A FRAGMENT FROM JEWISH HISTORY.
“Joy! joy! Spring hath come!
Bounding o’er the earth,
Laughing in the insect’s hum,
In the flow’ret’s birth.
Ere his spirit springs above,
Summer’s wreath to twine,
Oh, what joy for me, my love!
Then thou wilt be mine!
“Joy! joy! though awhile,
Dearest, we must part,
Warmly will thy sunny smile
Rest upon my heart.
Spring the earth is greeting, love,
With a crown of flowers;
For the hour of meeting, love,
Sweeter hopes are ours.”

So sung, in a rich, mellow, though somewhat subdued voice, a young man, as he stood beneath the window of a grim old mansion. The sun had but just risen, and sky and earth seemed still bathed in his soft rosy glow. Flowers of delicate form and many a brilliant tint were gemming the greensward, which looked fresh and bright as emerald. Fringed with hoary rocks and thick dark woods, lay the deep blue waters of the lovely Rhine, seeming as if the spirits of the early morning had flung on them a rich robe of golden sheen. Even the black forest in the far distance, and the old, apparently half-ruinous mansion itself, all but laughed in the glowing light; hailing, as they did, the new birth of nature, as well as that of the day. Spring had, within the last few days, leaped from the arms of winter; and flowers and birds, and earth and sky, welcomed his birth, as with a very jubilee of gladness.

The deep seclusion of the scene, however, was remarkable: castles and towns, convents and monasteries, generally studded the banks of the Rhine, even as early as the close of the eleventh century, the period of our narrative; but here there was not a habitation of any kind visible, save this one old house and its out-door offices.

It was a Hebrew school or college, the origin of which was so far removed into the past as to be involved in mystery. From its extreme seclusion it had remained undisturbed, when elsewhere every trace of Israels locality had been washed out in blood. Century after century beheld it occupied by a succession of venerable teachers, learned in all the mysteries of their law, and faithful to its every ordinance; by some few Hebrew families who, from being pupils, loved its peaceful seclusion too well to exchange it for the dangers of towns; and by some youths, brought there by anxious parents, or there own will, to learn such lessons as would bid them live to glorify their faith, or die to seal its truth with blood.

The young minstrel, whose song we have given, had been one of these pupils since the age of ten, and was about returning to Worms, his native city, to see his widowed mother, from whom he had been parted fourteen years, obtain her blessing on his choice (the daughter of one of his teachers), and then return for his betrothed, either to dwell in this safe retreat or elsewhere, as circumstances might be.

A knapsack was on his shoulder, and in his eager look upward as he sung, his cap had fallen off, and one of those countenances which, once seen, rivet themselves upon the heart, was fully displayed. It was purely spiritually noble; expressive of every emotion which can elevate and rejoice, and utterly devoid of that abject mien and fearful glance, the brand which persecution laid on the Israelites of towns.

A sweet face appeared for a minute at the window as the song ceased; a smile whose sunny warmth the poet had, not too glowingly described, a fond wave of the hand, and then the window was tenantless again, and the young man turned away, still humming—
“For the hour of meeting, love,
Sweeter hopes are ours;”

when he was joined by the companion for whom he had waited: a man some ten years his senior, dark and stern in aspect, as if every human emotion had been battled with and conquered.

“Joy—hope! Have such words meaning for an Israelite?” he said, bitterly. “Art thou of the doomed and outcast race, and canst yet sing in the vain dream of joy? Knowest thou not the fate of Israel, when once looked on by man? The rack, cord, death! Hast thou not heard, that in this new war of the accursed Nazarene, their holy war, the signal for marching is the death-shriek of the slaughtered Jews? Spires, Metz, Cologne, Treves, Presbourg, Prague, ask them the fate of Israel, and sing if thou canst. Ask yonder river, from whose kindly waters those who had sought their calm repose, rather than wait the cruelty of man, were drawn forth and butchered on the blood-reeking land. Ask yon river the fate of the hundreds who threw themselves within it—and then sing of joy!”

“I do know these things, Arodi,” was the calm reply, though the flushed cheek denoted some feeling of pain. “I know that for Israel there is only such joy as may be resigned at a moment’s call; only such hope as looks beyond this world for perfection and fulfilment. Think you because, with a grateful heart and joyful song, I breathed forth a dream of earthly happiness, that I am less fitted than yourself to give up all of joy, hope, and love, if such be the will of God?”

“It cannot be. You love, you are joyful. You have woven sweet dreams, whose destruction will bow you to the dust. Human affections fetter your soul to earth. How can it give itself to God?”

“Through the blessings He has given; blessings which so fill my heart with love for Him, that without one murmur I would resign them at His call.”

“You think so now; beware lest this, too, prove a dream. For me, hope and joy are as far from me as yon blue arch from the cold earth on which I see but my brethren’s blood.”

“Look beyond it, then,” answered Helon, fervently. “Why should there not be joy for Israel? Dark as is his present, so bright will be his future. As both have been prophesied, so both will be fulfilled.”

He spoke in vain; as well might he have striven to pour forth sunshine on the dark bosom of night, as infuse his spirit in the heart of his companion.

Their way being long, and travelling tedious, from the trackless forests and mountain torrents which they were repeatedly compelled to cross, they found they had miscalculated their time, and that the solemn festival of the Passover, which they had hoped to celebrate in Worms, would fall some few days before they reached it. Remembering that a kind of hostelry, kept by one of their brethren, lay but a few roods out of their way, they determined on abiding there till the festival was over.

It was on the fourth day that a man rushed into the court, covered with dust and mud, and so exhausted as barely to be able to tell his horrible tale. Massacre and outrage again menaced the hapless Jews. He stated that, on the first day of Passover, as the procession of the Host had passed down the Jewish quarter of Worms, a cry arose that it had been insulted by two Jews, who had vanished directly afterwards. That, were not the real criminals given up, the whole Jewish population should be exterminated, without regard to age, sex, or rank. Seven days were allowed them to determine their own fate; a useless delay, for when all were innocent, who could avow guilt? The city gates were closed; not a Jew allowed egress from the town, and, at the imminent risk of his own life, the bearer of these horrible tidings had alone escaped.

Darker and sterner grew the countenance of Arodi, as he heard. He had neither relative nor friend amid the doomed, but once more the curse had fallen on his people, and he burst forth in fearful execration.

“Ye sang of joy,” he exclaimed, turning fiercely towards Helon, on whose face, though pale as marble, a strange yet beautiful light had fallen. “Sing on! a joyous song to greet a mouldering home and murdered parent. Ye dared hope—ye dared be joyful—’tis the wrathful voice of the avenger!”

“Peace, Arodi; they shall yet be saved.”