| |
| 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 | 5 |
| 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, | 10 |
| 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, | 15 |
| 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, | 20 |
| “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 | 25 |
| 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, | 30 |
| “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!” | 35 |
| 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, | 40 |
| 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.” | |
| |
