Ethiopian vain blue-stocking, Who with her _esprit_ would dazzle, And with all her clever riddles Was, I fear, extremely tedious. But our Princess Sabbath, who was Peace itself personified, Held in utter detestation All debates and wit-encounters. Equally abhorr’d she noisy And declamatory passion,-- All that pathos which with flowing And dishevell’d hair storms wildly. Modestly the silent princess In her hood conceals her tresses; Soft as the gazelle’s her looks are, Slender as an Addas blooms she. She allows her lover all things Save this one,--tobacco-smoking: “Loved one! smoking is forbidden, “For to-day the Sabbath is. “But at noon, in compensation, “Thou a steaming dish shalt taste of, “Which is perfectly delicious-- “Thou shall eat to-day some Schalet!” “Schalet, beauteous spark immortal, “Daughter of Elysium!”[83] Thus would Schiller’s song have sung it, Had he ever tasted Schalet. Schalet is the food of heaven, Which the Lord Himself taught Moses How to cook, when on that visit To the summit of Mount Sinai, Where the Lord Almighty also Every good religious doctrine And the holy ten commandments Publish’d in a storm of lightning. Schalet is the pure ambrosia That the food of heaven composes-- Is the bread of Paradise; And compared with food so glorious, The ambrosia of the spurious Heathen gods whom Greece once worshipp’d And were naught but muffled devils, Was but wretched devil’s dung. When the prince this food hath tasted, Gleams his eye as if transfigured, And his waistcoat he unbuttons, And he speaks with smiles of rapture: “Hear I not the Jordan murmuring? “Is it not the gushing fountains “In the palmy vale of Beth-El, “Where the camels have their station? “Hear I not the sheep-bells ringing? “Is it not the well-fed wethers “Whom the herdsman drives at evening “Down from Gilead’s lofty mountain?” Yet the beauteous day fades quickly; As with long and shadowy legs Hastens on the fell enchantment’s Evil hour, the prince sighs sadly, Feeling as though with his bosom Icy witches’ fingers grappled; He’s pervaded by the fear of Canine metamorphosis. To the prince then hands the princess Her own golden box of spikenard; Long he smells, once more desiring To find comfort in sweet odours. Next the parting drink the princess Gives the prince--He hastily Drinks, and in the goblet only Some few drops are left untasted. With them sprinkles he the table, Then he takes a little waxlight, And he dips it in the moisture Till it crackles and goes out. JEHUDA BEN HALEVY A FRAGMENT. 1.