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The war-steed neighs-but not from 'Twas a glorious, glowing September
Caparison'd by the gate;
The cuirass hangs not on the wall,
His own keen hands have wiped
The red rust from his sword, Which again sends out a silvery gleam,
As if it knew its lord.
As the knight rode down the dale ; The broad low sun shone along the land,
And kiss'd his burnish'd mail : Hawk, hound, and horse roam masterless
His serving-men grow grey-
A thousand friends had Sir Eliduc-
From his proud ancestral towers alone;
THE BRAMIN ANGEL.
AN ORIENTAL TALE.
TRADITIONS in the East are imperishable, and the singularly romantic genius of the country often invests them with the mingled force of superstition and fancy. Among the most frequent and favourite of these traditions, is the descent of angels enamoured of earthly beauty-a tale evidently formed on the language of the Pentateuch, alluding to the first defection of the patriarchal family-the "sons of God," the Sethites, allying themselves with the "daughters of men," the descendants of Cain. The Loves of the Angels," by the poet Moore, gives the history; the following lines are the mere transcript of the idea:
"Taste this goblet, lovely maiden, Taste these fruits, and weep no
Let old age be anguish-laden,
Tears of youth should soon be o'er."
Of the purple grape she tasted,
Still the brimming goblet shine!
But what strains are round her flowing? What wild sweets are on the wind? Sudden radiance o'er her glowing,
Sudden spells around her twined.
To the minstrel sounds ascending,
Swift the cottage walls arise; Now its thatch is o'er her bending, Lovely as the sunset skies.
Painted with a thousand glories,
On its golden roof embow'd.
Now the rush of thousand pinions, Mix'd with harps, is heard afar, Stooping from their blue dominions,
Children of the Vesper-star.
Where is gone the ancient stranger?
Whither shall the maiden fly?Yet what heart can dream of danger, In that splendour-flashing eye?
Diamonds on the caftan glitter'd
Rubies on the sandal shone. Can a thought by sin embitter'd To that angel smile be known?
Now, with glorious beauty beaming, Stands the Bramin, wing'd and crown'd;
Spirit, with heaven's lustre gleaming
On his brow the star-drops bound.
"Come," he cries, "earth's loveliest flower;
Come, and be thy lover's bride; Where celestial roses shower,
Where is pour'd joy's richest tide.
"When I came, a pilgrim lowly,
Sent to mark the world's decline; Then I found thee, bright and holy One pure diamond in the mine.
"With no earthly flame I loved thee,
Thine, too, was no earthly flame; Still thro' pain and woe I proved thee, Still thy faith no pang could tame.
"Then to absence long I left thee;
Still thy sigh in secret stole ;
"Sweet one, I was watching o'er thee,
"Now thy weary way is ended,
Thou hast found mine only tomb; With thy lover's spirit blended, Leave, oh leave this world of gloom !"
Now is reached the starry portal,
Now her angel wreath is won; Now a spirit, pure, immortal,
Sits she on her lover's throne.
THE EMPEROR AND THE RABBI,
THERE are some curious and some interesting reliques of tradition still to be found among the Jewish people. Their dispersion, and the infinite miseries inflicted on them, in every country where they fled from their own, inevitably extinguished their general cultivation of literature; but they still possessed scholars, philosophers, and teachers of the Law, who might have been distinguished in better times, and among a more prosperous people. The Talmud is well known to European scholarship as containing, amid much extraordinary and fantastic matter, some valuable records of the national history and feelings. Its sententious and moral narratives, its Agadetha, are sometimes striking and noble; and the allegories, mysticisms, visions, and parables of the Medras biim are sometimes not less sagacious than sublime.
The subject of the following verses is from a tradition of the wisdom of Rabbi Joshuah. The Jews to this day speak with malediction of Titus, the destroyer of the temple, and of Hadrian, the destroyer of the nation. But Trajan is sometimes spoken of with more respect, probably from the contrast of his character, stern as it was, with that of his fierce and sanguinary successor, Hadrian; and from the comparative security of the Jews under an emperor who was too much engrossed with his incessant wars to have any leisure for persecution.
"OLD Rabbi, what tales
Would'st thou pour in mine ear;
What visions of glory,
What phantoms of fear?"
"Of a God, all the gods Of the Roman above,
A mightier than Mars,
A more ancient than Jove!"
"Let me look on those splendours,
I then shall believe; 'Tis the senses alone
That can never deceive. Nay, show me your idol, If earth is his shrine, And your Israelite God
Shall, old dreamer, be mine."
'Twas Trajan that spoke,
And himself was that one.
"The God of our forefathers!"
Is unheard by the ear.
Of his chariot are rode.
"He is seen when the lightnings
Are shot through the heaven,
He is heard when the tempest
Has sent up its roar,
"Those are dreams," said the mo-
"Wild fancies of old;
When none I behold?
That but lives in the mind?'
"I'll show thee his footstool,
I'll show thee his throne :"
Till above them was spread
But the sky's purple dome,
Round the marble-crown'd mount
Swept the Tiber's bright flood;
Of the rich Persian rose,
And flaming o'er all,
In the glow of the hour,
Earth's high altar of power-
But the East now was purple,
The eve was begun ; Like a monarch at rest
On the wave, lay the sun; Above him the clouds
Their rich canopy roll'd,
The Rabbi's proud gesture
"Great King, let that splendour
"What! gaze on the sun,
And be blind by the gaze?
Can look on that blaze!"
"Ho, Emperor of earth,
Of the sun's sinking limb,"
The Sovereign of him,
And the Sovereign of thee?"
Mary-le-bone Vestry-Room. May 10.
TO THE EDITOR OF BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE.
SIR,-Though folks say you are not one of we Liberals, 'tis allow'd on all hands you are all straight and fair like, and don't begrudge lending a lift to any thing in the poetry line, British or foreign, or what not, when good of the sample. Now, sir, I take liberty to hand you over the case of my nephew Alfred Mulgrave Timms, which I think have been a Scandalous victim of Tory oppression. I don't, for my part, understand Latin or Oxford doings, nor don't want to, neither: hows'ever, the case is as thus. My nephew having been brought up at my expense for seven years as a parlour boarder in the Academy of the Reverend Jubb of Little Pedlington, which I can well afford, which is neither here nor there; well, sir, this youth is an honour to his family, and bids fair to be a Parliament man, and go to court, as the great Mr Owen does, whose ideas, however, I don't go thorough-stitch with, as some of our gents of the board, as keeps ladies, and has whitewashed with their creditors, do,—well sir, I booked his name regular, I mean Mulgrave's, at one of the places in Oxford College, and made it all right to qualify him to walk off with all the prizes, as in course with fair play he ought to; but having some inkling of a Commissionership from a high quarter not one hundred miles from Kilkenny, whom I served in times past, he has not settled his mind as to lodging and vittling with the Collegers, some of which is no better than they should be, and dangerous at times to a timid youth; not as the money is any object, nor not as Mulgrave is anyways timid in the talking way.—Well, sir, the prize gave out this year being about the Great Plague of London, which was plaguy odd when there was so many genteeler topics, and more suiting the late auspi cious nuptials; so what does Mulgrave do, but he gives his concern a neatish twist like of his own, to teach the Big- Wigs what was what, and as he says, says he, to correct their bad taste as to subject." Well, sir, lo and behold! here comes his copy-book returned, costing me eightpence out of my own pocket by post, with a pencil scribble on the back to say, "cannot be admitted to competition, having nothing to do with the subject, and savouring of political bias." This is a burning shame, sir: envy and jealousy is at the bottom of the "tottle of the whole," as my friend above quoted says; and so thinks Mulgrave himself; what's more, he has touched it up again, and stuck a regular stinger in the tail, which will make the doctors and proctors, and suchlike, look about them. The great Mr G., our city member, who was a Cambridge scholar, and counted by the Liberal interest to be an uncommon good judge of foreign tongues, says it reminds him of one Junival, (a Frenchman, I suppose, by the turn of his name.) Mr G. Englished it to me and my friend not one hundred miles from Kilkenny, as before quoted, and we both think the sentiments is quite prime, and nothing else. Whereby, if you would print it in your next, I would stand any loss under a five-pound note; for, as I said before, money's no object, particularly when a man feels his back up under the sense of tyranny.-Yours, Sir, to command,
PESTIS LONDINUM DEVASTANS.
CARMINIS SÆCULARIS RITU (UT MELIUS) TRACTATA.
Protulerint rhombum ægrotis, carnemque ferinam,
Me majora vocant; tales utinam improba pestis
O ubi vitæ
Firma solo, mirâque erepta paludibus arte,
Nec saltem vomerem in mensas ego potus, ut olim
Aut galloppatum, aut mollem celebrare mazurkam.
O quis me vatem regali sistet in aulâ?
* "Eheu! quàm suave est," &c.-Ita Lathamus in Corintho. 1809. Sir De L. Evans.