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 ::^1nimt<iutsf.
Down the mountain sped the Bishop j
On before his ass did go,
Laden with a pair of panniers
Brimming o'er with Alpine snow.
Came S. James before the monarch,
Bowed, and did him homage meet,
Oped his panniers, poured his offering
Down before the royal feet.
Started Gondecar in fury,
Overset his regal chair :
*' Vassals ! traitors ! ho I this snow-drift,
Sweep it from the purple stair."
Calmly spake the gentle prelate,
Seeing with prophetic eyes,
** That which thou, O king despisest,
Snow that on the mountain lies,
" Shall be deemed a dearest treasure
In the ages yet unfurled,
C|>P 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 <Blibt Ertt.
He who made knew what it needed
Better than a man like me.
" Laid I on Him no condition,
Fixed no ways and means ; so 1
Wonder not my oUve thriveth,
Whilst thy olive tree did die."
BISHOP BEN NO AND THE FROGS.
At the closing of the day
Bishop Benno took his way,
With his book beneath his arm,
Through the meadows for a stroll,
The disturbance of his soul
To reduce again to calm.
Walking by a marish bank,
Where the yellow iris lank
Shot its bluish, bending sheath,
Whilst upon the surface light
Floated chalices of white.
Anchored to the slime beneath ;
106 Sji^^Ojp 33runo antf tijc dfrog^.
Where about the margin grew
Clusters of celestial blue,
And the bog-bean speckled pink,
And the mare-tails with their spines
Stood and shook in shadowy lines
Wavering along the brink.
Clearly from the minster tower
Tolling at the twilight hour.
Salutation spoke the bell.*
Then the Bishop slowly took.
And unclasped his Office book,
To recite a Canticle.
Walking in the meadow grass,
By the water still as glass,
He could lift his voice and pray ;
Reading in his Breviary,
Repeating Benedicite
As he wended on his way.
* The Angelus rings at noon and sunset.
23tiSI)op ajrnno anlf tl^c dTrng^. 107
Perched on broken bulrush shaft,
Crouched on lily's leafy raft,
Sitting in a row on logs,
Squatted on each muddy ledge.
Sentinelled along the edge
Of the water, were the frogs ;
With their voices very shrill,
In a loud prolonging thrill.
Half a chirrup, half a cry ;
Every little gullet shakes.
As its clamour from it breaks.
Deafening the passer-by.
Bishop Benno halting, stood,
Looking at them in a mood
Discontented ; he could find,
Saying the Three Children's Song,
As he paced the bank along,
No tranquillity of mind.
108 aJtjSIjojj 33cnn0 anlr tl^c dTiufljS.
" O ye frogs ! when Bishops praise
God, ye should amend your ways,
And be quiet for a while."
Thus he spake, and at the word
They were silent, naught was heard.
He continued, with a smile :
" All ye green things on the earth.
Bless the Lord who gave you birth.
And for ever magnify.
All ye fountains that are poured
From your sources, praise the Lord,
And for ever magnify.
" All ye seas and floods that roll,
Praise the Lord, from pole to pole,
And for ever magnify.
All ye teeming things that dwell
In the waters praise as well,
And for ever magnify.
3iJt)S!jop Ucmi0 anif tljc dTrog^. 109
Sudden Benno stopped. A flame
Started to his brow, in shame,
As he did within debate.
" What ! doth the Creator love
Praises from the things that move,
And from things inanimate?
" Fie upon me ! Am T sure
My intent is half as pure,
Praises as acceptable,
As the strain, though loud and harsh.
Of these dwellers in the marsh ?
What am I, that I can tell ? "
Turning to the swamp, he cried :
" Sitters by the water-side,
Do not ye your hymns forego.
I release you from the ban.
Praise the God of Frog and Man —
Cantate fratres Domino."
THE UNIVERSAL MOTHER.
[Pirke Rabbi Elieser, \\.\
When by the hand of God man was created,
He took the dust of earth from every quarter —
From east to west, and from the north and south —
That wheresoever man might wander forth.
He should be still at home ; and, when a-dying,
On some far distant western shore, and seeking
A shelter in the bosom of the Mother,
The earth might not refuse to clasp him, saying,
" My offspring art thou not, O roving Eastern."
Wherever now the foot of Man shall bear him,
Wherever by the final call o'ertaken,
He is no stranger reckoned, nor an outcast,
But hears exclaim the Universal Mother,
" Come, child of mine, and slumber in my bosom."
THE LOAN.
[Midrash Jalkut, iii. p. 165.]
The Rabbi Meir,
A black cap on his white hair,
And him before
A volume of Talmudic lore,
Sat in the school and taught.
Many a wingbd thought
Flew from his lips and brought
Fire and enlightenment
Unto the scholars bent
Dihgently at their writing.
And all the while he was inditing,
His soul was near to God
Above the dull earth that he trod.
112 C^b^ JLoan.
And as the lark doth sing
High up and quivering
In the blue, on heavenward wing,
But ever its breast
Keepeth above its nest,
And singing it doth not roam
Beyond hearing of its home,
So the Rabbi, however high he soared
In his teaching, or praying, sung
Close to the ear of his Lord,
Yet ever above his home, his wife and young.
Slowly there stole the gloom
Of evening into the room.
Then he arose and shut the book,
And casting about a look,
Said, with a wave
Of the hand : " God gave
The light, and hath taken away.
With the Lord begun,
With the Lord run,
Ci)C Eoan. 113
With the Lord done,
Is the day."
Then his way
Homeward cheerily he took.
In the httle house, sedate,
For her husband did await
Beruriah. And for her lord
She had laid the supper on the board
And a lamp was lighted up,
By the which he might sup.
He kissed her upon the brow,
And spake to her gently : " How
Are the lads to-day ?
Tell me, Beruriah, pray."
There glittered on her cheek
Two jewels, ere she could speak
And answer, "They are well.
Sit you and eat your supper, whilst I tell
What to me befell ;
And assure me in what way
H
114 ULift ILoan.
You think it had been best
That I had acted." Thus addressed,
He sat him at his meal,
And began to eat : " Reveal
Thy case," he said. *' Yet tell me, I pray,
First — where are my boys to-day ? "
Then suddenly she said.
With an averted head :
" Many years are flown
Since one a very precious loan
Entrusted to my care, until he came
That treasure to reclaim,"
The Rabbi spoke : " Of old
Tobit confided his gold
To Raguel
At Ecbatane. Well,
What further ? — But say,
Where are my lads, I pray ? ""
*' For many years that store
I jealously watched o'er.
Cftc Jloan. 115
Do you think, my lord, that loan
In fourteen years would become my own ! "
Then with a glance of blame,
He answered, as he shook his head : " For shame,
Wife of my bosom 1 It were not thine
Should forty years upon thee shine,
And the owner not return
To demand it. Beruriah, learn
Not to covet."
Then he paused, and said,
Moving the lamp : " Thine eyes are red,
Beruriah : wherefore ? "
But she broke
In on his question, and thus spoke :
" To-day there came
To the door the same
One who had lent the treasure,
And he said, ' It is my pleasure
To have the loan restor'd.' .'
What do you think, my lord ?
Should I have withheld it, Meir?"
116 Cte 3L0an.
At his wife with astonished stare
Looked the Rabbi. " O my wife !
Light of my eyes, and glory of my hfe !
Why ask this question ? "
Then he said,
As his eyes wandered towards the bed :
" Why is the sheet,
Usually smooth and neat,
Lifted into many a fold and pleat ? "
But she asked : "Should I repine
At surrendering what was not mine
To him who claimed it ? "
" It was a trust,
Wife of my bosom ! What dost thou ask ? — Repine
What ! dost thou lust
To keep what is not thine ?"
And once again :
" Where are my boys ? "
She took him by the hand,
Whilst o'er her features ran a thrill of pain,
And brought him to the bed, and bid him stand
Cf)c 3to<in. 117
There, as she touched the sheet, and said :
"The Lord who gave hath taken. Tlicy are dead."
Softly she raised
The sheet ; and with awe
The Rabbi his children saw
In the soft twilight
Lying silent, and still and white;
And he said, " Praised
Be the Name of the Lord.
My wife and I are content
That the goodly loan to us lent
Should be restored."
DOCTOR FAUSTUS.
Great Doctor Faustus to the Fiend had sold
His soul and body for large store of gold.
And now, a wonderment and longing came
To see the place in everlasting flame
That he should occupy, when was unfurled
Upon his gaze the doleful unseen world,
Where he must linger out, without repeal.
An endless waste of being, 'neath the seal
Of righteous doom.
A mi^^hty spell he wrought.
And to his side the evil angel brought,
And then commanded him : " I bid thee bear
Me on thy pinions through the murky air.
JBr. iTati^tuiS. 119
Unto the region whither thou art cast,
And show me where, when this brief life is past,
I shall be tortured."
Then said Satan : " Seat
Thyself upon my back, and let thy feet
Depend on either side. Be not afraid,
Thy time is not yet come."
Faustus obeyed.
The Evil One upsprang from earth, and flew
Whither I know not ; but there fell a shade
That gradually blotted out the blue
Of heaven, and all grew ghastly, blear, and dark ;
The sun diminished to a flickering spark.
And then expired in smoke, and there was none
Of light remained, when they had lost the sun.
A long while traversed they the awful gloom.
That stagnant lay, in which did nothing loom
Upon the Doctor's eyes, nor sound whate'er
Vibrations make upon the turgid air.
Except the stridings of the angel's wing,
And mutter of the air's low quiverings.
120 mv. dTatts'tujS.
Incontinent, the Doctor Faustus broke
The silence, with a sudden word that woke
No answering echo, had no ring, but fell
Apart in joints at every syllable,
And dropped into oblivion in their wake ;
Nor did the evil angel answer make.
Then, for a second, with a batlike shriek
Of parted air, and slowly labouring creak
Of beating pinions, in the dark went by
A spirit from the abyss, to mortal eye
Unseen.
How long the time in passing through
The murky darkness, Faustus never knew ;
For, in that gloom, there was no change to tell
Of time that pass'd — but unendurable
Whether a second or a century.
For there eternity had ceased to be
Articulate. Upon the Doctor's breast
The darkness weighed, and with the weight oppress'd
The horror of that life divested air
Seemed to be utter palpable despair.
JBr. dfaiifituS. 121
At once the veil was riven oveihead,
And through the abyss a beam of hght was shed,
That travelled down, a solid silver flake
That on no object fell, or lit to break,
Save Faustus, who looked up with eager start,
And saw above the blackened heavens part,
And for one instant, only one, disclose
The Paradise where happy souls repose —
Sudden saw the Heavenly City
Built of bright and burnished gold,
Lying in transcendent beauty.
Stored with treasures all untold.
In the midst of that fair city
Christ was throned upon His seat,
Whilst the angels swung their censers
In a ring about His feet.
From that throne a river issued.
Clear as crystal, passing bright.
122 I3r. iPaujgtUiS.
Traversing the Holy City
Like a sudden beam of light.
Where it watered leafy Eden,
Rolling over silver sands,
Sat the angels softly chiming
On the harps between their hands.
There he saw the meadows dewy,
Spread with lilies wondrous fair ;
Thousand, thousand were the colours
Of the waving flowers there.
There were forests ever blooming
As our orchards here in May;
There were gardens never fading,
Which eternally are gay.
There he saw the red carnation,
Rose and honeysuckle twine,
There along the river edges
Saw the golden jonquil shine ;
S3r. JFaustuiS. 123
There the water-lilies lying,
Open on the sea of glass,
There the yellow crocus glimmer
Like a flame amidst the grass.
Caught a fragment of the music,
Loud as thunder, of the song
Of the Seraph, and the Elder,
And the great redeemed throng.
Again on earth as Doctor Faustus stood.
With wrinkled brow, in an abstracted mood,
To him came Wagner, eager, and on fire
With questions many, curious to enquire
What had been seen below. " Master," he said,
" Describe to me, 1 pray, the sort of bed
On which thou wilt be stretched when life is o'er ;
What place in Hell is there for thee in store ? "
Then Faustus answered, thickly speaking : " Oh !
I cannot tell my friend ; I do not know.
124 mi: iFau^tu^.
I may have seen it, but I little wot,
Whether I did behold the place or not."
Then, as his bosom with convulsion tossed,
He said : " Remembered only what is lost ;
Seen for one second the celestial shore,
Wagner ' I can remember nothing more —
That I recall; all else is quite forgot."
THE WIFE'S TREASURE.
[Midrash Jalkut, cap. 17.]
At Sidon lived a husband with his wife
For ten long years leading a tranquil life
With but a single grief — they had no child
And, to his barren lot unreconciled,
The man upon it brooded. Then he bent
His steps to Rabbi Simeon, with intent
To be divorced ; and to the woman's tears
He steeled his heart, and said : "Ten happy years
In peacefulness with thee, true heart, I spent :
Stanch wast thou ever, not a word to smart
Escaped thy lips. And now, before we part,
I will accord the treasure thou dost find
126 Cbe maws rrtaiSurc.
In thy old home best suited to thy mind.
Take it ; whate'er it be, it shall be thine,
To solace thee when thou no more art mme/'
Then said the Rabbi Simeon : " O ye pair !
Before ye separate, a feast prepare,
And pledge each other in the ruddy wine ;
Then the feast ended, woman, unto thine
Own father's house do thou repair."
That very night the supper board was spread,
According to the law ; one seated at the head,
The other at the bottom. To the brim
The woman filled the bowl and passed it him.
And then he pledged her, and she filled again.
And he the goblet to his wife did drain
Once more, with many wishes good and fair.
But she the generous liquor did not spare,
Until he fell into a drunken sleep,
With head upon the table, heavy and deep ;
And thus concluded the farewell carouse.
So then, she took him up with gentle care
Upon her shoulders, and her husband bare,
Crijc EZaifc'iS Crraiu«. 127
Nodding and drowsing, to her father's house,
And laid him on the bed.
At peep of day
He started up and said : '* Woman ! I pray,
Tell me where am I ? "
She to him replied :
"You promised me that nought should be denied
To me of what I valued. I could find,
In all thy house, thee only to my mind.
And I have borne thee hither ; now I trow
That thou art mine ; I will not let thee go.
When I was thine, thou wouldst be quit of me ;
Now thou art mine, and I will treasure thee 1 "
THE ARMS OF MAYENCE.
All the bells of Mainz were rung,
A Processional was sung
By the clergy in the street,
Going to invest in pall *
Their Archbishop, and install.
In the great cathedral seat.
There was gathered dense a throng
All the narrow way along,
Full of happy wonderment
As the acolytes upthrew
Fragrant wreaths of misty blue,
And the banners past them went.
'' The pail of white wool is the badge of an Archbishop
Elt ^rmS of ^aynicr. 129
Willigis the wheelwright's son,
Chosen for the vacant throne,
In episcopal array,
Followed 'neath an awning spread,
Borne by deacons, o'er his head,
And with flaunting feathers gay.
Whilst proceeding, he could trace
Mockery on every face
That was turned to Willigis,
And there fell upon his ear
Many a cruel jibe and jeer,
And occasionally a hiss.
Then a laugh among the crowa.
Low at first, but waxing loud.
Slightly turning on his heels,
He beheld, on hands and feet.
Urchins running down the street,
Nimbly, as revolving wheels.
130 Cl^e ^rmS of M^s^nct.
All the way on either side
Bishop Willigis descried,
On each shoring, plank and balk,
To the people's great delight,
By some jester, — cartwheels white
Rudely drawn in common chalk.
• Though they watch him, none discern
Colour in his cheek to burn,
Or a sparkle in his eye.
With his hands upon his breast,
And his humble head depress'd.
Calmly Willigis went by.
As he pondered in his stall
At the minster, on the wall
He perceived, upon a crank,
Hung a shield, whereon should be
The Archbishop's blazonry.
But the surface was left blank.
(irije SrmjS of ^ajjcntr. 131
Then a painter in the aisle
Beck'ning to him with a smile,
Bending low, he whisperM :
"If a Bishop arms have none,
May he then select his own ? "
"Yes, he may," was answered.
" Fetch thy brush and paint, my son I
When the installation done.
Decorate for me that shield ;
That I ever bear in sight
My achievement — Cartwheel white
Figured on a ruby field.
" Paint it over porch and door
Where my predecessor bore
Haughty blazon. That among
Those I meet of noble birth —
Princes, mighty of the earth — •
I forget not whence I sprung ! "
132 Cfte ^tmi at ^awtnce.
r
If you visit aged Mayence,
Then, I pray you, give a glance
At the blazon that it bears.
You will find that it has borne
The White Cartwheel it did scorn,
Proudly for eight hundred years.
You will read in ancient book
How the grateful city took
For its badge the wheelwright's sign,
In thanksgiving for his reign —
One of love, and peace, and gain —
Brightest of the sacred line.
THE MASS FOR THE DEAD,
A LEGEND OF MESSINA.
All day unflagging in his stall
Sat Hildebrand the priest, and heard
Confessions made, and over all
He uttered the absolving word.
But as the light of garish day
Passed with the setting sun away,
A heaviness and languor stole
All unperceived upon his soul.
Full oft at the confided sin
The tender-hearted priest had wept ;
Now wearied, as the dusk set in,
He leaned him back and slept.
134 C^c jBa^^ for t!)t Scalr.
Nor woke he to the vesper bell,
Nor heard the organ's solemn swell,
And only turned upon his seat
At tramp of the retreating feet.
Heard not the verger's closing call,
Nor chiming of the transept clock,
Heard not the doors together fall,
Nor noisy key turn'd in the lock.
And as the night hours glided by,
And Charles's Wain wheeled in the sky,
Priest Hildebrand slept heavily.
Now first a spark, and then a flame,
Like an uplighted beacon, came ;
And next a streak of silver light
That smote along the vaulted height.
As above the eastern deep
Slow the moon's white horn did peep.
Sudden pealed the watchman's blast
When the noon of night Avas past,
^t Muss far tijg mcKts. 135
And the echoes clung awhile
To the ribbing of the aisle.
Still did the slunib'ring pastor rest
With grey head nodding on his breast.
And thus the night hours glided by,
As Charles's Wain wheeled in the sky,
And Hildebrand slept heavily.
The presses and misereres of oak
Warped and snapped ; each noisy stroke
Of the minster clock, though clear,
Unheeded fell upon the ear.
A sea-breeze rose, and idly strayed
Over the window glass, and played
Faint pipings where it found a rent.
Or sung about the battlement.
A click — a rush of whirring wheels
The hammer of the old clock reels,
And strikes one stroke upon the gong
With long-drawn after undersong.
136 ri)r iBK^S for tlft JSraU.
Then, suddenly, the sleep-bands broke,
And Hildebrand the priest awoke,
And conscious instantly, he gave
One stride, and found him in the nave.
Then started, with a sense of awe,
As he the whole interior saw
With light illum'd, but wan and faint,
By which each shrine and sculptured saint,
Each marble shaft and fretted niche.
The moulded arch, the tracery rich,
The brazen eagle in the choir,
The bishop's throne with gilded spire,
Stood out as clear as on a day
When clouds obscure the solar ray.
The altar tapers were alight,
Chalice and paten glimmered bright.
The service book was opened wide.
Wafers and cruets were at one side,
And, on the rail, in meet array,
Alb, amice, stole and vestment lay.
And one knelt on the altar stair
HLffC MnS^ for tbc Benis. 137
As server, hushed, immersed in prayer
In convent garb, and with feet bare.
Now with a shrinking and surprise,
And scarcely crediting his eyes,
The priest discerned the whitened bone
Of feet, where skin and flesh were none.
With quivering knees, and throbbing blood,
And chattering teeth, the roused man stood ;
Whilst each vibration of the clock
Beat on his pulse with liveliest shock.
Up rose the monk — and his bones ground
As he arose — and turned him round,
And spread abroad his wasted hands.
As doth the celebrant who stands,
And makes the dread adored sign,
To close the mysteries divine.
Sudden a voice the silence broke.
With words articulate, and spoke
138 €\)t M^^S far i^e meats.
From underneath the drooping cowl.
As clear as ring of sanctus bell,
Hildebrand heard a syllable :
" Who mass will offer for my soul ? "
"I will !" cried Hildebrand, and strode
Towards the altar of his God.
And so that night it came to pass
A priest intoned the holy mass,
In that cathedral, for one dead,
Whose soul unshriven suffered ;
And all the while he prayed, he felt
That a dead man behind him knelt.
But on the face he dared not look
On him who served the holy book,
The cruets, and the sacred bread,
With serge cowl covering his head.
Now, when his office was complete,
He marked the monk upon his knees,
^Vllo muttered, as winds sound in trees,
C6e M^i^ for tbc Bean. 139
And, with dead hands, held fast his feet,
Who said :
** What years of bitter pain
My soul in Purgatory hath lain,
And panted for release in vain !
Beneath yon slab my body lies,
No loving fingers closed my eyes,
But wrestling in death's agonies,
Alone I breathed my parting sighs.
Yonder was an unguarded well, *
Down which, by fatal chance, I fell ;
And where I was no mortal knew,
For no man thence the water drew ;
And through the town the rumour spread
That from my cloister I had fled.
Thus for my soul no mass was said,
Nor was my body buried.
And, as the well was used no more,
* Several foreign cathedrals have wells within the building. That in Strasburg
has been only lately closed.
140 l^f)t iHaSiS for tbe ©rail.
As time passed, it was covered o'er.
But nightly for two hundred years
Here have I cried aloud with tears,
And none have heard my wail till now,
Or answered to my prayer, but thou.
Priest Hildebrand ! God's blessing light
Upon thee for thy deed this night.
I would repay, but power have none —
Save this, that ere thy sands are run,
I will appear again."
And as he spake, a pallid ray,
The harbinger of coming day.
Smote through the eastern pane.
Then first, enabled by God's grace,
The priest looked on the dead man's face.
That turned towards the Crucified
As in a rapture, glorified.
And with great reverence, Hildebrand,
Extending o'er the monk his hand,
Traced upon the ashy brow
€\it j^a^jS for tljc JBc<iir.
141
\nd the uplifted head
The sacred sign which angels know
And devils fear. So, saying " Peace ! "
The monk responded, "With release,"
And vanished.
THE THREE CROWNS.
[Labata, Thesaurus Moralis. Colon. 1632.]
" When the morning breaketh,
Summon me for Prime ;
When the white light waketh,
Boy ! the church-bell chime • "
Said the Priest, and wended,
Weaiy, to his bed ;
Laid upon his pillow
I-ow his heavy head.
Sideways set Orion,
Louting on one knee,
Holding up his cudgel,
Dipping in the sea.
CF)C Cbrec Cro&jnsf. 143
Slowly o'er the pine tops
Wheeled about the Bear ;
All night long the water
Whispered on the weir.
As the eyelid fluttered
Of arousing dawn,
O'er the jagged horizon
Threads of light were drawn,
Peering twixt the fir-boles
Plastered with the snow,
Wan and white, uncoloured,
Eastward, lying low.
Harshly from the tower
Clamoured forth the bell,
Making morning slumbers
Chequered where it fell.
Then the Friar, waking,
Turned upon his side :
144 Cbe STbrre CrotoniS.
" Keenly cold is biting,"
Muttered he, and sighed.
" There is scarce a glimmer
Through the frosted pane ;
Church is like a cellar ;
I will sleep again."
Stood the little server,
In the morning raw.
Noting robin redbreasts
Hopping in the straw.
" Had I but a riddle,
Stick, and crumbs of bread,
I could catch these robins ! "
Eagerly he said.
But with sudden impulse
Turned and sought the choir.
Touched the altar tapers
With a flake of fire ;
€\)C Whvee CrotonS. 145
Opened wide a Psalter,
And, in church alone,
Sang the Psalms of David
To their ancient tone.
Once again Orion
With a halting knee,
Brandishing his cudgel,
Dived into the sea ;
And above the fir-tops
Wheeled again the Bear ;
Whilst the water firetted
Hoarsely o'er the weir.
Once again the jangle
Of the bell for Prime
Told, at dusk of morning,
Of awaking time ;
By the mindful server.
Rung as he was bid ;
146 imi)^ CF)rf0 CrotonS.
Once again the Friar
Raised his heavy Hd :
" How the wind is wailing
On the window pane !
Sweet are second slumbers,
I must sleep again."
But the little server,
Looking forth, descried
Pools of water frozen,
Offering a slide.
For a winter morning
Better no device
Than, with tingling pulses,
WhirUng o'er the ice.
But, abruptly turning.
Hied he to the choir,
Touched the altar tapers
With a flake of fire ;
Cf)E Ctrrc Croion^. 147
Oped the great Church Psalter
Standing up on toe,
Sang the Psalms of David
Solemnly and slow.
Once again Orion
Seaward with his flail
Set, and Ursa Major
Circled round her tail.
But the tempest raging
Plid the stars from sight,
And the falling snow-flakes
Blotted out the light.
At the time for stirrmg
Woke the little lad.
Cuddled in his blankets,
Shuddering and sad.
" Must I on this morning
Leave my bed so warm,
148 ULiit Elivte €vaiong.
To struggle in the churchyard
Throu"h the snow and storm ?
^fc>'
" 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<ttD. 157
So the damsel plucked, restraining
With an effort from her eyes
Bitter showers of grief from raining,
And repressing,
Resolutely, swelling sighs.
Akiba his bride so peerless
Folded to his breast, and said,
" Hast thou courage ? art thou fearless ? "
Softly stroking
With his hand her raven head.
"Thou hast one without a penny,
One without a single friend,
One with kindred poor, if any
Unto such one.
Canst thou still thy love extend ?
" When I see the tear-drops oozing,
Do I count it as a sign
That the husband of thy choosing
Cannot please thee,
But for home thou wilt repine ? "
158 €:i)c Eafilji'^ ^DU-iU'lLatD.
Then her arms so white and slender
Weaved she quickly round his throat,
Lifting glances fervent, tender,
On his lips
She with hers the answer wrote.
Hung she thus with plaited finger.
And the tears began to roll :
" Let me on thy bosom linger,
Fondly breathing
Into thee my burning soul.
" Husband, here Ld rest for ever,
In a sweet untroubled calm ;
Naught from thee thy Ruth should sever,
Gathered closely
In thy firm protecting arm.
" Every kiss should add fresh fuel
To a blazing core of fire ;
But such love to thee were cruel ;
I were selfish
Yielding to my hot desire.
Cljc iiaifii'^ ^aii'in--EatD. 159
" Fare then forth, I bid thee, dearest,
And acquire thyself a name :
She enjoins, — to thee thy nearest ;
Till, and sowing,
Thou shalt reap a crop of fame.
" From the arms of her thou prizest,
Go to distant schools, and learn
What is taught, the best, the wisest:
That acquired,
Then to this true heart return.
" Husband ! if I loved thee little,
I would bid thee near me stay ;
But self-seeking love is brittle,
So I urge thee,
I adjure thee, fare away."
Then her necklaces untwining,
And the bracelets from her arm
Plucked she off, and diamonds shining
From her fingers,
Laid she in the shepherd's palm.
160 HCbt Eabfti'^ ^amiit'Ea'a).
" Think, when resolution flaggeth,
When exhausted fails thy mind,
Think, when thy ambition laggeth,
Of the dear one
Who for thee remains behmd.
" Think, when whitely morning shimmers,
That her prayers for thee arise ;
Think, when evening twilight glimmers,
Turned to Zion,
She for thee entreats the skies.
•• Once again, heart's dearest, kiss me,
Clasp me to thy loyal heart,
I shall need thee, thou wilt miss me ;
We are one
Ever, though long leagues apart."
Cbc llablii'iS aaii--tn--llito. ici
III.
THE RETURN.
Fourteen suns their course have sped
Spinning for her daily bread,
Still an exile from her home,
Struggled Ruth with want to cope,
Waiting God's own time, in hope.
But the shepherd did not come.
At her window, with her rock,
She is sitting ; tufts of stock,
In a pitcher, scent the air.
As the sun upon her shines,
Mark the many silver lines
Traced among the raven hair.
On this day a Rabbi great
Seeks the city in high state,
With the pupils by him led
162 CIjc aaa66t*^ J;an--tn-M.aiu.
There are gathered in the street
Citizens their guest to greet,
Calba Shebna at their head.
Ruth but little heeds the throng,
Murmuring a plaintive song.
As the spindle briskly twirls.
She is dreaming of a lad
With a shepherd's crook, who had
Eyes of blue and amber curls.
But there burst from her a sigh,
Starts the torrent to her eye.
As her haughty father nears ;
Falls the spindle, and the line
Of the flax that she doth twine
Twinkles with her threaded tears.
With a glance of hard disdain,
Cutting her with cruel pain,
At his daughter Calba stares.
(njr ilabfit'^ *an--tii--Eatu. 163
O'er her work she bows her face,
Praying God would of His grace
Soothe the anguish that she bears.
When she hfts her head, a shout
From the eager mob without
Tells her he of high renown
Is approaching in the street.
Sounds the tramping of the feet
As he passes through the town.
Slowly, midst a concourse great
Of disciples who did wait
On the lessons that he taught,
Passed the Rabbi, tall and fair,
With blue eyes and amber hair,
And a forehead full of thought.
Calba Shebna, his white head
Bending, with his hands outspread,
Touching with his brow the ground,
16 i etc 3aa6Bi'^ ^0u--in--!LatD.
Said, " Oh ! highest in repute,
Rabbi ! we in thee salute
Lofty wisdom, lore profound.
" Out of Jamnia * hath report
Tidings of thy learning brought ;
Higher honour for our place
None than this, that thou shouldst deign
Us to visit. Oh, remain.
And our little city grace !
" We our servants, homes, and land.
Rabbi ! place at thy command.
Only here with us abide ! "
" Hold ! disciples rouiul me gather !
Thou hast promised, ancient father,"
Suddenly the stranger cried.
* Jamnia, at the time of the Maccabees, was a large and populous haven. After
the destruction of Jerusalem it became the seat of the Rabbinical Schools.
Wi)e lUhWst ^0ii--in=2..-ili). 165
There was silence through the crowd :
Then he spoke, 'fore all aloud,
" Rabbi, hear me ! wilt thou take
Me as inmate of thy house,
Give thy daughter as my spouse ?
Calba Shebna, answer make ! "
" Oh, how gladly ! " faintly spoke
Calba, as suspicion broke
Dimly on his troubled brain.
" Hear him ! " then the stranger turned
Whither long his henrt had yearned.
Thither now his fingers strain.
" My disciples ! bend your glance
On my wife — in speechless trance,
Leaning at yon open pane.
All I have, and all I know,
I to yonder woman owe,
She gave all, that I might gain.
166 C^c aaaibt'^ ^ou--tn'-!laU).
" Oh, true woman ! holy, pure.
Ready meekly to endure,
In thy sweet, unselfish love ;
God-made woman ! man were vile
But for thee to reconcile
Him to labour ; and to prove
Mainspring of all actions high,
Ready impulse to supply.
And his sluggish nature move.
" God-made woman ! man may roam
Years from thee, — but thou art home,
Whither with the olive leaf
Must his whitest longings wing,
And their purest treasures bring ;
Solace thou to every grief.
" Let me pass ! in very truth
Sighs my spirit after Ruth,
Clear a passage to the door !
€\)C ilnblit'if 5«0n--tix--if,ato.
167
Back, sirs ! we must meet alone,
That true heart is mine, — mine own.
See, her dear eyes trickle o'er.
" Let me pass to wipe those tears.
We have not met for fourteen years.
If in all the mighty store
Of my learning garnered,
Aught is worthless from my head
Shall her fingers pluck the straw."
THE MINER OF FALUN.
[After Trinius.]
In an ancient shaft of Falun,
Year by year a body lay,
God-preserved, as though a treasure,
Kept unto the waking day.
Not the turmoil nor the passions
Of the busy world o'erhead.
Sounds of war, or peace-rejoicings,
Could disturb the placid dead.
Once a youthful miner, whistling
Hew'd that chamber, now his tomb.
Crashed the rocky fragments on him,
Closed him in abysmal gloom.
Srijc Minn at dfalim. IG'J
Sixty years pass'd by, ere miners
Toiling, hundred fathoms deep,
Broke upon the shaft where rested
That poor miner in his sleep.
As the gold-grains lie untarnish'd
In the dingy soil and sand,
Till they gleam and flicker, stainless,
In the digger's sifting hand ;
As the gem in virgin brilliance
Rests, till usher'd into day :
So uninjured, uncorrupted.
Fresh and fair the body lay.
And the miners bore it upward,
Laid it in the yellow sun.
Up, from out the neighbouring houses
Fast the curious peasants run.
Who is he ? with eyes they question ;
Who is he ? they ask aloud ;
170 d^e Miner of JTalun.
Hush ! a wizen'd hag comes hobbhng,
Panting, through the wondering crowd.
Oh ! the cry — half joy, half sorrow —
As she flings her at his side,
"John ! the sweetheart of my girlhood,
Here am I, am I, thy bride.
"Time on thee has left no traces.
Death from wear has shielded thee ;
I am aged, worn, and wasted,
Oh ! what life has brought on me ! "
Then his smooth unfurrowed forehead
Kiss'd that ancient wither'd crone ;
And the death which had divided.
Now united then: in one.
*-®*§
'^'
THE GIFT OF THE KING,
A JEWISH LEGEND.
NiMROD the Cushite sat upon a throne
Of gold, encrusted with the sapphire stone,
And round the monarch stood, in triple rank,
Three hundred ruddy pages, like a bank
Of roses all a-blow.
Two gentle boys, with blue eyes clear as glass,
And locks as light as tufted cotton grass,
And faces as the snow
That lies on Ararat, and flushes pink
On summer evenings, as the sun doth sink,
Were stationed by the royal golden chair
With fillets of carnation in their hair,
And clothed in silken vesture, candid, clean.
To flutter fans of burnished blue and green,
172 myt (Sift at tijc mtng.
Fashioned of peacocks' plume.
A little lower, on a second stage
On either side, was placed a graceful page,
To raise a fragrant fume —
With costly woods and gums on burning coals
That glowed on tripods, in bright silver bowls ;
And at the basement of the marble stair.
Sweet singing choirs and harping minstrels were.
In amber kirtles purple girt and sashed,
The throbbing strings in silver ripples flashed,
Where slaves the choral song
Accompanied with psaltery and lyre,
In red and saffron, like to men of fire,
Whilst hoarsely boomed the gong ;
Or silver cymbals clashed, or waxing shrill.
Danced up the scale a flute's melodious thrill.
Now at the monarch's signal, pages twain.
With sunny hair as ripened autumn grain ;
And robed in lustrous silver tissue, shot
With changing hues of blue forget-me-not,
€l)t <S;ft of tijc Ht'lifl. 173
Start nimbly forth, and bend
Before the monarch, at his gilded stool,
And crystal goblets brimming, sweet and cool,
Obsequiously extend ;
But Nimrod, sliglitly stirring, stately, calm,
Towards the right hand beaker thrusts his arm,
And, languid, raises it towards his lips ;
Yet ere he of the ruby liquor sips.
He notices upon the surface lie —
Fallen in and fluttering — a feeble fly.
With draggled wings outspread.
Then shot from Nimrod's eyes an angry flare,
And passionately down the marble stair
The costly draught he shed.
He spoke no word, but with a finger wave,
Made signal to a scarlet-vested slave ;
And as the lad before him, quaking, kneels.
Above him swift the gleaming falchion wheels,
Then flashes down, and, with one leap, his head
Bounds from his shoulders, and bespurts with red
The alabaster floor.
174 5rT)C (§tft 0f tt)t Icltng.
And, mingled with the out-poured Persian wine,
Descends the steps a sliding purple line
Of smoking, dribbled gore ;
And floats the little midge upon a flood
Of fragrant grape-juice, and of roseate blood.
Then Nimrod said : " I would yon ugly stain
Were wiped away ; and thou, my chamberlain,
Obtain for me a stripling, to replace
This petty fool. Let him have comely face,
And be of slender mould :
Be lithely built, of noble birth ; a youth,
The choicest thou canst find. His cost, in sooth I
I heed not. Stint no gold,
But buy a goodly slave ; for I, a king.
Will have the best, the best of everything —
Of gems, of slaves, of fabrics, meats or wine;
The best, the very best on earth be mine."
Then, prostrate flung before his master's throne
The servant said : " Sire ! Terah hath a son
Whose equal in the whole round world is none,
2Lt)e (Sift 0f tTje ming. 175
Beloved as himself.
But, Sire ! I fear the father will not deign
To yield his son as slave through love of gain,
For great is he in wealth."
" Go ! " said the monarch, " I must have the child :
Be sure the father can be reconciled.
If you expend of gold a goodly store.
And, if he haggles at your price, bid more ;
I will it, chamberlain ;
I care not what the cost. I'll have the lad !"
And then he leaned him idly back and bad
The servants fan again.
Now on the morrow, to the royal court,
Terah Ben-Nahor from old Ur was brought —
Protesting loud he would not yield his son
As slave, at any price, to any one.
" My flesh and blood be sold !
Fie on you ! Do you reckon that I prize
My first-begotten as mere merchandize,
To barter him for gold !
176 s;bc 'Bin 0f tije mm.
A curse on him who would the old man's stay,
That bears him up, with money buy away !
Require me not to offer child of mine
To brim and serve a tyrant's cup with wine ;
To waste a life from morning to its grave,
Branded in mind and soul and body ' Slave ! '
How could I be repaid ?
His artless fondlings, all his childish ways :
The reminiscences of faded days.
That sudden flash and fade,
Of her who bore him — her, my boyhood's choice-
Resemblances in feature, figure, voice,
In gesture, manner, ay ! in very tone
Of pealing laugh, of that dear partner gone ?
Thou, Nimrod, to an old man condescend
To hear his story ; your attention lend.
And judge if acted well.
Last year to me thou gav'st a goodly steed,
From thine own stud, of purest Yemen breed :
And thus it me befell,
A stranger offered me a price so fair
Ebe (Sift 0f tijc mm- n?
That I accepted it, and sold the mare."
" My gift disposed of ! " with an angry start,
King Nimrod thundered : "Thou, old man, shalt smart
For this thy avarice. A royal gift,
Thou knowest well, must never owners shift,
As though of little worth."
Then Terah raised his trembling hands, and said,
"From thine own mouth, O King, has judgment sped.
The Lord of heaven and earth.
The King of kings, to me my offspring gave,
And shall I sell His gift to be a slave ?
Nimrod ! that child which is His royal gift,
Thy mouth hath said it — may not owners shift."
M
HUMOROUS POEMS
DR. BONOMI.
By chance
An alchymist doctor whose fortunes were down,
Shifted quarters, and set up one day in a town
In France.
He hired a house, and affixed to the door
A name that the people liad never before
Seen.
The doctor was upright and stiff as a wall,
Remarkably bony, uncommonly tall,
And lean.
Now into his house from a waggon was brought,
Whilst a crowd gathered staring, a monstrous retort ;
And sweating and swearing, a staggering porter
Bore in a leviathan pestle and mortar ;
Then hideous syringes, alchemical fixtures,
182 ffir. 33onann.
And great podgy bottles of all-coloured mixtures.
A flutter
Among the gazers, who deemed every drop
Explosive material to go off with a pop
And splutter.
Therefore the people kept back in the street
Ready to beat an immediate retreat,
Should the doctor a tendency show to be loading
The squirts, or the bottles give signs of exploding
By fizzing.
Some gazed in mute awe on his spectacles big,
Whilst others the cut of his comical wig
Were quizzing.
Unheeding, the doctor paced solemnly round,
In silence that whispered of wisdom profound,
And vast.
But when all his chattels were carried within
To the last,
The physician's grave features relaxed to a grin,
As he said, " That will do ; I think nov^ I have nearly all
For this little city, the needful material."
J3r. 33onnmt. 183
Now round with the speed of a fire, the report
Of the squirts, the great bottles, the tubes, the retort,
Flew;
And from every quarter the inquisitive pour,
Men, and of women, of course, a great store,
And the multitude fast round the alchymist's door
Grew.
Sudden, the crier emerged with a horn,
Calling, " O yes, O yes, this blessed morn
Into our city, of doctors e'er born
The chief
Has come, Psalmanazar Bon5mi,
Physician extraordmary to the King of Dahomy.
A deeper read doctor no mortal can show me ;
He's doctor of medicine of famous Louvain ;
Salamanca boasts of him (Salamanca's in Spain) ;
And, to prove that his qualifications are thorough,
He passed at Montpelier, Bologne, Edinboro*.
In brief
This alchymist-doctor of learned Salamanca
(Expressive though vulgar the term) is a spanker.
184 J3r. aUaiiomt.
Now vain the delusion of him who supposes
The doctor sets plasters, lets blood, or gives doses,
Applies leeches, pounds powders, rolls pills, spreads a blister ;
Far other, good people, the practice of Mister
Bonomi.
Don't dream, if you're ill, for this doctor to send,
For certainly on you he will not attend.
Whatever your malady, be well assured,
You must not seek him if you want to be cured.
Should he, like a common hack doctor, go round-
He the elixir of life who has found
In Dahomy ?
No ! he visits not prince, noble, burgher, nor peasant.
Why should he ? A score
Of doctors and more
Are set up in this poky old city at present.
So those who have croop.
And those with the wfioop,
And those who have cholera, liver complaint.
Rheumatics, lumbago, have bile, inflammation,
Influenza, or measles, have fits, or who faint,
I3r. JJnuamt. 185
Have fevers, convulsions, tic, gout, palpitation,
Don't
Let them by calling Doctor Bonomi bother.
He will not attend ; they must summon another ;
Nor strive to induce, by a quadrupled fee,
Or by flattery, to bring him to visit, for he
Won't.
Br^f, when you have found all physicians to fail,
And every prescription has ceased to avail,
When the pulse beats no more, and the last sigh is sped,
When the last tear has trickled, the last word been said,
When
Rigid the muscles, when motionless lies
The patient, sans breath, and sans ears, and sans eyes,
Sans feeling, sans thinking, sans all things, in bed ;
In a word, when you know that the patient is dead, —
Then
Send for the illustrious Doctor Bonomi,
For then, in his own graphic words, * All will know me
To be
The Only Physician who has any science,
186 Bv. JJaiiDint.
The only Bonomi, with none in aUiance,
Who sets all the doctors of France at defiance.*
So he
Urges all those of high rank or low station
By mortality robbed of a darling relation,
Father or mother,
Sister or brother,
Uncle or aunt, wife, husband, or lover,
And the same from the power of the grave would recover,
Let 'em
Apply to the doctor at their earliest leisure,
And, if not engaged, it will give him great pleasure
For the trifling fee of five francs each — no more —
The precious departed to life to restore,
And set 'em
In vigorous health once again in their places,
With their old dispositions, old habits, old laces.
So all who desire, at a trumpery cost,
To recover a friend or relation that's lost.
Have only to come to the doctor, and he
Will their wishes attend at afore-mentioned fee.
ISr. 38nnonu. 187
N.B.
A reduction to families, children half price,
Under twelve, and not according to size."
Well, the doctor he waited, the crier he cried,
Newspaper notices, placards, were tried,
But the crying and waiting proved wholly in vam ,
And days as they passed, made it daily more plain
That folks were not eager to bring back again
Those who had died ;
For — no one applied.
So after the doctor a fortnight had waited,
And nobody came,
He issued a poster, the colour of flame.
Whereon it was stated
That greatly to blame
Were the people for thinking that he was deceiving 'em j
And, therefore, before he determined on Icavmg 'em,
He did intend
At the week's end
188 Bv. 3iJan0mi.
To prove he had power to do what he said.
He would go to the churchyard and raise al/ the dead.
Now, scarce had the placard appeared in the street,
Ere there came to the door a loud clatter of feet,
And one
Burst in on the doctor with colourless cheek,
And in his excitement scarce able to speak :
" Did you say you were going at the end of the week
To raise all the dead from the graves of the city ?"
He fell on his knees wailing " Doctor, have pity 1
Do not arouse
My slumbering spouse !
Though fun
To a stranger such practices may be,
They're death and perdition, and worse, sir, to me
If my wife,
Who is dead — rest her soul ! — came to life,
What should I do ?
For scarce had I seen her in sepulchre laid
Ere I put in the banns, and was spliced to her maid.
23r. 36anamt. 189
It never would do
Wives to have two,
Especially when the first wife was a scold,
Corpulent, fussy, and ugly and old ;
And after her death one's enjoying her gold
With Kitty,
Who is dapper, and young, and good-natured, and pretty."
Then he pressed
A well-weighted purse on Bonomi, and said,
" Now, doctor, remember, in raising the dead,
Let //arrest."
Now scarce had this gentleman taken his hat,
When there pealed on the door a loud rat-a-tat-tat.
Then in came another man, shaking and bowing,
With forehead perspiring, and cheeks all a-glowing
Who said, in an accent of trouble and fear,
Whilst with a blue handkerchief mopping his face,
" Why, doctor ! good heaven ! is it true what 1 hear,
That you're going to raise all the dead in the place ?
Why, bless me ! my uncle has lately deceased,
190 Br, 3&a\\ami.
And left me his heir,
And, dear sir, I declare
That now, from pecuniary troubles released,
I'm only beginning life's pleasures to taste.
Oh, doctor ! if you've not the heart of a stone,
Have pity, and leave my poor uncle alone.
I pray you accept of this trifle, and save
Me the terrible blow. Let /lim rest m his grave."
Then in came another, with face of despair,
Who said palpitating, " I pray you forbear !
My brothers are dead, I'm enjoying their share
Of the fortune my father amassed ; I don't care
To have to refund it, surrendering the pelf;
It's a thousand times better to spend it oneself.
Beside
Providence knew, I am sure, what was best.
When, by measles, it took my dear brothers to rest
Tfiey died
By heaven's decree ; and shall mortal perverse
Adventure, what Providence rules, to reverse?
I3r. 23anamt. 191
They are better by far,
I'm convinced, where they are
(Here, doctor, I pray you to finger this purse) j
Earth was no home
For souls such as theirs, so the heavenly flame
Rose to the ether sublime whence it came.
O monster inhuman ! re-rivet again
Of spirit and matter the long-shatter'd chain !
Replace the poor bird in the cage whence it's flown i
Cast once more from his home the poor exile restored !
O'er the criminal pardoned, again lift the sword !
For my brothers' sake, doctor, give ear to my plam,
And let them alone."
The next to appear was a lady, who said.
With pattering tears, and pendulous head,
" Alack,
For my master who lay for a long time m bed i
A terrible sufferer, whilst by his side
I tenderly waited and watched till he died ;
And must he, with every fond fancy and whim,
192 Bv. 230 no nit.
Come back ?
For years I kept dancing attendance on him,
And only wlien I was released by his death,
The leisure obtained to look round and take breath-
Now I enjoy,
Without any alloy,
My freedom and income, which he, ere he died,
In return for my nursing took care to provide.
O, doctor ! I'm tired of being a nurse •
So I pray you to take a few coins from this purse,
And save
My feelings by letting h'm rest in his grave."
The next to arrive was a gentleman eager,
With sharp-pointed nose, long, lanky, and meagre ;
Like a rat's
Was his face. He, the tallest of hats
With the smallest of brims in his fingers was holding.
Whilst the stiffest cravat his long neck was enfolding ;
His swallow-tails hung to the calf of his leg.
Now thus, in shrill tones, began he to beg,
Bv. 'j&anami, 193
Making a bow :
" How do you do, doctor ? how
Are you ? Dear doctor Bonomi ; I'm calling
To assure you I fear the event of a riot
In the city at the prospect, no little appalling,
Of our dead folk not being allowed to lie quiet.
I have come to you, doctor, in hopes to impress
Your mind with a sense of the prevailing distress
Which is caused among many good folk by the thought
Of the miracle which is about to be wrought.
But perhaps you will best understand, if 1 place
Before you an instance, a representative case.
My lady gave birth
Twice to twins ; in the earth
They are lying, very much to their benefit surely,
And to my satisfaction. They always were poorly ;
And, because of their ailing,
They never ceased wailing,
Till their happy release
Gave the family peace.
They are well where they are ; but I fear and suppose,
194 I9r. ISonamu
With the others these babies to revive you propose.
What moneys they'll cost me in victuals and clothes !
Why, to think, sir," he added, with agonised groan,
" Of the cost of four little boys' breeches alone,
Which always give way at the seat and the knee ;
Which they are ever outgrowing ;
Which take buttons and sewing !
Alas ! but four boys would be ruin to me.
They would always be yelping for something to eat ;
They would cost me a fortune in bread, sir, and meat.
Then their education
Befitting their station !
I have children already, enough and to spare.
Already my wife has found grey in my hair.
At the prospect I'm ready to die of despair
Of having to provide
For four hungry, howhng, nude creatures beside.
Therefore, good sir, if you wake those that sleep,
Clear of my babies I pray you to keep.
Here's a humble reminder, fifteen louis-d'or :
And, in raising the dead, pray, tny babies pass o'er."
Br. 3&a\\ami. 195
Now was heard in the street of wheels a loud rumble ;
Then a sudden portentous loud rap at the door.
And next up the stair,
With tumble
And grumble
Full into the room came bouncing the Mayor.
" Ahem ! " said his worship " Sacre bleu ! mille diables !
Are you going to arouse from their graves all the rabble ?
Are you, sir, the man who will quicken the dead ? "
He stopped, out of breath, but still waggled his head,
Pufifing and blowing.
" What ! Such an infringement of order, indeed !
Revolution and anarchy certain to breed.
Do you think I am going
To tolerate it for one moment ? Odds bobbin !
To pay Peter, in verity, Paul 'twould be robbing ;
For I fear I should have to vacate my great chair,
If, among all the others, you roused the ex-Mayor.
So, out of the city I bid you be packing.
Or me, ventre gris ! sir, you will not find lacking
In putting in force the full weight of the law.
196 Bv. 38auamu
And sending you straight into justice's maw —
Into prison ; and mark you, if once you were in it,
You would not be able to slip out in a minute.
But I'm generous, doctor, and ready to offer
A compromise. Here are rouleaux in this coffer :
Take them. Your absence — I'm ready to buy it ;
Only, for mercy's sake, leave the dead quiet.
To the money you're welcome — accept, and be gone ;
But, whatever you do, leave the ex-Mayor alone.
Now pack
Up your traps; it's a beautiful morning
For shifting your quarters. No slighting my warning !
Why," added his worship, with iciest stare,
" I'm 'whelmed with amazement to think you should dare
To dream of unseating me — me, sir, the Mayor !
Then back
With your bottles and drugs to the wilds of Dahomy,
There practice at ease, on fresh corpse or old mummy,
With nothing to fear,
But only not here.
So ! out of the town with you, Doctor Bonomi ! "
LIGHTENING THE VESSEL. (S)
[JOHANNIS Rmsu^i Kinerarium Paradisic a.d. 1842: Dc Matiimonio,
Sermon vii.J
A TERRIBLE storm on the ocean lay,
And the waves ran mountains high ;
The Hghtning flashed and the thunder crashed,
As Erebus was the sky.
A vessel was running before the blast
With a rent and flapping sail,
She was hardly pressed and sore distressed
With the fury of the gale.
The Captain was standing upon the deck,
And wond'ring if hope were vain
198 ?lia!)tcnin3 ii)t WcB^th
After that night to behold the light
Awake in the east again.
On board the vessel were bales of silk,
And barrels of shining gold,
And pigs of lead were lying in bed
At the bottom of the hold.
But there was a risk of other sort
Than cargo, vessel, or life.
For the Captain had brought away from port
Madam Malone — his wife.
Mistress Malone in the cabin sat,
Sipping a cup of tea ;
Whilst Captain Malone was wet to the bone
In battling with the sea.
Mistress Malone had a nimble tongue,
That sharper and freer grew ;
And never a day but she nngged away.
For she was an awful shrew.
ILtsfttcnins tl)C 3Ff^s'cI. 199
The boatswain, approaching the Captain, said,
Touching his cap : " We are lost,
Unless you agree that into the sea
The carsfo shall be toss'd.
'&^
" I can lose my money and lose my time,
But life I cannot afford,
So out let us fling the heaviest thing
That we can find on board."
The Captain he stood and bit his thumb
With a frowning brow awhile ;
At last he said, with a jerk of the head,
And the symptoms of a smile : —
" Heavy indeed are the bales of silk,
And heavier is the gold,
But heavier yet is the lead, I bet,
Lumbering in the hold.
'* But there is a weight outweighs them all,
The heaviest I can find,
200
ILiflijtfntitfl tf)t We^M.
More ponderous than lead, it crushes my head
And oppresses my soul and mind ;
" Upon my spirit it ever lies,
In company or alone.
Come boatswain, with me, and into the sea
We'll topple old Madam Malone ! "
THE SENTENCE ON THE THIEF. (lo)
[Itinerarimn Paradisi: De Mairim. Serm. xi.]
A NOTABLE thief of Rotterdam,
The worry of all the city,
Was taken at last, and made doubly fast
In the prison, with scanty pity.
Excitement arose to boiling point,
And folk would take no denial,
But were all agreed, to have, indeed,
In the market-place the trial.
The magistrates said, " It may terror strike
In the guilty, and embolden
The innocent ; so be content.
It shall be publicly holden."
202 Ojc ^rntrnrt an ti)t; Cijicf.
The day arrived, and the mighty crowd
Their way to the market fought,
For the people all, both great and small,
Rejoiced that the thief was caught.
The judge was seated in scarlet cloak,
The officers quelled disorder ;
Lawyers were there, with preoccupied air,
And the clerk, and the recorder.
Witnesses came, were questioned and heard,
And the culprit felt with fear.
And a pallid face that his ugly case
Was made uncommonly clear.
And when the moment of the sentence came,
The judge to the people turned :
" Some have had life by this felon's knife
Taken, and some have had burned
** Their houses, and all have something lost,
Or suffered from him some way ;
Cljc ^cntcn« 011 tl)Z Cibicf. 203
So I direct that you shall elect
The penalty he shall pay."
" Death ! " they cried, " is what we decide,"
Yelling in ecstacy ;
But how carried out, the turbulent rout
In no way could agree.
Said one man, " Let him suspended be
As a warning from the steeple ; "
But another said, " Let us cut oflf his head,
In the presence of the people."
Said another, " There is a sweeter sport,
The breaking upon the wheel."
Said another man, " There's a better plan,
Dangle him by the heel."
Said another, " I've heard in good old times
That culprits were stewed in oil."
Said one, " He shall bake ; " and one, " At the stake
He shall roast ; " said another, " Boil."
204 ts:])t ^twUnu on tljr ULlyitL
Then slowly arose from his seat the judge
And said, " If you can't agree,
Then lend me your ear, and you shall hear
A suggestion made by me.
" What sort of pain would you give the man —
Continuous, or soon past ? "
Then shouted all, both great and small,
" Long, long, sir, may it last ! "
" Would you rack his body and heart and mind.
Or only rack him in part ? "
They shouted all, both great and small,
" Body and mind and heart ! "
" Would you make him pray for a quick release,
Or close his life with a blow ?
Should he greatly desire Purgat'ry fire,
As relief from present woe ? "
They shouted all, both great and small,
" Protract a tormented life ! "
Said the judge, ""Very well : to the criminal
I here make over ray wife.'"
NOTES.
NOTK (i), page IS.
I have allowed myself a little anachronism here. The true Warager, or
Varanger band became a recognized body in the service of the Byzantine
Emperors at a later period, but that the Norse and Icelandic warriors were
in the service of the earlier Emperors is not unlikely, before they became a
recognized corps. The legend is wide enough spread. See a German form in
Simrock's Miirchen, No. 22. Bechstein"s Marchen-buch, p. 188.
Note (i), page 39.
In "Talmud Berachoth" the Rabbi is called Akiba. In " Taanith," Tract III.
21, his name is Nahum.
Note (2), page 56,
"Talmud Jerusalem," Haggada 11. Halacha i ; "Talmud Babylon," Haggada
II. fol. 15 ; " Midrash Rabba," Ruth iii. 13, and other places. I have taken
some liberties with this tale. In its original form it is as follows : Meir and
the apostate entered the school. Then said Elisha to the nearest lad, "Repeat
206 ^DtfiS.
your lesson." The boy replied in the words of Isaiah Ivii. 21. Elisha asked
the second, and he repeated Ps. 1. 16 ; then he rushed from the school. But
Meir went after him with the words, " Thou leadest men to destruction ; again
thou sayest, Turn again, ye children of men." (Ps. xc. 3.) Then Elisha burst
into tears and died. After his burial an uneasy flame danced on his grave ;
but Rabbi Meir laid it by repeating over the tomb the words of Ruth iii. 13.
Note (3), page 63.
The Archbishop is said to have been Jacques de Voragine, author of the
famous " Legenda Aurea," but with injustice. See the introduction to "La
L^gende Doree," Paris, 1843.
Note (4), page 72.
Caesarius Heisterbachensis, lib. ii. c. 10. I have, however, somewhat altered
the story of gossiping Caesarius. His tale is this : " Parisiis erat juvenis quidem
in studio, qui suggerente humani generis inimico, talia quaedam peccata com-
miserat, quae obstante erubescentia nuUi hominum confiteri potuit. Tandem
miserante Deo, in adolescente timor verecundiam vicit. Veniens ad Sanctum
Victorem, priorem vocavit, et quia confitendi gratia venisset indicavit. Ille
paratus ad tale ofificium, statim venit, in loco ad hoc deputato, sedit, praemissaque
exhortatione juvenem confiteri volentem expectavit. Tandem hora eadem plus
Dominus cordi ejus contulit contritionem, ut quotiens confessionem inciperet
totiens singultibus intercepto vox deficeret, in oculis lacriniae, suspiria in pectore,
singultus erant in gutture. Hasc vidit Prior, dicebat scholari : Vade scribe
peccata tua in schedula, et defer ad me. Placuit consilium juveni, abiit, scripsit,
die altera rediit, et si confiteri posset iterum tentans, ut prius defecit. Et cum
nil proficeret, schedulam Priori porrexit. Legit Prior et obstupuit, dixitque
juveni : Non sufificio tibi solus dare consilium. Vis ut ostendam Abbati ? et
licentiavit ei. Venit Prior ad Abbatem, et porrexit schedulam legendam, rem
ei per ordinem exponens. Quid denique gestum sit, audiant peccatores et
iiJatefE. 207
consolentur. Mox enim ut Abbas chartulam ad legendum aperuit, totani ejus
continentiam deletam invenit. Impletumque est in eo, quod Dominus per Isaiam
dicit : Delevi ut nubem iniquitatem tuam, et ut nebulam peccata tua."
Note (5), page 81.
Paciuchelli, "Lect. Morales in Jonam." This is a curious book ; three folio
volumes of commentary on the four chapters of Jonah. It is a storehouse of
anecdote, legend and fable. The tale I have versified runs thus in the original
(torn ii. p. 196): " Legimus in vita Sancti Vedasti caecum quendam, ubi sacra
ossa in digniorem locum transferebantur, rogasse, ut reddito luminum usu
sanctas episcopi reliquias intueri posset ; vix preces effuderat, et quantocyus
restitutes sibi oculos esse expertus est. Obstupuit, et secum hunc discursum
efformavit : Sed quis scit, an luminum usus ad animag mese salutem expediat ?
Inconsiderata nimis fuit meo petitio, cum debitas conditiones non adhibuerim.
Quid egit? ad preces rediit: Domine ! per Sancti tui Vedasti merita supplex
rogo, ut si ea res animas mese saluti minus conducat, redeat infirmitas. Et ecce,
©odem sane momento nova caligine obducti sunt precantis oculi."
Note (6), page 93.
Caesarius Heisterbachensis, lib. x. c. 58. The story is told of Gtorks by this
author : " Apud Cistercmm, ubi caput est ordinis nostri, piurimae nidificant
cyconise. Quod ideo a fratribus religiosis permittitur, quia per illas non solum
monasterium, sed omnia circuitu loca ab immundis vermibus mundantur.
Hyeme appropinquante recedunt, et tempore certo redeunt. Die quadam cum
acies suas ordinassent ad peregrinandum, ne hospitalitatis concessas immemores
esse viderentur, conventum qui eadem hora in agro laborabat petentes, eumque
crebrius grutillando circumvolantes, omnes in admirationem verterunt, ignor-
antibus quid peterent. Ad quos Prior : Puto quod licenliam petant recedendi.
Elevansque manum benedixit eis. Mox mirum in niodum cum multa alacritate
siniul avolantes, monachis exeuntibus in viam qui regularem benedictionem
accipere sive expectare parvipendunt, magnam verecundiam incusserunt."
208 ^atc^.
Note (7), page 98.
The same story is in the Speculum Exemplorum, 1481. It must have come
from a distant land, for there is a Chinese play founded upon it. See Journal
Asiatique, series IV., vol. xvii. p. 315.
Note (8), page 197.
Johannis Raulini, " Itinerarium Paradisi," Antvv. 1612. p. 283: "Cum quidam
esset in navi onerata cum uxore sua htigiosa, et propter tempestatem necesse
esset alleviare navem, et projicere merces in mari ; cum projicerentur, rogavit
ille ut etiam uxor sua projiceretur, asserens nihil esse tam onerosum sibi sicut
uxor sua, et quod si eam haberent portare super humeros suos, sicut ipse, quod
esset prior quae in mari projiceretur."
Note (10), page 201.
Itinerarium Parad. p. 309, "Accidit in civitate ilia ut caperetur maleficus et
latro pessimus, qui multos de civitate spoUaverat, et occiderat. Cumque cives
quererentur, et judex a singulis consilium quasreret qualiter latro ille magis
torqueri valeret, quibusdam dicentibus : Distrahatur caudis equorum, et sus-
pendatur ; aliis dicentibus : Igne cremetur : casteris consulentibus ut vivus
excoriaretur : cum perventum est ad alium qui malara habebat uxorem, respon-
dit : Date illi uxorem meam ; non video qualiter ipsum magis affligere valeatis."
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