Three months went by; and lo! a merrier chime But now, with servitors to do his will, In the grand villa, half-way up the hill, Sat at the Christmas feast, and at his side. Never so beautiful, so kind, so fair, Enthroned once more in the old rustic chair, High-perched upon the back of which there stood The image of a falcon carved in wood, And underneath the inscription, with a date, "All things come round to him who will but wait." INTERLUDE. SOON as the story reached its end, Crowned it with injudicious praise; And then the voice of blame found vent, And fanned the embers of dissent Into a somewhat lively blaze. The Theologian shook his head; "From the much-praised Decameron down They seem to me a stagnant fen, Grown rank with rushes and with reeds, Blooms in the midst of noxious weeds And deadly nightshade on its banks." To this the Student straight replied, One should not say, with too much pride, Nor were it grateful to forget, That from these reservoirs and tanks Even imperial Shakspeare drew His Moor of Venice and the Jew, And Romeo and Juliet, And many a famous comedy." Then a long pause; till some one said, "An Angel is flying overhead!" At these words spake the Spanish Jew, 1 And murmured with an inward breath: "God grant, if what you say is true It may not be the Angel of Death!" And then another pause; and then, That book of gems, that book of gold, A tale that often comes to me, And fills my heart, and haunts my brain, And never wearies nor grows old." THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE. THE LEGEND OF RABBI BEN LEVI. RABBI Ben Levi, on the Sabbath, read Then fell a sudden shadow on the page Yet through his veins a chill of terror ran. |