And the breast of our poor singer With this deadly spear transfix’d he, And then gallop’d off instanter Wing’d as though a shadowy figure. Calmly flow’d the Rabbi’s life-blood, Calmly to its termination Sang he his sweet song,--his dying Sigh was still--Jerusalem! It is said in olden legend That the Saracen was really Not a wicked cruel mortal, But an angel in disguise, Sent from the bright realms of heaven To remove God’s favourite From the earth, and to advance him Painlessly to those blest regions. There, ’tis said, there waited for him A reception highly flatt’ring In its nature to the poet, Quite a heavenly surprise. Solemnly with strains of music Came the’ angelic choir to meet him, And instead of hymns, he heard them Singing his own lovely verses, Synagoguish Wedding-Carmen, Hymeneal Sabbath numbers, With their well-known and exulting Melodies--what notes enthralling! While some angels play’d the hautboy, Others play’d upon the fiddle; Others handled the bass-viol, Others beat the drum and cymbal. Sweetly all the music sounded. Sweetly through the far-extending Vaults of heaven these strains re-echoed Lecho Daudi Likras Kalle! 4. My good wife is not contented With the chapter just concluded, And especially the portion Speaking of Darius’ casket. Almost bitterly observes she, That a husband with pretensions To religion, into money Straightway would convert the casket, That he with it might be able For his poor and lawful spouse That nice Cashmere shawl to purchase That she stands so much in need of. That Jehuda ben Halevy Would, she fancies, with sufficient Honour be preserved, if guarded In a pretty box of pasteboard, Deck’d with Chinese elegant Arabesques, like those enchanting Sweetmeat-boxes of Marquis In the Passage Panorama. “Very strange it is,”--she added,-- “That I never heard the name of “This remarkable old poet, “This Jehuda ben Halevy.” Darling little wife, I answer’d, Your delightful ignorance But too well the gaps discloses In the education given In the boarding schools of Paris, Where the girls, the future mothers Of a proud and freeborn nation, Learn the elements of knowledge. All about the dry old mummies, And embalm’d Egyptian Pharaohs Merovingian shadowy monarchs, With perukes devoid of powder, And the pig-tail’d kings of China, Lords of porcelain and pagodas,-- This they know by heart and fully, Clever girls,--but, O, good heavens If you ask for any great names From the glorious golden ages Of Arabian-ancient-Spanish Jewish schools of poetry,-- If you ask for those three worthies, For Jehuda ben Halevy, For great Solomon Gabirol, Or for Moses Iben Esra,