But she went from him raging. Then he fled
Out of that land;
And those there set a price on his grey head,
Who with skilled hand
Of craft had fed one daughter fair as day,
Now destitute. Soon gold before her lay,
The bait of shame;
With honor, flung such happiness away,
And, writing, told her father, who came back
By night, and bade
Her claim his life's reward. "Rather the rack
Rend me," she said;
"And shall I give him death who life gave me?
Sell him and feed on him? Far sooner we
Both died! Somewhere
Went out into the market, crying, “ Give
For me to her, my daughter." But these laid
False hands on both, nor other duty paid
Than death; for they,
Were slain hard by within the minster's shade.
After, in no long time, the little child
Returned, a stray
Fresh from the sea. It, by a ship beguiled,
In the hold at play,
Had sailed unseen till the land a small speck grew.
But still they prayed within the porch, in view
Of the blood-splashed stone,
""Twas only a Jew," the folk said, "only a Jew."
Twilight was deepening with a tinge of eve,
As toward his home in Israel's sheltered vales
A stately Rabbi drew. His camels spied
Afar the palm-trees' lofty heads, that decked
The dear, domestic fountain, and in speed
Pressed with broad foot the smooth and dewy glade.
The holy man his peaceful threshold passed
With hasting step. The evening meal was spread,
And she who from life's morn his heart had shared
Breathed her fond welcome. Bowing o'er the board,
The blessing of his fathers' God he sought,
Ruler of earth and sea. Then, raising high
The sparkling wine-cup,-" Call my sons," he bade, 66 And let me bless them ere their hour of rest."
Th'observant mother spake with gentle voice
Somewhat of soft excuse—that they were wont
To linger long amid the Prophet's school,
Learning the holy law their father loved.
His sweet repast with sweet discourse was blent
Of journeying and return.-"Would thou hadst
With me, the golden morning break to light
Yon mountain summits, whose blue, waving line Scarce meets thine eyes,--where chirp of joyous birds,
And sigh of waving boughs, stirred in the soul
Warm orisons. Yet most I wished thee near
Amid the temple's pomp, when the high priest,
Clad in his robe pontifical, invoked
The God of Abraham, while from lute and harp,
Cymbal and trump and psaltery and glad breath
Of tuneful Levite and the mighty shout
Of all our people, like the swelling sea,
Loud hallelujahs burst. When next I seek
Blest Zion's glorious hill, our beauteous boys
Must bear me company. Their early prayers
Will rise as incense. Thy reluctant love
No longer must withhold them; the new toil
Will give them sweeter sleep, and touch their cheek
With brighter crimson. 'Mid their raven curls
My hand I'll lay, and dedicate them there,
E'en in those hallowed courts, to Israel's God:
Two spotless lambs, well-pleasing in His sight.
But yet, methinks, thou'rt paler grown, my love;
And the pure sapphire of thine eye looks dim,
As though 'twere washed with tears."
"One doubt, my lord, I fain would have thee solve;
Gems of rich lustre and of countless cost
Were to my keeping trusted. Now, alas!
They are demanded. Must they be restored?
Or may I not a little longer gaze
Upon their dazzling hues?" His eye grew stern,
And on his lip there lurked a sudden curl
Of indignation: "Doth my wife propose
Such doubt? as if a master might not claim
His own again!" "Nay, Rabbi, come, behold
These priceless jewels ere I yield them back."
So to their spousal chamber with soft hand
Her lord she led. There, on a snow-white couch
Lay his two sons, pale, pale and motionless,
Like fair twin-lilies, which some grazing kid
In wantonness had cropped. "My sons! my sons!
Light of my eyes!" th'astonished father cried ;
"My teachers in the law, whose guileless hearts
And prompt obedience warned me oft to be
More perfect with my God!"
Like Lebanon's rent cedar; while his breast
Heaved with such groans as when the laboring soul
Breaks from its clay companion's close embrace.
The mourning mother turned away and wept
Till the first storm of passionate grief was still;
Then, pressing to his ear her faded lip,
She sighed in tones of tremulous tenderness,
"Thou didst instruct me, Rabbi, how to yield
The summoned jewels: see, the Lord did give,
The Lord hath taken away."
"And blessed be His name.
Thrice blessèd be Jehovah."
"Yea," said the sire,
E'en for thy sake,
Long he pressed
On those cold, beautiful brows his quivering lips, While from his eye the burning anguish rolled ; Then, kneeling low, those chastened spirits poured Their mighty homage.
THE PRINCESS AND THE RABBI
In olden times-in ages long since flown-
There lived a Rabbi, one whose great renown
For wisdom, learning, and for many things,
Made him much sought by emperors and kings.
Yet, though his wisdom made him wondrous wise,
His face was ugly, and his crooked eyes,
That mated with his soiled and blackened skin,
Gave to his countenance a horrid grin.
One day an emperor asked him to his court,
Where "Ugly Face" was subject to the sport
Of lords and ladies, and, amid the laughter,
None mirthed it more than did the emperor's
daughter.
"Good Rabbi, tell me," were the words she said, "How wisdom dwells in such an ugly head."
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