A HEBREW TALE.
Twilight was deepening with a tinge of eve,
As toward his home in Israel's shelter'd vales
A stately Rabbi drew. His camels spied
Afar the palm-trees' lofty heads that deck'd
The dear, domestic fountain,—and in speed
Prest with broad foot, the smooth and dewy glade.
The holy man his peaceful threshold pass'd
With hasting step.—The evening meal was spread,
And she, who from life's morn his heart had shared
Breathed her fond welcome.—Bowing o'er the board,
The blessing of his Father's God he sought,
Ruler of earth and sea.—Then raising high
The sparkling wine-cup, "call my sons," he bade,
"And let me bless them ere their hour of rest."
—The observant mother spake with gentle voice
Somewhat of soft excuse,—that they were wont
To linger long amid the Prophet's school,
Learning the holy Law their father loved.—
——His sweet repast with sweet discourse was blent,
Of journeying and return.—"Would thou hadst seen
With me, the golden morning break to light
Yon mountain summits, whose blue, waving line
Scarce meets thine eye, where chirp of joyous birds,
And breath of fragrant shrubs, and spicy gales,
And sigh of waving boughs, stirr'd in the soul
Warm orisons.—Yet most I wish'd thee near
Amid the temple's pomp, when the high priest
Clad in his robe pontifical, invoked
The God of Abraham, while from lute and harp,
Cymbal and trump and psaltery, and glad breath
Of tuneful Levite,—and the mighty shout
Of all our people like the swelling sea
Loud hallelujahs burst. When next I seek
Blest Zion's glorious hill, our beauteous boys
Must bear me company.—Their early prayers
Will rise as incense. Thy reluctant love
No longer must withhold them:—the new toil
Will give them sweeter sleep,—and touch their cheek
With brighter crimson.—Mid their raven curls
My hand I'll lay,—and dedicate them there,
Even in those hallow'd courts to Israel's God,
Two spotless lambs, well pleasing in his sight.
—But yet, methinks, thou 'rt paler grown, my love!—
And the pure sapphire of thine eye looks dim,
As though 't were wash'd with tears."—
—Faintly she smiled,—
"One doubt, my lord, I fain would have thee solve.—
Gems of rich lustre, and of countless cost
Were to my keeping trusted.—Now, alas!
They are demanded.—Must they be restored?—
Or may I not a little longer gaze
Upon their dazzling hues?"—His eye grew stern,
And on his lip there lurk'd a sudden curl
Of indignation. "Doth my wife propose
Such doubt?—as if a master might not claim
His own again!”——"Nay Rabbi, come behold
These priceless jewels ere I yield them back."
So to their spousal chamber with soft hand
Her lord she led.—There on a snow-white couch
Lay his two sons, pale, pale and motionless,
Like fair twin-lillies, which some grazing kid
In wantonness had cropt.—"My sons!—My sons!—
Light of my eyes!" the astonish'd father cried,—
"My teachers in the law!—whose guileless hearts,
And prompt obedience warn'd me oft to be
More perfect with my God!"—
To earth he fell,
Like Lebanon's rent cedar; while his breast
Heaved with such groans as when the labouring soul
Breaks from its clay companions' close embrace.—
—The mourning mother turn'd away and wept,
Till the first storm of passionate grief was still.
Then pressing to his ear her faded lip,
She sigh'd in tone of tremulous tenderness,
"Thou didst instruct me, Rabbi, how to yield
The summon'd jewels.—See! the Lord did give,
The Lord hath taken away."
"Yea!" said the sire,
"And blessed he his name. Even for thy sake
Thrice blessed be Jehovah."—Long he prest
On those cold, beautiful brows his quivering lip,
While from his eye the burning anguish roll'd,
Then kneeling low, those chasten'd spirits pour'd
Their mighty homage.