Three days went by, and lo! a passing-bell Tolled from the little chapel in the dell; Ten strokes Ser Federigo heard, and said, Breathing a prayer, “Alas! her child is dead!” Three months went by; and lo! a merrier chime Rang from the chapel bells at Christmas time; The cottage was deserted, and no more Ser Federigo sat beside its door, 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 Monna Giovanna, his beloved bride, 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 date, “All things come round to him who will but wait.” INTERLUDE Soon as the story reached its end, One, over eager to commend, 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; "These old Italian tales," he said, "From the much-praised Decameron down Through all the rabble of the rest, Are either trifling, dull, or lewd; The gossip of a neighborhood In some remote provincial town, A scandalous chronicle at best! They seem to me a stagnant fen, Grown rank with rushes and with reeds, Where a white lily, now and then, Blooms in the midst of noxious weeds And deadly nightshade on its banks." To this the Student straight replied, "For the white lily, many thanks! One should not say, with too much pride, Fountain, I will not drink of thee! Nor were it grateful to forget, That from these reservoirs and tanks Even imperial Shakespeare 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, And murmured with an inward breath: "God grant, if what you say be true, It may not be the Angel of Death!" And then another pause; and then, Stroking his beard, he said again: "This brings back to my memory A story in the Talmud told, That book of gems, that book of gold, Of wonders many and manifold, 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 A volume of the Law, in which it said, “No man shall look upon my face and live.” And as he read, he prayed that God would give His faithful servant grace with mortal eye To look upon His face and yet not die.