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IN Arabia’s book of fable | |
We behold enchanted princes | |
Who at times their form recover, | |
Fair as first they were created. | |
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The uncouth and shaggy monster | 5 |
Has again a king for father; | |
Pipes his amorous ditties sweetly | |
On the flute in jewelled raiment. | |
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Yet the respite from enchantment | |
Is but brief, and, without warning, | 10 |
Lo! we see his Royal Highness | |
Shuffled back into a monster. | |
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Of a prince by fate thus treated | |
Is my song. His name is Israel, | |
And a witch’s spell has changed him | 15 |
To the likeness of a dog. | |
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As a dog, with dog’s ideas, | |
All the week, a cur, he noses | |
Through life’s filthy mire and sweepings, | |
Butt of mocking city Arabs; | 20 |
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But on every Friday evening, | |
On a sudden, in the twilight, | |
The enchantment weakens, ceases, | |
And the dog once more is human. | |
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And his father’s halls he enters | 25 |
As a man, with man’s emotions, | |
Head and heart alike uplifted, | |
Clad in pure and festal raiment. | |
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“Be ye greeted, halls beloved, | |
Of my high and royal father! | 30 |
Lo! I kiss your holy door-posts, | |
Tents of Jacob, with my mouth!” | |
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Through the house there passes strangely | |
A mysterious stir and whisper, | |
And the hidden master’s breathing | 35 |
Shudders weirdly through the silence. | |
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Silence! save for one, the steward | |
(Vulgo, synagogue attendant) | |
Springing up and down, and busy | |
With the lamps that he is lighting. | 40 |
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Golden lights of consolation, | |
How they sparkle, how they glimmer! | |
Proudly flame the candles also | |
On the rails of the Almemor. | |
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By the shrine wherein the Thora | 45 |
Is preserved, and which is curtained | |
By a costly silken hanging, | |
Whereon precious stones are gleaming. | |
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There, beside the desk already | |
Stands the synagogue precentor, | 50 |
Small and spruce, his mantle black | |
With an air coquettish shouldering; | |
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And, to show how white, his hand is, | |
At his neck he works—forefinger | |
Oddly pressed against his temple, | 55 |
And the thumb against his throat. | |
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To himself he trills and murmurs, | |
Till at last his voice he raises; | |
Till he sings with joy resounding, | |
“Lecho dodi likrath kallah!” | 60 |
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“Lecho dodi likrath kallah— | |
Come, beloved one, the bride | |
Waits already to uncover | |
To thine eyes her blushing face!” | |
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The composer of this poem, | 65 |
Of this pretty marriage song, | |
Is the famous minnesinger, | |
Don Jehudah ben Halevy. | |
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It was writ by him in honour | |
Of the wedding of Prince Israel | 70 |
And the gentle Princess Sabbath, | |
Whom they call the silent princess. | |
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Pearl and flower of all beauty | |
Is the princess—not more lovely | |
Was the famous Queen of Sheba, | 75 |
Bosom friend of Solomon, | |
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Who, Bas Bleu of Ethiopia, | |
Sought by wit to shine and dazzle, | |
And became at length fatiguing | |
With her very clever riddles. | 80 |
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Princess Sabbath, rest incarnate, | |
Held in hearty detestation | |
Every form of witty warfare | |
And of intellectual combat. | |
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She abhorred with equal loathing | 85 |
Loud declamatory passion— | |
Pathos ranting round and storming | |
With dishevelled hair and streaming. | |
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In her cap the silent princess | |
Hides her modest, braided tresses, | 90 |
Like the meek gazelle she gazes, | |
Blooms as slender as the myrtle. | |
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She denies her lover nothing | |
Save the smoking of tobacco; | |
“Dearest, smoking is forbidden, | 95 |
For to-day it is the Sabbath. | |
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“But at noon, as compensation, | |
There shall steam for thee a dish | |
That in very truth divine is— | |
Thou shalt eat to-day of schalet! | 100 |
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“Schalet, ray of light immortal! | |
Schalet, daughter of Elysium!” | |
So had Schiller’s song resounded, | |
Had he ever tasted schalet, | |
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For this schalet is the very | 105 |
Food of heaven, which, on Sinai, | |
God Himself instructed Moses | |
In the secret of preparing, | |
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At the time He also taught him | |
And revealed in flames of lightning | 110 |
All the doctrines good and pious, | |
And the holy Ten Commandments. | |
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Yes, this schalet’s pure ambrosia | |
Of the true and only God: | |
Paradisal bread of rapture; | 115 |
And, with such a food compared, | |
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The ambrosia of the pagan, | |
False divinities of Greece, | |
Who were devils ’neath disguises, | |
Is the merest devils’ offal. | 120 |
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When the prince enjoys the dainty, | |
Glow his eyes as if transfigured, | |
And his waistcoat he unbuttons; | |
Smiling blissfully he murmurs, | |
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“Are not these the waves of Jordan | 125 |
That I hear—the flowing fountains | |
In the palmy vale of Beth-el, | |
Where the camels lie at rest? | |
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“Are not these the sheep-bells ringing | |
Of the fat and thriving wethers | 130 |
That the shepherd drives at evening | |
Down Mount Gilead from the pastures?” | |
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But the lovely day flits onward, | |
And with long, swift legs of shadow | |
Comes the evil hour of magic— | 135 |
And the prince begins to sigh; | |
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Seems to feel the icy fingers | |
Of a witch upon his heart; | |
Shudders, fearful of the canine | |
Metamorphosis that waits him. | 140 |
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Then the princess hands her golden | |
Box of spikenard to her lover, | |
Who inhales it, fain to revel | |
Once again in pleasant odours. | |
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And the princess tastes and offers | 145 |
Next the cup of parting also— | |
And he drinks in haste, till only | |
Drops a few are in the goblet. | |
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These he sprinkles on the table, | |
Then he takes a little wax-light, | 150 |
And he dips it in the moisture | |
Till it crackles and is quenched. | |
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