing ?^0ur. He drops of living water flings, His rainbow pinions waft The renovating draught, All odorous from celestial fields, That health and hope and vigour yields. What ! should I stay Him on his way, And steep his plumes in gall, Pollute the airs that fall From his prismatic wings, and bid His eyes with lightnings flash ! " Then slid The humbled Hebrew to his knee. His face ashamed he hid ; And said, "Jehovah, praise to Thee, For sending slumber to restrain Me from my purpose vain." ^«>* ROBIN REDBREASTS CORN, In a quiet sheltered valley Underneath a furzy hill, Where their light from rocky ledges Silver threads of water spill, Patient Benedictine brothers, Thatch their cot with russet fern. Singing, " Ave Maris Stella ! " To the flowing of the burn. They have come from southern regions To the wastes of Finisterre, Without scrip, or purse, or weapon. Trusting in the might of prayer. 3fi dSialin Bciiibrra^t'^ Cont. In a pleasant sunward hollow Of the barren purple fell, They have built a rustic chapel, Hung a little tinkling bell. There, alone in Christ believing, Wait the brothers God's good time. When shall spread the Gospel tidings, Like a flood from clime to clime. Yonder is a Druid circle, Where the priests dance on the dew. Singing of Ceridwen's kettle. And the ploughing of old Hu. Now the brothers cut the heather, Stack the turf for winter fire, Wall about with lichened moorstones The enclosure of their byre. Next they drain a weedy marish, Praying in the midst of toil, l\ahin HrirSrrafft's dorii. 37 And with plough of rude construction Draw slight furrows through the soil. Then seek wheat. — It was forgotten ; All their labour seems in vain ; The barbarian Kelts about them Little knew of golden grain. Said the Prior : *' God will help us In this hour of bitter loss." Then one spied a Robin Redbreast Sitting on a boundary cross. Doubtless came the bird in answer To the words the Prior did speak, For a heavy wheat-ear dangled From the Robin's polished beak. Then the brothers, as he dropped it, Picked it up and careful sowed, And abundantly in autumn Reaped the harvest where they strewed. 38 aaaljtn Hetf^i-ra^t'^ Com. Do you mark the waving glory O'er the Breton hill-slopes flung "> All that wealth from Robin Redbreast's Little ear of wheat has sprung. Do you mark the many churches Scattered o'er that pleasant land ? All results are of the preaching Of that Benedictine band. Therefore, Christian, small beginnings Pass not by with lip of scorn ; God may prosper them, as prospered Robin Redbreast's ear of corn. THE RABBI JOACHIM, (i) [Talmud, Berachoth, ix. fol. 6o.J The Rabbi Joachim, no little sore At heart to see fair Bethlehem no more, Went forth with stafif in hand, and drooping head, And locked his door. The Rabbi Joachim, whate'er befell, Said : " Man as God is not ; he cannot tell What is the best for him ; but what God doth, He doeth well." He had grown old with Miriam, and none Had seen them strive together. She was gone 40 tSr^tft ^a.hU SioarTjtm. The Rabbi smote his breast : " God doeth well What He hath done." There was to Joachim a little child : It died. The Rabbi looked to Heaven and smiled. "What my God doth, He doeth well," he said, — Reconciled, Then there was famine, and the Rabbi fed The starving poor with all his substance. Dead Were all his kin. "Why should I save?" The old man said. And now he parted from his home, to fare, Far off, with nothing his, save clothes to wear, A faithful dog, a little lamp of oil, A book of prayer. fie journeyed till the setting of the light, And then he sought a shelter for the night, For tempest clouds rolled up from off the sea, With vulture flight. 5rijc JKaiBt Saacljim. 41 Unto a farm hard by he went, to pray A lodging ; but they asked him : " Can you pay ? " " I have no single drachma." They, scoffing, cried " Away, away ! " Then, as they slammed the door, he turned his gaze Upon the last, in rain expiring, rays. And said, " What God doth, He doeth well, I know, Though dark His ways." He was constrained to creep beneath some trees, Through which went whistling the awaking breeze, He lit his lamp, and set his book of prayer Upon his knees. And from the book and flame the Rabbi drew Some comfort, though the chill wind pierced through His scanty clothing. Suddenly a gust The lamp outblew. The Rabbi sighed, and shuddering drew a fold Over his bosom to keep out the cold : 42 El)t aaaiit 3)and)im. " What God hath done is well, His reasons though To us untold." And presently he heard a crash, a spring, A howl that made the hollow forest ring. A tiger seized his trusty dog ; and Joachim Shrank shuddering. The Rabbi Joachim a deep sigh heaved : " Of every comfort here I am bereaved ; Yet God doth well what He hath done, in Whom I have believed." When the dawn lightened, the old man arose, With the wet dripping from his sodden clothes, And his teeth chattering, and his heart oppressed With many woes. He tottering went towards the farm again, Thinking, " They now will pity my great pain." When lo ! he found it empty, robbed, and all Its inmates slain. tJTIjc ^KbM Bnacljt'm. 43 " Now," said the Rabbi gravely, " I can tell How the Lord wrought in each thing that befell, And know I surely that whate'er God doth, He doeth well. " Had I last night found here a home and bed, I had this morn been lying with these dead. The lamp-light, or the dog's bark, would the murderers To me have led. "Our eyes are holden, and we cannot scan The workings out of God's mysterious plan ; But all He doth is well, though unperceived His thoughts by man." THE EMPTY SOCKET, [Talmud, Tamad, p. 32 a.] For ages on the High Priest's bosom lay The twelve-stoned Choschen, worn each solemn Jay, With ephod, zone, and mitre, dazzling bright With beryl, ruby red, and chrysolite. With violet amethyst, and emerald green, Carbuncle glowing with a vinous sheen, And jasper, topaz yellow, sardius black, Agate and onyx. Of the twelve did lack A sapphire, from its setting gone ; And yet, of all the priceless jewels there, There was not one in value might compare With that poor socket void of stone. CbP e^mptg ^flcfirt. 46 When from captivity the people came To blessed Salem, wrecked by sword and flame, Upon Moriali's mount again arose Jehovah's temple, once more to enclose The dedicated ornaments of old, The ark, the seven-branched candlestick of gold. The pontiff's vesture, and the shew-bread table Restored to God from idol feasts in Babel. And as the aged Levites scrutinize The vast accumulated sacred store Of which the temple was despoiled of yore, With throbbing bosoms and o'erflowing eyes, They find that nothing lacketh, all is sound Vesture and vessels for each rite abound, Save that a sapphire of the rarest size Has vanished from the socket, set In the refulgent carcanet. Then through the land a trusty Elder wends, And seeks a sapphire meet to grace The breast of him who, sole of mortals, bends 46 C^E e^mptg ^orRct. Within the high and hoHest place. But vain his quest has proved. Without a stone The Elder draweth nigh to Ascalon. Dama Ben Nethina, a merchant, sate Counting his jewels by the Eastern gate. A Gentile, he, and yet a man who trod, Walking in twilight, in the track of God. The Elder him saluted, and declared His object, saying, " I have come prepared, If I can find a sapphire to suffice, With liberality to pay the price. Hast thou perchance the jewel that I need ?" Then answered Dama, " Sir, I have indeed A sapphire of a lustre and a hue And size unrivalled the whole kingdom through.'* Then Dama bid the Elder rest a pace Whilst he produced the jewel from the place Where it was hidden safely. Up the stair CI)C ePmjptg ^Dcftct. 47 The Gentile merchant lightly tripped to where With closed shutters, in a darkened nook His aged father lay, with palsy strook, On cushions prostrate, from whose weary head For night and day refreshing sleep had fled, And 'neath his pillow lay concealed The casket, double-locked and sealed. Then Dama gliding softly through the room, With eyes untutored to the sudden gloom. Said gently, ** Father, I have found at last A purchaser — " then ceased, for sleeping fast The sufferer lay ; the wearied temples pressed The pillow in a placid welcome rest. And Dama stood and watched his sire awhile, With every feature brightened with a smile. " The Jew must wait," he said ; *' I dare not take The casket now, and risk his doze to break." Then down the staircase glided. " Gentle sir ! We must our traffic for a while defer I cannot bargain now." 48 €;i)« Cfmjptg jacket. The Israelite Astonished answered, " Let me have a sight Of this same sapphire." " No, sir ! not to-night.** " But I must ere to-morrow speed away. A new moon waketh, ere the trumpets bray, To tell its rising — I must start. I pray Declare the value set upon the stone.* •' For half a talent yield I it alone. The price is high but just." — Upon him broke The Hebrew, as he plucked his sleeve and spoke, •• Well, if m size and colour it beseem The Choschen Mishpat, I shall hardly deem The price excessive. Let my eyes A moment rest upon the prize." "To-morrow," Dama urged. Then in distress, " To-night," the Elder answered, " I must press To Salem, where we dedicate anew The renovated fane to God the True, The Wise, the Only. I require For that solemnity but one sapphire. Ci)c ©mjptp ^orfeft. 49 And thou the stone possessest. Let me carry The purchased gem away. I may not tarry." The merchant pondered : "Shall I find again A customer like this ? And I would fain Convert the stone to money." So he went Above once more, and o'er his father bent. The sleeper lay with whitened locks outspread Upon the bolster, one hand out of bed, Thin and transparent; on his cheek a balm, And healthful blush ; his purple pulse was calm, And gently heaved the breast in even sighs Of sweet relief from long-borne agonies. Like fevered earth that all the day hath lain In sweltering heat, when night relieves her pain, Entranced lies, with cool descending dew Each vital fibre drenching through and through, Inhales renewal after wasting fires, And in sweet turn regenerate scent expires. Then down again to where the Elder stood The merchant hurried, saying, " If I could D 50 CIjc eFnijptg ^ocfeft. The sapphire I would sell ;" and turning, hid The tears suspended on his fluttering lid. The Elder thinking that he sought a bid Still higher, urged, " I have by me a store Of silver. Dama, for the stone take more. I offer now of silver talents twain, If given the stone at once. Your hope is vain If by delay you reckon to enhance The price ; for passed this day, passed too the chance. " Two silver talents bid," did Dama muse ; " 'Twere madness such an offer to refuse. Where else could I obtain so rare an offer ? I must, I will this time remove the coffer." But as he stood beside the old man's bed, And saw upon his haggard cheek the glow, And marked the wrinkles fading from the brow, He had not courage to disturb his head. For sweet to one aweary is the sleep That o'er the jaded limbs doth slowly creep ! One instant Dama thrust his hand beneath ^tic&mj^tv ^orftrt. 51 The piliow. Instantly the sleeper's breath Came broken, and a painful flutter flew Over his features. Cautiously withdrew The son his hand, and sought the expectant Jew. " It cannot be," he said. " You bid in vain : For once, for all, the gem must mine remain." And when in after time the reason known Why Gentile Dama had withheld the stone, Said Joshua, the priest, " No jewel rare In all this breastplate is there to compare With yonder socket of its jewel bare, And ever may it empty stand, to be Memorial meet of filial piety ! " THE TRIBUTE OF THE MOUNTAINS, [Acta Sand., Jan. T. II. p. 26 — 8.} Said Gondecar, of Burgundy, " My vassals, bring The homage that is due to me, as to a king. Let each present, as well, the tithe of corn and wine, The tithe of all the produce, mine by right divme." In the mountains lived a prelate, Bishop James of Tarantaise, Teaching to the Alpine shepherds Good to live and God to praise. Poor was he, in sheepskin habit, With a pastoral staff of birch, tUf^e Criliutr of t\)c MoimtmxS. w For a palace a log chalet, And a larch wood for a church. Said a messenger, "Sir Bishop, You must wend your way to town, Gondecar demands his tribute, Go not empty handed down. Tithe of vineyard, tithe of olive, Tithe of flax and tithe of corn, Tithe of all the land produces, Be by priest and peasant borne." Said the Bishop, *' I have nothing, Grape or olive, corn or flax ; See ! this Alpine region snowy, Such productions wholly lacks." "Speed thee natheless, holy Bishop, But beware of empty hand, Go to Gondecar, and bear him Of the produce of the land." 54 Cf)C Ervbutt Df tijr ::^1nimtP Erfftute 0f tbe iPDitntatitg. 66 White, unsullied, sunlit, sleeping,— To the toilers in the world. " Best of medicine, cool refreshment To fagged heart and brain, I trow, White, unsullied, sunht, sleeping Sweeps and spires of Alpine snow." TURN AGAIN! {2) [Talmud Jerusalem, Haggada ii. Halacha i.] Elisha ben Abuja, deeply skilled In mysteries of science, and a Rabbi filled With wisdom high and with great power of speech, And able mightily to expound and teach, Fell into doubt about the Holy Law, And, from the childlike faith he had before, From doubting little went to doubting more. Then broke the bonds, and cast the cords aside That bound him in the covenant to abide, And changed his name, and lived a Gentile life. Then to the Rabbi, weeping came his wife, And said, " When on my youth still hung the dew. CTuin ^fiatn. 57 Elisha Ben Abuja well I knew ; But Gentile Acher cannot be the same, Without the fathers' creed, with foreign name, I must depart from him to whence I came." Then drew his father nigh, with silver}' head Bent low, and bending lower feebly said, *' I had a son of Levi's sacred line ; Elisha was he hight, but none of mine Is he hight Acher. Woe ! I had a son ; But these grey hairs bow to the grave, with none To close my eyes for me, when I am gone." And next his mother, with a bitter cry, Rent out her hair, and strewed it to the sky, Wailing : " As these thin locks from me have sprung, And now are torn away, and from me flung, So is my child. He to these eyes was light In sweet old times, now I see only night." His pupil Meir alone to him remained. He by the master's learning was restrained ^8 Cunt ^jjaiit. From leaving ; for he said : " He teacheth well, His equal is not found in Israel ; I eat the nut and cast aside the shell." And thus for five long years did Meir his seat Retain, to listen at his teacher's feet j And all this while, the Holy Law of God Was as a lantern to the way he trod. It came to pass one Sabbath day, they went Together forth, on mutual converse bent. The apostate Acher on a horse did ride, With his disciple treading at his side. And thus they fared, till Acher turned his head, And, glancing at his pupil, gravely said, " I reckon, from the pacing of thy feet, That thou hast reached the limit that is meet To journey on the Sabbath. So refrain From going further with me. Turn again." Then halted Meir, and looking m the face Of his old master, said : " Do thou retrace liruni ^Qaitt. 59 The journey thou hast trod. Why shouldst thou roam. An exile from thy Faith, from thy True Home? A Rabbi thou, and thou a reprobate ! Turn thee, Ehsha ben Abuja ! Turn again ! " " I cannot," answered, with a spasm of pain The apostate Acher. " It is all too late. As I was riding by the prostrate wall Of Salem, in the moonlight, I heard call A doleful voice, that to my people cried, ' Return to God, ye sinners ; but abide Thou, Acher, in thy sin. Thou knewest well The way to Me, and witting, from Me fell.' Hearing that voice, I knew that I was lost. And, in uncertainty no longer tossed, Have burst through all restraints unto the last ; And Hope is dead, my son — dead like the past." Then cried the pupil, with distilling tear, " O listen but one moment, master dear ! Here is a school, come with me through the door, 60 Cunt ^flain. And hear the boys repeat the sacred lore That they have learn'd ; perchance, some word may be Levelled with hopeful promise, ev'n at thee." Then Acher from his saddle leapt, awhile Stood at the school door, with a mournful smile Ui)on his lips. But Meir, he entered in, And elder boys addressing, said, " Begin, Recite the lessons ye this day have learned, Each in your order, and in order cease." Then to the tallest of the scholars turned, Who spake, "Thus saith my God, There is no peace Unto the wicked." * So the shadow fell Deeper upon the apostate's soul. " Ah ! well, Thou second scholar," said Meir, with his rod Pointing. He answered, " Master, thus saith God, Why dost thou preach My laws, and wherefore take My statutes in thy mouth, My law to break, And cast My words behind thee ?" t * Isa. Ivii. 21. t Psalm 1 i6. Curn ^gatn. dl Then a moan Escaped him standing on the threshold stone, And Meir who heard it, with a faltering hand Marked out a third. Then answered him the boy : " False tongue that speakest lies, God shall destroy Thee from thy dwelling ! from the living land Shall root thee out 1 " * A loud and bitter cry Burst from the apostate, and with haggard eye. And staggering feet he turned him feebly round To leave, and caught the doorpost, — to the ground Else had he fallen. Then a little child Came bounding up — the youngest boy — and smiled And said : " I know my lesson, master ; let me run Forth to the butterflies, the flowers, the sun !" And so to Acher, in a chanted strain. Repeated timidly, with bated breath : " He bringeth to destruction, Then He saith, Children of men, I bid you — Turn Again ! " f • Psalm lii. 5, 6. f Psalm xc. 3. 62 5Eunt ^satiT. Lo ! when these words sank down on Acher's ears Forth from his heart leaped up a rush of tears, And stretching forth his hands, as he did yearn For something, with a glitter on his cheek, Sobbing, and struggling in distress to speak, Gasped forth at last — " T will, I will return ! " Then unto him went Meir, and whispered low : " Elisha ben Abuja, do not go ; ' Tarry this night, and it shall be at morn. That He who is thy kinsman, shall for thee Accomplish what thou wilt and set thee free. As the Lord liveth ! Lie thee down till dawn,' " * And so Elisha with his hands outspread Towards the ruined temple fell. Into the sun— His task accomplished — had the scholar run, Leaving Elisha on the threshold dead. * Kuth iii. 13. POPE BONIFACE VIII . (3) Pope Boniface with folded arms was pacing in the court With furrowed brows and knitted hps, and treadings quick and short ; He scarcely gave attention to the droning of the talk Of prelate, prince, and cardinal accompanying his walk. They told of bitter rivalry in politics and wealth Between the faction Ghibelline and faction of the Guelf ; How there was discord gathering, how enmity was rife. How one side egged the other on to overt acts of strife ; How bitter words of mockery were bandied to and fro, And each was burning with desire to smite the mortal blow, And night and day incessantly, there sped some precious life, Sent forth before God summoned it, by hired assassin's knife ; 64 PajiP 23antfacp bttt. How from the sacred judgment-hall had justice taken flight, For there was judgment only given by party, not by right. A Cardinal Archbishop spoke : " Pray Heaven from our land Will root the trait'rous Ghibelline with all his murderous band, And all his perjured judges too, and all his ill-won pelf ! " " Out on thee !" roared a nobleman : " the traitor is the Guelf. The Guelf is ever spattering with blood the Italian soil, Is robbing honest peasants of the object of their toil, Is violating sacred fanes, is ruining all trade, — Save that of the stiletto, mind ! and that is rarely paid." " Now silence 1 " cried the Cardinal, with fiercely kindled eye ; " Back in thy throat, fell Ghibelline ! I hurl that damned lie." *' A lie ! Ha, ha ! Your excellence, who hatch the lies yourself! If men would find rare liars, they must search the ranks of Guelf" •' Now mark ! " the Ecclesiastic raged, " The day will come, and must, When Guelf shall break the GhibeUine, and stamp him to the dust. And beat his pride to powder ! " " So ! well done, Sir Priest ! His pride 1 ^ave Uontfarr biiu 65 ?Iurrah for Guelf humility ! " the scoffing noble cried. "I scorn you," said the Cardinal, " a base and beggar crew." •' Please God," the noble answered him, " the Guelf shall have his due." " I to that supplication say my Amen gladly too 1 " Then sudden stooped Pope Boniface, and without speaking, thrust His hands along the pavement, and scrabbled up the dust. Then rising, turned on noble and archbishop hot with ire, His grey eye flashing lightning flakes, and launched these words of fire : " Fond partisans, so mad with rage, I pray you tell me whence The Guelf and Ghibelline arose, and when they journey hence, To what must they return— I ask, both Ghibelline and Guelf? See, Ghibelline, this handful, and thou other, see thyself. 'Tis hence you sprung, to this return, when all this strife is past." And in their faces, Boniface the dusty handfuls cast. ""^ E GOLDNER, From out the hushed green forest Came Goldner in a dream, He stood a little space, The sun upon his face Did gleam. His hair, like spun gold shining, His dress as silver white, He moved, the branches parting, Into the full sunlight. A fowler saw him coming Towards his outspread net, His feet the dewdrops scattering And wet. ©onrnrr. 67 " Ah, ah ! The lad shall be A servant unto me ! " The fowler thought ; The string he drew, The net upflew — Goldner was caught. A year and a day served Goldner, And then his master bade, " Go lad and bring some token That thou hast learned the trade." Went Goldner to the forest, The sun was on his hair, He sang, and, on the green sward Laid the snare. A finch with wings of silver, And feathers burning gold, The lad brought, saying, " Master, Behold ! " " Out, wizard ! " shrieked the fowler ; " Such bird 1 will not see. 68 (goUfitrr. Away with thy enchantments From me ! " Went Goldner to the forest, And wandered day and night ; The third morn from the shadows He walked into the light. A gardener saw him coming, And pass the garden gate. Among the sunflowers standing. The man thought, quite elate, " The lad shall servant be To me." The wicket snapped : Goldner was trapped. A year and a day served Goldner, And then his master bade, " Fetch me a stock for grafting From out the forest glade. Went Goldner to the greenwood, And brought a brier, Whereon like fire, (Sollrnpr. 69 Flamed a rose of gold. " Master, behold ! " " Out wizard ! " shrieked the gardener, *' Such rose I will not see ; Away with thy enchantments From me I " Went Goldner to the forest And wandered day and night, The third morn from the shadows He walked into the light. Before him lay an ocean Wimpling, translucent green, Over the waters lay A bright quivering way Of sunsheen. And gallant ships passed sailing, With painted pennants trailing, And white sails flew Over the blue, Blue deep. 70 (Sonincr. Along the sandy shore Foam wreaths with muffled roar, Did creep. Into a boat unheeding, Walked Goldner with his eyes Fixed in a sort of rapture On the skies. The fisher cast the mooring, The boat stood out to sea ; •*Now," said the man, " be servant To me ! " He flung the hook till evening, And then he Goldner bade : " Try, lad, if thou art handy At the trade." Then cast the hook young Goldner, Down through the sea it flew. He pulled, a weight was on it, A jewelled crown updrew. (SoUfufr. 71 " All hail ! " the fisher shouted, " For he our king should be Who the diadem should bring up From purple deeps of sea." From every ship there echoed The cry " God save the king 1 " Church bells began to tinkle, And happy folks to sing. And cannons puffed and thundered. And banners fluttered high, And rockets started, powdering With fire the evening sky. Upon the prow stood Goldner, The crown upon his hair Dripping with salt sea-water, His golden locks in the air Flowing. The west was all ablaze Upon the sun, his gaze Rested silent and in amaze, And his face glowinf. THE LITTLE SCHOLAR. (4) [CiESARius Hkisterbachensis, lib. ii. c. lo.] There went a little scholar With slow and lagging feet Towards the great church portal That opened on the street. Without, the sun was shining ; Within, the air was dim ; He caught a waft of incense, A dying note of hymn. He drew the crimson curtain, And cast a look inside, Cijc ILittlr ^rt)0lar. 73 To where the sunbeam Hghtencd The form of Him who died, Between Saints John and Mary On roodloft crucified. The curtain fell behind him, He stood a little while, Then signed him with the water, And rambled down the aisle. Behind a great brown pillar The scholar took his stand, And trifled with the ribbon Of the satchel in his hand. His little breast was beating, His blue eyes brimming o'er ; Like April rains, his tears Fell spangling on the floor. An aged priest was passing ; He noticed him, and said, 74 5ri)£ Etttle ^cbolar. " Why, little one, this weeping, This heavy hanging head ?" " My father, O my father ! I've sinned," said the child ; " And have no rest of conscience Till I am reconciled. " Then list to my confession " — He louted on his knee — "The weight of my transgression Weighs heavily on me." But then a burst of weeping And sobs his utterance broke, The priest could not distinguish A single word he spoke. In vain were all his efforts, For wildly tossed his breast, He could not still the tumult. With hands upon it pressed. CIjc Etttk ^djalar. 75 Then said the pastor gently, " You have a Httle slate ; Write on it the confession You are powerless to relate." The child his satchel opened, And strove his sins to note, But still the tear-drops dribbled As busily he wrote. Now when the tale was finished, He held it to the priest With sigh, as from the burden He felt himself released. The old man raised the tablet To read what there was set, But could not, for the writing Was blotted with the wet. Then turned the aged confessor Towards the kneeling boy, 76 tHift UtttTe ^cljnlar. With countenance all shining In rapture of pure joy. " Depart in peace, forgiven, Away with doubting fears ! Thy sins have all been cancelled By the torrent of thy tears," THORKELL-MANL ["Thorkell-M^ni, the President, son of Thorstein, was a heathen, living a good life as far as his light went. In his death-sickness, he had himself brought out into the sunshine, and committed himself into the hands of the God who made the sun. He had also lived a clean life, better than many a Christian who knew better." — Landnaina Bok, i. c. 9.] I AM dying, O my children ! come around my bed, My feet are cold as ashes, heavy is my head ; You see me powerless lying — I, who was of old The scourge of evil-doers, Thorkell stout and bold. I cannot mount my war-horse, now I cannot wield My great blue sword there hanging rusting by my shield. Sons, look at these white fingers, quivering and weak, Without the power a slender silken thread to break. My sons 1 I have been asking whither I shall go. When this old body withers. Sons ! I do not know. 78 CIjorMl-iHani. There is a tale of Odin, sitting in Valhall, Who to a banquet summons those in strife who fall, To drink and to be drunken, then to rise and fight, To wound and to be wounded, be smitten and to smite. But when a man is drawing to the close of life. He yearns for something other than eternal strife ; And it is slender comfort, when he craveth peace, To hear of war and bloodshed that shall never cease. But He the sun who fashioned in the skies above, And who the moon suspended, surely must be Love. Now therefore, O my children, do this thing I ask, Transport me through the doorway in the sun to bask. Upon that bright globe gliding through the deep blue sky, Gazing — thus, and only thus, in comfort can I die. For chambered here in darkness, on my doubts I brood, But in the mellow sunlight I feel that God is good. A God to mortals tender, the very Fount of light — Not Odin, whose whole glory is to booze and fight. What prospect opens to me, when gathered to the dust ? I feel I the Creator of the "sun may trust. He lays that lamp of beauty in a western bed. CfjnrItcn--iMaut. 79 And every morn it liveth, rising from the dead. And if the sun, a creature, can arouse the grain That Hke a corpse entombed long time in earth hath lain, Then, surely, the Creator — wherefore be afraid? — Will care for man, the noblest creature he hath made. Away with Thor and Odin. To Him who made the sun I yield the life He gave me, which now seemeth done. Then through the doorway bear me, lads, that I may die With sunlight falling round me, my face towards the sky. A PARABLE. A Youth caught up an aged pilgrim on the way Of life, and to him said : " My father, tell me, pray, Where Paradise may lie, that I may thither speed " The old man halted, and thus answered him : " Indeed, The road I know full well, my son : look on before — Yonder is Paradise, and yonder is the door." Thereat, off sped the youth, with bounding step to fly Towards the Portal, But loud after him did cry The old man. " Not so ; Paradise must entered be On crutches, and with gouty feet, as done by me." BLIND AUSTIN. (5) In a lonely hut, a shepherd Lived to God with tranquil mind, Cherished by an only daughter, And the aged man was bhnd. Five and twenty years had vanished Since God shut the shepherd's eyes, Since he saw the waving meadows, And the ever-changing skies. Never had his eyes, unclouded, Looked upon the simple child, 82 JJItnlr ^u^ttn. That in tender growing beauty On the old man beamed and smiled. But with open heart, undarkened, Gently would poor Austin say, •' God, who pleased to give me vision, At His pleasure took away." Hour by hour he tarried, kneeling, With dark orbs upon the sky, Wrapped in silent contemplation, Praying, praising inwardly. When the evening shadows gathered, And the weary world was calm, At his casement lingered Austin, Singing low his vesper psalm. Said the maiden, one day, " Father I I have heard, on yonder hill Is a chapel for poor pilgrims, Where is healed each mortal ill. JJItntJ ^uStfti. S3 " There the deaf recover hearing, There the lame foot leapeth hght, There the feeble gather vigour, There the blind regain their sight." Hearing this, the old man trembled : " Oh, that sight were given me ! That the glory of creation Once again these eyes might see. " See the yellow sun of summer, And the moon and stars of night, See the ruddy firelight flicker, See again all gladdening light. " See the hawthorn in the hedges, And the daisy at my feet, See the scarlet poppies winking In the waving amber wheat. " See my little crumbling cottage, And the misty smoke upcurl : miixa ^uiStiii. See f/iee, whom I clasp and cling to — ■ Thee, my own dear little girl ! " Through the weary night he wakened, Tossing fevered on his bed, Sighing " Oh, were light of heaven On these darkened eyeballs shed I " Forth he sped at early morning ; To that shrine his way to grope Heeding not the toilsome journey, In the eagerness of hope. Lo ! he kneels in Mary's chapel, Weary, wayworn, faint, footsore. With his tremulous arms expanded, Praying on the sacred floor, •* Holy Saviour, only succour ! Ope my eyes that I may see ! Gentle Mary, Virgin Mother ! In compassion pray for me ! " JJIinif Austin. 85 Then — a sudden cry of rapture, ^ And a glad ecstatic thrill — Flowed the light whence long excluded, Seeming all his frame to fill. Now he saw the rustic altar, With its flowers and candles six, And the ruby star which glimmered Wavering above the pyx. Now beheld the little maiden, Kneeling in a golden beam, Tranced in wondering devotion, Like an angel in a dream. Now beheld the throng of pilgrims Gathered in Our Lady's shrine, Now beheld the sun of summer Through the western window shine. Saw a glimmer through the doorway Of a vap'rous azure plain. 86 asitnir ^itiSttn. Saw the swallows in the sunlight, Skimming low before the rain. Saw a bush of flowering elder, And dog-daisies in its shade, Tufted meadow-sweet entangled In the blushing wild-rose braid Saw a distant sheet of water Flashing like a fallen sun ; Saw the winking of the ripples Where the mountain torrents run. Saw the peaceful arch of heaven, With a cloudlet on the blue. Like a white bird winging homeward With its feathers drenched in dew. Then old Austin sought to gather All his thoughts for fervent praise ; But, alas ! their chains are shattered, Every thought in freedom strays. JJUnlf ^ujJtiii. Austin sought his heart to quicken For the solemn act of prayer ; But from earth's absorbing beauties Not a moment can it spare ; And attention is distracted, Straying here and straying there. Cried the shepherd, " O my Saviour !" — With a sudden grief oppressed — " Be Thy will, not mine, accomplished ; Give me what Thou deemest best" Then once more the clouds descended, And the eyes again waxed dark ; All the splendour of the sunlight Faded to a dying spark. But the closbd heart expanded, Like the flower that blooms at night, Whilst, as Philomel, the spirit Chanted to the waning light. 88 mitia QuiSttu. " Shut my eyes," the old man whispered "Close to earth's distracting sight, Till the spirit breaks its fetters, Speeding heavenward its flight. Then to open in the glory Of Thine uncreated light ! " LANCELOT. Swift and dark set in the night, Yet, in the north, a paUid hght, As a glimmering thread of white, Lay, blotted with black trees. Lancelot at the church door stood, Holding with his hands to the wood, Mufifling his features in his hood. Aghast, and with quaking knees. Wherefore aghast, he could not tell. Then rang out the compline bell, But it sounded like a knell In that evening hot and still. 90 Eaufclot. A bat came wheeling by, Dashing out of the dark sky, And diving in presently. Far off on a low hill, Sudden, flashed out a spark ; A dog began to bark ; The light vanished, and all was dark, Save that shimmer in the north. A wild-fowl flight o'erhead, Northward whistling sped. By wondrous instinct led, While Lancelot looked forth. Up leaped a silvery ray. Like the dawning of new day, To the northward far away, And tremulously danced. Then another beam arose. In fitful throbs and throes, Of the colour of the rose, As Lancelot gazed entranced. Eaucclat. 91 A mighty shining bow, Of deep carnation glow, O'er the vault began to grow, And fall to flakes of fire ; Then drop, a glittering rain, Or gathering again In patches of red stain. Waste away, and then expire. Now swept a fog of blight Betwixt Lancelot and the light, Obscuring for awhile all sight In a glowing furnace blast ; — Whereat the shadowy trees Writhed as in agonies, Or shivered, till the breeze And the cloud were past. On Lancelot's ear a tread Sounded, heavy, measured, And Lancelot would have fled, But was paralysed with fear. 92 ILancrlDt. Like a memory, deemed slain, Of past guilt, which throbs again In pulses of dull pain, Came the tread upon his ear. Now, stalking past the door, Lancelot a figure saw He had never seen before, Like a vision of the dead. And as it nearer drew. He marked the yellow hue Of the face, and locks which blew Tangled around the head. In a flapping orange vest It strode. — It was the Pest. It smote Lancelot on the breast, And Lancelot's spirit fled. THE SWALLOWS OF CITEAUX. (6) [CiESARius Heisterbachensis, lib. X. c. 58.] Under eaves, against the towers, All the spring, their muddy bowers Swallows build about Citeaux. Round the chapter house and hall, From the dawn to evenfall, They are fluttering to and fro On their never-flagging wing. With the psalms the brethren sing Blends their loud incessant cry j In and out the plastered nest, Never taking thought of rest, Chattering these swallows fly. 94 Cljf ^JBanalu^ at Cttcauj:. They distract the monk who reads, Him as well who tells his beads, Him who writes his chronicle : In the cloister old and grey They are jubilant and gay, In the very church as well. On the dormitory beds, In refectory o'er the heads — At the windows rich with paint, Ever dashing, — in and out With the maddest noisiest rout, As would surely vex a saint. To the abbot then complain Pious monks : — " Shall these remain To disturb us at our prayers ? Bid us nests and eggs destroy, Then the birds will not annoy Any more our deafened ears.'' Zlft ^ianUaia^ at Cttcaujr. 95 Quoth the abbot, smiling — " Say, Have not we, too, homes of clay Quite as fragile, not more fair ? Brothers, and shall we resolve Their tabernacles to dissolve, Asking God our own to spare ? " Not another word of blame, As they turned away in shame. So the little birds had peace, And the parapets among, Built and laid, and hatched their young, Making wonderful increase. When declined the autumn sun, When the yellow harvest done, Sat the swallows in a row On the ridging of the roof. Patiently, as in behoof Of a licence ere they'd go. 96 tmi^t ^tDallotDiS 0f €iUmx. Forth from out the western door Came the abbot ; him before Went a brother with his crool:, And a boy a bell who rung And a silver censer swung, Whilst another bore the book. Then the abbot raised his hand, Looking to the swallow band. Saying, " Ite missa est ! Christian birds, depart in peace, As your cares of summer cease, Swallows, enter on your rest. *' Now the winter snow must fall, Wrapping earth as with a pall. And the stormy winds arise ; Go to distant lands where glow Deathless suns, where falls not snow From the ever azure skies. CIjc ^toallatDif of ^itsmy. 97 " Go ! dear heralds of the road, To the dim unknown abode In the verdant Blessed Isles, Whither we shall speed some day, Leaving crumbling homes of clay For the land where summer smiles : " Co in peace ! your hours have run ; Go, the day of work is done ; Go in peace, my sons ! " he said. Then the swallows spread the wing, Making all the welkin ring With their cry, and southward sped. ■0^&^'^/ POOR ROBIN. (7) [Meffret, Hortulus Rei^inte. Norimb. 1847.] Robin the cobbler, blithe and gay, Fiddled at night time, cobbled at day ; Busily worked till the curfew rang, Then caught up his bow, and fiddled and sang Robin lived under a marble stair That led to a terrace broad and fair Adorned with exotics bright and rare. Where, every evening, taking the air, A nobleman walked with brow depressed, And within his bosom a sea of unrest ; Trembling now at the frown of the king, Lest titles and honours should spread their wing ; ^00r Enfitn. 99 Now at the fate of a suit in court, Then at some insult to be out-fought ; But oh ! for the cares unieckoned that rolled From that plentiful source, — the lust of gold. The nobleman watched the declining sun, Day with its business and cares was done ; And now, for the vigorous sons of toil, To the wearied spirits came glad recoil. But for such as the nobleman came no rest, As the sun went down in the scarlet west ; For rest is none from ambition's strain, None for the heart where pride holds reign. None for the breast filled with greed of gain. Then sudden he heard the tremulous string Robin's sweet carol accompanying ; Unreckoned the hours that glided by, As Robin sat twittering cheerily, With t^e moon going up in the darkling sky " Now this is strange," the nobleman said, " That a poor man labouring for his bread. 100 Poor 3ao5in. With a crust to eat, and a straw-strewn bed, Should be so jubilant, free from sorrow, Without a care or thought of the morrow. The secret of having light heart if found. Cheap would I count at a thousand pound." When Robin was out at a job one day, The nobleman hid a gold bag in the hay Of the cobbler's pillow, and hastened away. That night, as its wont, the curfew rang. But Robin the cobbler nor fiddled nor sang, For in turning his pillow his glad eyes fell On the purse with a wonder unspeakable. Now silent and musing he sat till late, His heart oppressed with a leaden weight. His mind revolving where to conceal The treasure, where none might find and steal Cautiously locking and bolting the door, He buried the purse underneath the floor. Then over it strewed his litter of straw. |9oor Mnliiit. 101 I ittle he slept, -waking often in fear, Imagining burglars drawing near, Slumbers unbroken seemed fled for e'er. Night after night the nobleman strode The terrace above poor Robin's abode ; But hushed was the voice of the cobbler now, And laid aside were the fiddle and bow. Then the nobleman stood before Robin's stall, And said, " By accident I let fall A purse of gold, through a chink in the wall, Into thy cell, to thy straw it rolled ; Now have I come to reclaim my gold." Then the poor cobbler upraised the board, Extracted the purse and the prize restored. And scarce had the nobleman turned away, Ere he heard the fiddler begin to play, And he had not reached his terrace again Ere the voice was chirping a jocund strain. THE OLIVE TREE. Said an ancient hermit, bending Half in prayer upon his knee, " Oil I need for midnight watching, I desire an olive tree." Then he took a tender sapling, Planted it before his cave, Spread his trembling hands above it, As his benison he gave. But he thought, The rain it needeth. That the root may drink and swell ; " God ! I pray Thee send Thy showers ! " So a gentle shower fell. Oje &Ube rirr. 103 " Lord ! I ask for beams of summer, Cherishing this little child." Then the dripping clouds divided, And the sun looked down and smiled. " Send it frost to brace its tissues, O my God ! " the hermit cried. Then the plant was bright and hoary, But at evensong it died. Went the hermit to a brother Sitting in his rocky cell : " Thou an olive tree possessest ; How is this, my brother, tell ? " I have planted one, and prayed, Now for sunshine, now for rain ; God hath granted each petition. Yet my olive tree hath slain ! " Said the other, " I entrusted To its God my little tree ; 104 Srijc ' " Father John, I'll warrant, Lapped in slumber lies ; Twice has failed already : Wherefore should I rise ? " Yet from bed he started, And the Church bell rung, Oped the Psalms of David, And the office sung. All that while, in vision Lay the Priest : a door Oped. He saw the Saviour By the Heavenly Store, Whence He had extracted That he now did hold In His hand, — three jewelled, Burnished crowns of gold. (!rf)e Cljrcf CrotonS. " These for me, my Master !" Cried the Priest with joy. " No, my son ! " He answered ; " For the serving boy 149 " Thrice has he been tribd, Thrice has he prevailed ; Crowns become the victor, Suit not him who failed." THE RABBFS SON-IN-LAW. [Gittin, 56. Kefkiibotk, S^. Nedarim, 49.] THE WEDDING OF AKIBA. Stood a damsel very early, In the sea-breeze thin and raw, By her father's barn, a-plucking From her lover's locks the straw. She was daughter of a Rabbi, Calba Shebna, far and wide Known for wealth and lavish splendour, Noted for his boundless pride. CI)t aiailji'^ ^oit'tii'Ilab). 151 From her lattice often looking, She had watched her father's hind On a wild-thyme slope reclining, As his nimble fingers twined With the asphodel, the lily, Whilst the sheep about him lay Dozing in the glowing splendour Of the cloudless summer day ; Or, beneath a fig tree halting, Leaning on his shepherd's staff, Where the pleasant water bubbled, That his thirsty flock might quaff. When beside her window sitting, Through the rattle of her loom, Flowed a lay of limpid gladness, Wafted lightly through the room, Telling how the shepherd Jacob Tended Laban's herds so long 152 €l)t Maiifii'^ ^an--tn'?latD. For the love he bore to Rachel ; As she listened to the song, Were her cheeks as damask roses, And her eyelids dripped with tears, At the thought of Jacob's waiting Through those weary fourteen years. Once it fell at happy springtime. When the mowers mowed the grass, And the tossing hay made fragrant Every zephyr that did pass — That she went into the meadow ; Akiba, the hind, was there Blithely singing, with a sunbeam Tangled in his amber hair — • That she offered him a beaker Brimming o'er with Helbon wine ; In it lay the sun reflected With a ruby-crimson shine. 5rt)E Eaftfii'S ^aW'-Ui'lLaio. 153 As the shepherd came towards her Were his cheeks with labour flushed, Were his eyes as mountain tarnlets Whence a stream of rapture gushed. Manthng face and neck and bosom, Scarlet to her forehead rushed. Trembled all the ruddy liquor When the flowing cup she set In his fingers stretched towards it ; Then their hands and glances met. Calba Shebna saw tliem standing, And he read the looks that burned In their faces ; and with fury Sudden on his daughter turned, And he spot at her witli loathing, And with frenzy at her spurned. Then he cast her from his household, And he cast her from her home, 154 Wifc EabSi'iS ^onniX'lLniJi. And he bid her, with her shepherd, In her degradation roam. And he sentenced her for ever From his presence to depart, For he plucked her from his memory, And erased her from his heart. Spoke the shepherd very calmly, "Then I call on the Most High God of Abrnm, Isaac, Jacob ! He will stand the orphan by ; " And before His sacred Presence Take I this sweet dove of thine. Be thou witness, haughty Rabbi — And I make her wife of mine. ' For of thought or word unlawful Have I kept my conscience clear : It is thou, in thy blind passion, Who bestow'st her on me here. JJTbe la.abbi')^ ^an»{ii--?tatD. 155 Child of thine she is. Her portion "I demand of thee. At least Do thou deck the wedding chamber, And prepare the marriage feast." Cried the father, raging madly, " As her portion take my scorn ; For thy chamber, yonder outhouse ; For thy feast, the husks of corn ! " 156 5ri)c iUbfii'S ^0it=(n'Ento. 11. THE MORROW OF THE WEDDING. As the morning star was waning, By the fold where couched the flocks, By the hght, its power gaining, Ruth unravelled Straw flakes from the shepherd's locks. On the meadows rime was lying, In the valley, white and dead; High a wakeful lark was flying ; Dew was dripping From the thatching of the shed. Peaks of Lebanon, outleaning. Caught the sun and were aglow, Like a rank of seraphs meaning, At a signal. To unfurl their plumes of snow. CijE MaiBi'iS ^aii»tii--il