An inarticulate moan of pain,
Like the immeasurable main
Breaking upon an unknown beach,"

Thus spake the Poet with a sigh ; Then added, with impassioned cry, As one who feels the words he speaks, The color flushing in his cheeks, The fervor burning in his eye: "Among the noblest in the land, Though he may count himself the least, That man I honor and revere Who without favor, without fear, In the great city dares to stand The friend of every friendless beast, And tames with his unflinching hand The brutes that wear our form and face, The were-wolves of the human race!" Then paused, and waited with a frown, Like some old champion of romance, Who, having thrown his gauntlet down, Expectant leans upon his lance; But neither Knight nor Squire is found To raise the gauntlet from the ground, And try with him the battle's chance.

"Wake from your dreams, O Edrehi!
Or dreaming speak to us, and make
A feint of being half awake,
And tell us what your dreams may be.
Out of the hazy atmosphere
Of cloud-land deign to reappear
Among us in this Wayside Inn;

Tell us what visions and what scenes
Illuminate the dark ravines

In which you grope your way. Begin!"

Thus the Sicilian spake. The Jew
Made no reply, but only smiled,
As men unto a wayward child,
Not knowing what to answer, do.
As from a cavern's mouth, o'ergrown
With moss and intertangled vines,
A streamlet leaps into the light
And murmurs over root and stone
In a melodious undertone;
Or as amid the noonday night
Of sombre and wind-haunted pines
There runs a sound as of the sea;
So from his bearded lips there came
A melody without a name,
A song, a tale, a history,
Or whatsoever it may be,

Writ and recorded in these lines.

THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE.

KAMBALU.

Begun January 26, 1864. Finished February 12, 1864

INTO the city of Kambalu,

By the road that leadeth to Ispahan,
At the head of his dusty caravan,
Laden with treasure from realms afar,
Baldacca and Kelat and Kandahar,
Rode the great captain Alau.

The Khan from his palace-window gazed,
And saw in the thronging street beneath,
In the light of the setting sun, that blazed
Through the clouds of dust by the caravan raised,
The flash of harness and jewelled sheath,
And the shining scimitars of the guard,

And the weary camels that bared their teeth,

As they passed and passed through the gates unbarred

Into the shade of the palace-yard.

Thus into the city of Kambalu

Rode the great captain Alau;

And he stood before the Khan, and said: "The enemies of my lord are dead;

All the Kalifs of all the West

Bow and obey thy least behest;

The plains are dark with the mulberry-trees,
The weavers are busy in Samarcand,

The miners are sifting the golden sand,

The divers plunging for pearls in the seas,
And peace and plenty are in the land.

"Baldacca's Kalif, and he alone,

Rose in revolt against thy throne :

His treasures are at thy palace-door,

With the swords and the shawls and the jewels he

wore;

His body is dust o'er the desert blown.

"A mile outside of Baldacca's gate I left my forces to lie in wait,

Concealed by forests and hillocks of sand,

And forward dashed with a handful of men,
To lure the old tiger from his den

Into the ambush I had planned.

Ere we reached the town the alarm was spread,
For we heard the sound of gongs from within;
And with clash of cymbals and warlike din
The gates swung wide; and we turned and fled;
And the garrison sallied forth and pursued,
With the gray old Kalif at their head,

And above them the banner of Mohammed:

So we snared them all, and the town was subdued.

"As in at the gate we rode, behold,

A tower that is called the Tower of Gold !
For there the Kalif had hidden his wealth,
Heaped and hoarded and piled on high,
Like sacks of wheat in a granary ;
And thither the miser crept by stealth
To feel of the gold that gave him health,
And to gaze and gloat with his hungry eye

On jewels that gleamed like a glow-worm's spark,
Or the eyes of a panther in the dark.

"I said to the Kalif: Thou art old, Thou hast no need of so much gold.

Thou shouldst not have heaped and hidden it here, Till the breath of battle was hot and near,

But have sown through the land these useless hoards

To spring into shining blades of swords,

And keep thine honor sweet and clear.

These grains of gold are not grains of wheat;

These bars of silver thou canst not eat;

These jewels and pearls and precious stones
Cannot cure the aches in thy bones,

Nor keep the feet of Death one hour
From climbing the stairways of thy tower:’

"Then into his dungeon I locked the drone,
And left him to feed there all alone
In the honey-cells of his golden hive;
Never a prayer, nor a cry, nor a groan
Was heard from those massive walls of stone,
Nor again was the Kalif seen alive!

“When at last we unlocked the door,
We found him dead upon the floor;

The rings had dropped from his withered hands,
His teeth were like bones in the desert sands:
Still clutching his treasure he had died :
And as he lay there, he appeared

A statue of gold with a silver beard,
His arms outstretched as if crucified."

This is the story, strange and true,
That the great captain Alau
Told to his brother the Tartar Khan,
When he rode that day into Kambalu
By the road that leadeth to Ispahan.

INTERLUDE.

"I THOUGHT before your tale began,"
The Student murmured, "we should have
Some legend written by Judah Rav
In his Gemara of Babylon;