“Then thy triumph’s praise and glory “I will sing and tell of proudly, “And moreover will, like Miriam, “Dance and play the timbrel loudly.” Then the monk with equal passion Answer’d thus the furious Rabbi: “Villain, may the Lord destroy thee, “Damnable, accurst, and shabby! “I can well defy your devils “Whom the Evil One created, “Lucifer and Beelzebub, “Astaroth and Belial hated. “I can well defy your spirits, “And your hellish tricks unhallow’d, “For in me is Jesus Christ, since “I his body blest have swallow’d. “Christ my only favourite food is, “Than Leviathan more savoury, “With its boasted garlic white sauce “Cook’d by Satan, full of knavery. “Ah! instead of thus disputing, “I would sooner roast and bake you “With your comrades on the warmest “Funeral pile, the devil take you!” Thus for God and faith the tourney Goes on in confusion utter; But in vain the doughty champions Screech and rail and storm and splutter. For twelve hours the fight has lasted, Neither side gives signs of tiring, But the public fast grow weary, And the ladies are perspiring. And the Court, too, grows impatient, Ladies make with yawns suggestions; To the lovely queen the monarch Turns and asks the following questions: “Tell me, what is your opinion? “Which is right, and which the liar? “Will you give your verdict rather “For the Rabbi or the friar?” Donna Blanca gazes on him, Thoughtfully her hands she presses With closed fingers on her forehead, And the monarch thus addresses: “Which is right, I cannot tell you, “But I have a shrewd suspicion “That the Rabbi and the monk are “Both in stinking bad condition.” LATEST POEMS. (1853-4.) 1. PEACE-YEARNING. O let thy wounds bleed on, and let Thy tears for ever flow unbidden-- In sorrow revels secret joy, And a sweet balm in tears is hidden. If strangers’ hand did wound thee not, Thou by thyself must needs be wounded; Thank God with all thy heart, if tears To wet thy cheek have e’er abounded. The noise of day is hush’d, and night In long dark mantle comes from heaven; While in her arms, nor fool nor dolt Can break the rest to soothe thee given. Here thou art safe from music’s noise, And from the piano’s hammer-hammer, From the grand opera’s pompous notes, And the bravura’s fearful clamour. Here thou art not pursued, nor plagued By endless crowds of idle smatt’rers; Nor by the genius Giacomo,[85] And all the clique of world-known chatt’rers. O grave, thou art the Paradise Of ears that shun the rabble’s chorus; Death’s good indeed, yet better ’twere Our loving mothers never bore us. 2. IN MAY.