Chronicles and Characters :: :: University of Virginia Library

In the gloomy Ghetto's gloomiest spot,
A certain patch of putrid ground,
There is a place of tombs: Moors rot,
Rats revel there, and devils abound
By night, no cross being there to keep
The evil things in awe: the dead
That house there, sleep no Christian sleep—
They do not sleep at all, it is said;
Tho' how they fare, the Fiend best knows,
Who never vouchsafes to them any repose,
For their worm is awake in the narrow bed,
And the fire that will never be quench'd is fed
On the night that will never close.
There did Rabbi Ben Ephraim
(When he saw, at length, the appointed measure
Of misery meted out to him)
Bury his books, and all his treasure.
Books of wisdom many a one—
All the teaching of all the ages,
All the learning under the sun,
Learn'd by all the Hebrew sages
To Eliphaz from Solomon;

Not to mention the mystic pages
Of Nathan the son of Shimeon
The Seer, which treat of the sacred use
Of the number Seven (quoth the Jews
“A secret sometime filch'd from us
By one call'd Apollonius”),
The science of the even and odd,
The signs of the letters Aleph and Jod,
And the seven magical names of God.

Furthermore, he laid in store
Many a vessel of beaten ore,
Pure, massy, rich with rare device
Of Florence-work wrought under and o'er,
Shekels of silver, and stones of price,
Sardius, sapphire, topaz, more
In number than may well be told,
Milan stuffs, and merchandise
Of Venice, the many times bought and sold.
He buried them deep where none might mark
—Hid them from sight of the hated race,
Gave them in guard of the Powers of the Dark
And solemnly set his curse on the place.
Then he saddled his mule, and with him took
Zillah his wife, and Rachel his daughter,
And Manassah his son; and turn'd and shook
The dust from his foot on the place of slaughter,
And cross'd the night, and fled away

(Balking the hangman of his prey)
From out of the city of Cordova.