LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 ©^p ©op^rigip 1^ 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
 J 
 
THE 
 
 ]R1I)E OF BAR-(H)CAB. 
 
 A TALE IN AVERSE, 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE MACDONALD MAIR. 
 
 S'^' CO' 
 
 §^ 
 
 DEC aa, IBfi' 
 
 New York : ^^^ ^^ wash^v^'.^^ 
 
 C. WESLEY JONES, 
 
 218 FULTON STREET, 
 
 1883. 
 

 Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 
 1881, by 
 
 GEORGE MACDONALD MAIR. 
 
 In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at 
 Washington, D. C. 
 
■IF I HAVE DONE WELL, AND AS IS FITTING THE 
 STORY, IT IS THAT WHICH I DESIRED, BUT IF SLEN- 
 DERLY AND MEANLY. IT IS THAT AVHICH I COULD 
 ATTAIN UNTO.- 
 
 II Maccabees, xv : 88. 
 
NOTE. 
 
 Coziba. a Jewish rebel, in the reign of the 
 Roman Emperor Hadrian, having assumed the ti- 
 tle of Bar-Cocab — the son of a star — in allusion to 
 Balaam's prophecy (Num. xxiv: 17.) and proclaimed 
 himself Messiah, over 200,000 Jews rallied around 
 his standard. This immense host was utterly rout- 
 ed at Bitthera. a fortified city a few leagues from 
 Jerusalem, by the Roman Irovernor of Judea ; Coz- 
 iba himself being slain. The fiction that his fimi- 
 cee on the evening preceding the battle revealed to 
 him her conversion to Christianity and urged him 
 to retire from the contest, as related in the "poem, 
 and the whole of the second canto are, of course, 
 deviations from historical verity. 
 
THE BlUDE (IF BA1{-C()('AB, 
 
 CANTO THE FIRST. 
 
 I. 
 
 'Mid groves of figs and olive wood, 
 O'ershadowed by the sacred fanes 
 Of Salem on the higher plains, 
 The city of Bitthera stood ; 
 That fortress where, of old, along 
 Those hills once refluent witli song, 
 The mightiest army took its stand 
 That Israel could to arms command 
 Since Titus' victory laid the shrine 
 
2 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 In ashes, fondly deemed divine. 
 
 Far off, and semi-circling high, 
 
 The peaks of Moab bound the eye, 
 
 And form, since further sight is ceased, 
 
 The blue horizon of the east, 
 
 And, nearer, in the shadow seen, 
 
 The arid desert drifts between. 
 
 And, westward, when the eye has passed 
 
 Of the uneven hills, the last. 
 
 The land in one descending plain 
 
 Slopes gently to that tideless main 
 
 That softly laps or wildly raves 
 
 Its impotent and harmless waves. 
 
 II. 
 Bitthera — who of all that tread 
 That spot, its tale have rightly read ? 
 Or pause to pay the homage there 
 Such hallowed scenes should ever shared' 
 For there, though crushed by weary years 
 Of vassal life and exile tears. 
 
THE BRIDE OE BAR-COCA B. 
 
 The slumbering heroism woke. 
 
 Of souls that chafed beneath the yoke, 
 
 Wliile faltering Freedom, loth to flee . 
 
 The clime of her nativitv, 
 
 Still tamed with the hearts of flame 
 
 That to her final rally came : 
 
 There, on that very field arrayed 
 
 The last, fond, vain attempt was made, 
 
 Yet few — ah none — e''er stop to trace 
 
 The mournful history of the place. 
 
 Or grant the tribute of a tear 
 
 To memories Freedom should revere; 
 
 For such the vandalism of Time, 
 
 And famine's dearth and despot's crime, 
 
 That not a vestige now is there 
 
 To point their courage or despair, 
 
 And even tradition lingers not 
 
 To sanctify th' neglected spot. 
 
 Or aid him whose unworthy verse 
 
 Would seek the story to rehearse. 
 
4 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 III. 
 
 The ev^e falls soon, but lingering still, 
 Day trails in beanty o'er the hill, 
 As to dispel with lovelier light 
 The gathering darkness of the night. 
 The breeze is sprung and wafts along 
 
 The odorons breath of wild-grown flowers, 
 The echoes of the bird's last song, 
 
 Still floating through the woody bowers, 
 The dew is fallen on bud and leaf 
 That seem the fairer in their grief ; 
 Above, the mellow moon is bright. 
 Without a cloud to veil her light. 
 And the hushed stars upon the coast 
 Of heaven array their twinkling host 
 And shine that softness o'er the hour, 
 Oh ! who has loved nor felt its power ! 
 
 IV. 
 Within a boAver by sheltering trees 
 
 Protected from Intrusion's gaze. 
 
thp: bride of bar-cocab. 
 
 Mine eye a sudden vision sees. 
 Obscure at fii-st, but, by degrees, 
 In bold relief the scene I trace ; 
 A man of sad, upbraiding face. 
 And, bv his side-, a form of grace, 
 The Dryad of this lonely place. 
 Far, far, thejVe left behind, I \veen. 
 Their native and familiar scene 
 Whate'er their errand is, and here 
 Are safe from any listening eai'. 
 Thus much I reason from the sweat 
 With which the chargers' flanks is wet, 
 That, tethered near for instant aid, 
 Crop lazily the grassy glade. 
 Whose strong, lithe limbs in time of need. 
 Might Ayell l)e deemed a thing of sj^eed. 
 
 V. 
 An open helmet lies hard by 
 
 The mound on which they sit, as though 
 He felt it weigh oppressively 
 
b TITE BTHD-E" OT" BAK-GOCAK. 
 
 And had removed it from his brow, 
 A coat of mail enwraps hi^. breast, 
 And greaves around his legs are laced. 
 Beside hi& helmet^ too, are laid 
 A Spanish sword of finest blade,, 
 And, ready for his instant gi^asp. 
 The pilnm, such as Komans clasp, 
 But all appear, in sooth, alien 
 At such a time, in such a scene. 
 
 VI. 
 But not alone his garb betrays 
 A want of harmony with the place, 
 I see it in his gloomy face ; 
 For o'er that brow is darkening there 
 The shadow of a crashing care, 
 That seems a shade less than despah-. 
 All feelings that the heart can know — 
 Regret, defeated hope, and woe. 
 The passion-chaos of the breast, 
 I trace upon his face impressed ; 
 
THE BlilDE OP BAli-C;OCAB. 4 
 
 Tet, conquering all, and chastening down 
 
 Each hasty word and rising frown, 
 
 I note that gentleness of love, 
 
 That son-ow^s tempest oonld not move, 
 
 That bade the will of self be spurned. 
 
 And ceased f upbraid even while it mourned. 
 
 VII, 
 And she, whose story he had heard 
 And quivered at each blighting word, 
 That to his boding heart had seemed 
 The knell of all he hoped or dreamed, 
 She turns her gaze on him, her eye 
 Filled with the tear of sympathy, 
 As one whose heart had felt constrained 
 To tell the secret it contained, 
 Yet mourned each word it had to speak — - 
 But oh 1 that dewy eye and cheek, 
 Seemed to have added loveliness, 
 If such could be, in her distress ; 
 And those fair lips, that arching brow. 
 
8 THE BRIDE OF EAR-C?OCAB. 
 
 Had ne'er so tem2)ting been as noWy 
 When sorrowing for another's woe. 
 How tame then must mj verse express 
 The increase of that loveliness, 
 Which was a thing far too divine 
 For human language to define, 
 The outward profile it might give, 
 But not the soul that made it live, 
 And lit the beauty of that face 
 With something more than earthly grace 
 A halo from the blessed place ! 
 
 VIII. 
 "Oh Ruth I of all my foes," he said, 
 "From thee I have the most to dread. 
 Thy frown can do my heart more harm 
 
 Than Roman powder, or Roman guile, 
 For victory loses half its charm 
 
 If unrewarded by thy smile. 
 Oh I oft Pve scorned the coward soul 
 Whose valor owned a maid's control. 
 
THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 And scoffed the courage such supplies 
 In ruby lips or sparkling eyes, 
 But Love has wrought his* own revenge 
 And seared a heart he shall not change. 
 Too true, they say, who call the love 
 
 Of woman but a fickle thing — 
 A fancy which a glance can move, 
 
 And just as quickly put to wing." 
 IX. 
 ''Nay, but indeed thou art unjust," 
 She answered to his closing thrust, 
 ''Did I not love thee more than life 
 I would not risk mine in such strife, 
 Nor leave my family and my home. 
 Such uncongenial scenes to roam, 
 Nor brave it, since arise it must. 
 The scandal, too, like thee, unjust. 
 And if, in sooth, my faith is changed, 
 My heart from thee is not estranged. 
 ( )h ! little dost thou reck the pain, 
 
10 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 Unrested heart and weary brain, 
 The long, long days of donbts and fears. 
 The nights that seemed prolonged to years. 
 Before my heart and mind and will, 
 Half won and half rebellions still. 
 Made full surrender to the creed 
 That wakes thy bitterest hate and deed. 
 Bnt whose the f anlt ? if fault there be 
 It rests with thee, Bar-Cocab, thee. 
 The Christian captive was thy friend. 
 To whom thou bad'st me to extend 
 Such courtesy as he might claim 
 That would not compromise my name : 
 I gave such care, the white-haired man 
 Whose years were running o'er their span, 
 Beguiled the w^eary hours of death 
 With histories of his life and faith. 
 I saw in death his eyelids close 
 As fearless as a babe's repose. 
 And yet a captive and with foes ! 
 
THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 11 
 
 He was in life and death a saint 
 
 Who made no murmnr nor complaint. 
 
 In all those weary months of grief, 
 
 Kor sighed for freedom nor relief. 
 
 What marvel that the faith whose power 
 
 Sustained him through each lonely hour, 
 
 Found me unable thus to cope. 
 
 With no such faith and no such hope. 
 
 And conquered when my heart found peace 
 
 By resting on that Cross and grace. 
 
 Oh I darling, scoffer as thou art. 
 
 Oh ! let that Cross subdue thy heart. 
 
 For dark, indeed, the end I see 
 
 Of this wild life will prove to thee. 
 
 And darker still, perchance, to me !" 
 
 X. 
 ^'I ? God of Abraham forbid ! 
 That were worse sin than Israel did. 
 When in the wilderness they prayed 
 [Into the idol Aaron made. 
 
12 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 It were strange humor in my spleen 
 To bow before the Nazarene, 
 Who have made many of his faith 
 To join him in his felon's death. 
 Would such had been the bishop's fate ! 
 Nor had I been compassionate. 
 Save that my sire once owed his life 
 To his strong arm in battled strife, 
 In earlier years upon the field. 
 When both a patriot's sword did wield 
 Against the foe I fight (that deed 
 Was ere he had abjured his creed.) 
 And well my kindness he repaid, 
 To proselyte a guileless maid, 
 But say no more — a faithless name. 
 The taunt of an apostate's shame 
 Shall never darken my fair fame. 
 Nor time, however dark my deed. 
 E'er prove me recreant to my creed ! 
 
THE BRIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 13 
 
 XI. 
 
 "]N"ay, Israel's God once more shall bless 
 With choicest gifts His chosen race. 
 Dost think He can forswear His oath 
 As lightly as a maid her troth ? 
 Or deem that Israel ne'er shall taste 
 The future that her seers forecast ? 
 Nay, Israel's sins and cowardice 
 Have barred us from the Paradise 
 ( )ur God reserves for him whose faith 
 
 Can trust His promises, nor cower 
 Beneath a mortal tyrant's wrath 
 
 While resting on Almighty power. 
 As Joshua dared and Gideon, 
 So may I be their worthy son ! 
 But come, whatever fate be mine 
 
 The die is cast — I shall not shrink, 
 I have but one life to resign. 
 
 And should my trampled country sink 
 To deeper subjugation, I 
 
14 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 Would rather in her service die, 
 Than live to linger out my days 
 The slave the heathen tyrant sways. — 
 Come, let us to the tent return 
 
 And hide thy secret in thy breast, 
 
 Lest even I could not arrest 
 The vengence I alone should mourn." 
 
 XII. 
 She rose and stood irresolute ; 
 
 Then flung herself upon his breast , 
 And hung her head a moment mute, 
 
 By love and sorrow both possessed — 
 "Say, dearest — oh ! too dear thou art ! 
 Come, let me read thine inmost heart. 
 Because my childhood's faith is changed, 
 Say, is thy love from me estranged ? 
 I charge thee, let thy words be sooth. 
 Oh dost thou love me still in truth ? 
 If not, oh send me from thee now. 
 Yet not in w^ords the change avow ; 
 
THE BKIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 15 
 
 I could not bear to hear those lips 
 Pronounce affection's harsh eclipse ; 
 Nor yet could bear with thee to stay. 
 And know that love had died away ; 
 But rather let me go alone, 
 ]^or hear thy heart's dread, altered tone. 
 There is a solitary place 
 For those who know the heavenly grace, 
 Where woman may renounce for e'er 
 The outside world and all its care. 
 And spend her life in fasts and prayer. 
 The God who gave His Son for me, 
 Will guide my footsteps as I flee. 
 Such would I seek and there forget, 
 
 Perchance, my unrequited love. 
 Oh ! if thou dost not love me yet 
 
 Let my last wish thy bosom move." 
 XIII. 
 He rained upon her upturned lips 
 
 Fierce kisses, passionate and fast — 
 
16 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 ''Kot love thee, sweet ? the insect sips 
 From many flowers a flippant taste ; 
 
 So may the dainty soldier change 
 
 His love from piqne or for revenge ; 
 
 Not I, the love I did avow 
 
 Is changeless, naught conld change it now. 
 
 Not even betrayed, yet constant still, 
 
 My heart conld not desire thee ill. 
 
 And yet this very constancy 
 
 But gives a deeper pang to me. 
 
 For I had dreamed thee by my side 
 
 My counsellor as well as bride, 
 
 The star of hope that led me on 
 From victory to victory, 
 
 Whose smile was worth a battle won, 
 And bade the fears of sorrow flee. 
 
 And heard in my prophetic ear 
 
 The tidings of my triumph near, 
 
 And felt anticipation bless 
 
 My spirit with assured success, 
 
THE BRIDE OF EAK-COCAB. 17 
 
 Until the plastic present seemed 
 
 Almost tlie future that I dreamed. 
 
 Once more had Israel in that hour 
 
 Regained her ancient, regal power, 
 
 Once more my trampled country bloomed, 
 
 My race their glorious march resumed, 
 
 And I their king and thou my queen. 
 
 Had reaped the blessings of the scene, 
 
 The benedictions freely given 
 
 To instruments thus blessed of heaven. 
 
 Who make a people's slavery cease. 
 
 And win them liberty and peace. 
 
 And been unto all future days 
 
 The patriot's type, the poet's praise." 
 
 XIV. 
 ''Bar-Cocab, oh ! I weep to know 
 How sure such dreams must wake in woe. 
 How fair soe'er the prospects seem. 
 They're even vainer than a dream. 
 Let reason teach how weak indeed 
 
18 THE BKIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 Such paltry force is to succeed, 
 
 The merest fraction at the most. 
 
 To what the Roman power can boast, 
 
 In arms and hardihood and skill 
 
 The difference more unequal still. 
 
 Oh, vahi the hope of aught to be 
 
 But dire disaster unto thee ! 
 
 And to what haven canst thou flee ? 
 
 Since all the world has no retreat, 
 
 But suppliant kneels at Ciiesar's feet ; 
 
 More hopeless still, for who would rue 
 
 The sorrows of an outcast Jew ( 
 
 ( )r dare offend the serfg of Boine, 
 
 By offering him a rest or home. 
 
 Nor death, that crowns a soldier's fame. 
 
 To thee, would only seal thy shame. 
 
 Since whatever aspirations high 
 
 Inspire thy soul to win or die, 
 
 The world has placed thee by her ban 
 
 A brigand chief — an outlawed man. 
 
THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAH. 19 
 
 Whose bravery is a desperate deed, 
 Wliose sole ambition^ lust of greed, 
 And ignorant of tby better will 
 The stigma would o'ershade thee still. 
 Oh yield, if reason will not move, 
 Oh yield a captive unto love." 
 
 XV. 
 "My men are outlaws, it is true, 
 But yet they only seek their due. 
 Driven in exile from their land. 
 
 And spurned alike in Greece or Kome, 
 They know on earth no friendly hand. 
 
 They see no hope, they have no home. 
 The soil the tyrant lends to-day 
 To-morrow's greed may rend away, 
 And even life — the tyrant's hate 
 Kegards no rights inviolate, 
 A Jew weighed in a Koman scale 
 Is lower than the slave of sale, 
 The ready prey at any hour 
 
20 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAE. 
 
 Of him whose hand possesses power. 
 AYhat can tliey do then save to tnrn 
 Upon the rnthless foes that spurn, 
 And grasp by the same metliods, hfe, 
 And wealth, and power, by Ishmael strife ? 
 And what to me is hfe and fame 
 The while my country lies in shame? 
 Oh ! glance it over from this height. 
 Beneath the moon's refulgent light, 
 And feel the worship of the sight ! 
 Behold our sacred city's fanes 
 That ne'er a worshipper contains ; 
 Behold those glorious fields and hills, 
 Which now a foreign desjiot tills, 
 And tell me if one might not bleed 
 With rapture for to see them freed 
 From his accursed power — yea, die 
 With triumph in his closing eye ! 
 My spirit thrills as here I stand 
 
 And scan those holy haunts where once 
 
THE BlilDE OF BAR-COCAB. 21 
 
 Men heard from heaven divine response, 
 Mj disinherited fatlierland ! 
 Which to describe is poetry, 
 
 And even now seems floating there 
 
 A spirit in the viewless air 
 That bids thy people yet be free. 
 
 XVI. 
 "Wild Paradise ! even in neglect. 
 
 Thy weeds of widowhood are fair, 
 Although no loving hand has decked 
 
 For weary years thy disrepair. 
 Still partial ^atnre strives to veil 
 The wrecks of Time and ruin's trail, 
 Profusely still her gifts are strown 
 
 In this one spot of sacred soil, 
 That elsewhere bless no single zone, 
 
 But ask a world-wide clime and toil. 
 The spicy winds from orient shores 
 Purloin for thee their richest stores. 
 And all that greets the traveler's quest 
 
22 THE BKIDE OF BAK-C()Cx\B. 
 
 Ill dewy south or cooler west, 
 Are lavished on thy valleys fair 
 And tempt the wanderer lingering there ; 
 While even the Alpine Hower buds blow 
 Upon thy mountain crests of snow^ 
 Whatever the whole wide world can show 
 All — tributary here combine 
 To make this miniature world of thine. 
 While ever loving heaven supplies 
 Her brighest stars and bluest skies, 
 And o'er tlie pleasant landscape throws 
 An air of i)eace and calm repose. 
 
 XVII. 
 ''But these are all that cannot die ; 
 All else of glory and of grace 
 Have faded and have left no trace. 
 Like rainbows in a sunmier sky. 
 ( )f art or beauty of thine owm 
 There is no vestige, not a stone 
 llemains where once thy temple stood 
 
TlIK JiKIDE OF BAK-(X)CAB. TA 
 
 To sanctify the solitude. 
 The voiees of thy seers are hushed. 
 The spirit of thy sons is crushed ; 
 Xo more against Oppression's rod 
 They rise to wreak the wrath of God ; 
 Save Vf'hen some outlaw on the hill 
 Strikes one frail blow for vengeance still. 
 The song of mirth is heard no more, 
 Nor festal dance along thy shore. 
 Save when the harp that was divine 
 Is struck by other hands than thine ; 
 For thine have been the deadliest foes 
 That e'er a peoj^le's history shows, 
 War, famine, pestilence, and all 
 That darkens nations with a pall. 
 Have been thy heritage of ill. 
 My country, and aiilict thee still. 
 
 XVIII. 
 "Ah me, when Memory loses sway, 
 Then bid me turn from Vengeance' way. 
 
24 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 When I forget the deadly wrongs 
 
 That now my recollection throngs, 
 
 The years of shame, the dark disgrace, 
 
 That conquers, then corrupts, a race. 
 
 \yhen I can fawn and praise the Power 
 
 That brought the sorrows of this liour. 
 
 If Justice suffers me to live. 
 
 Then come and pray me to forgive. 
 
 But may the blackest curses rest 
 
 Upon the recreant, coward breast. 
 
 That for a moment's panse would turn 
 
 To cease to make th' oppressor mourn, 
 
 Or opportunity forsake 
 
 Its hatred in his blood to slake ! 
 
 May heaven turn from his prayer to save ! 
 
 May earth deny the wretch a grave ! 
 
 And all the powers of hell arise 
 
 To lengthen out his agonies, 
 
 Till even the fiends shrink in dismay. 
 
 From one far more accursed than they !" 
 
THE BRIDE OF HxiRH'OCAB. 25 
 
 XIX. 
 
 He helped her mount, then grasped his blade 
 And ponderous pilnni from the ground, 
 Leaped on his steed with one light bound, 
 And home they galloped through the glade. 
 They rode in silence ; bright above 
 The moon its radiant pathway clove, 
 Its white beams softly round them thrown 
 On tree and vine, unheeded shone. 
 Brlo^ht as the stars above the bloom 
 Of snowy blossoms wept perfume, 
 The phlox in pinky beauty set, 
 The asphodel and mignonette, 
 The wild-rose with its blushing flowers, 
 Unnoticed gemmed the grassy bowers. 
 Yet 'mid the stillness of the scene. 
 They felt their hearts grow more serene. 
 His disappointment and distress 
 Lost half its venomed bitterness. 
 And she unwinged her hopes to soar 
 
20 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 To brighter visions than before, 
 
 And viewed him, snatched from ban and deatli 
 
 A happj convert to her faith. 
 
 ( )h ! who e'er felt his spirit shrink 
 
 From cares 'neath which he must not sink, 
 
 And let the midnight breezes blow 
 
 O'er waving hair and throbbing brow, 
 
 Nor felt his burdens grow more light 
 
 Beneath the cooling touch of Night ? 
 
 Sweet hour ! whose stillness seems a prayei* 
 
 Though voiceless, o'er the brow of Care ! 
 
 XX. 
 Yet as he rode against his will 
 Some sad reflections pressed him still, 
 AYith all the heaviness and force 
 ( )f him who feels a recent loss. 
 For the comj^anion at his side 
 Had been a help-meet, loved and tried, 
 Since both had conned the sacred page 
 Together from an early age. 
 
TIIK BRIDE OF HAK-COCAB. 2< 
 
 And felt tlieir liearts liarnionions burn, 
 
 To see tliose glorious times return. 
 
 In all liis schemes her interest lent 
 
 To him a dear encouragement, 
 
 Though oft they woke in her more zeal. 
 
 Than his less sanguine breast could feel. 
 
 But all this sympathy to-night 
 
 Died in the altered proselyte, 
 
 Whose eyes beheld with diiferent sight. 
 
 And now believed those hopes to be 
 
 To God presumptuous emnity. 
 
 And, though so flippantly dismissed 
 
 The WTjrds, that Euth had scarcely wist 
 
 They gained a moment's thought — his heart 
 
 Had felt them like a venomed dart. 
 
 They surged it now with angry shame 
 
 When he recalled his blighted name, 
 
 Who far and near had thus been Ijanned 
 
 The leader of a wild command. 
 
 And she alone had understood 
 
28 THE BKIDE OF BAE-COCAB. 
 
 The thought of his heroic mood ; 
 For even his men were slow to learn 
 The higher hopes she could discern, 
 Nor dreamed a higher aim was his 
 
 Than greed of wealth and lust of power, 
 Nor knew that life possessed no bliss 
 
 While Israel was the Roman's dower, 
 Nor e'er had pierced his deeper mind 
 To see they were by him designed 
 To be the nucleus of strength 
 To raze the Caesar's throne at length : 
 Each member of the band a Jew 
 To memory and to vengeance true, 
 Selected with consummate skill 
 A tool to serve their leader's will, 
 Fntil at last his plans matured, 
 A powerful host his call secured ; 
 The proud and world-wide empire through 
 A new ambition seized the Jew, 
 The artisan forsook his trade 
 
THE BKIUE OF BAli-COCAB. 
 
 99 
 
 The trembling merchant grasped a bhide. 
 And in Bar-Cocab hoped to see 
 A second, greater Maccabee, 
 And to his standard lent such aid 
 Tliat careless Caesar felt dismayed. 
 
 XXI. 
 The offspring of a priestly sire — 
 His grandsire had beheld the doom 
 Of Israel by the power of Kome, 
 Had seen her temple wreathed in tire, 
 Had seen her liberties expire, 
 
 And in her service found a tomb. 
 From wdience Bar-Cocab's sonl had canght 
 The animus of deeds thus wrought. 
 Which in his more susceptive years 
 His mothei- taught his greedy ears. 
 By whom he had been dedicate 
 To bear to Rome unchanging hate, 
 Repledged upon her bed of death. 
 And well he kept that awful faith ; 
 
80 rilK BRIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 
 
 By many a village given to flame, 
 And many a deed of 1)lood and shame, 
 And many a tax»and treasure sent 
 The cofl^ers of the government, 
 Spoiled by liis lawless horde, attest 
 That vengeance slept not in his breast. 
 
 XXII. 
 Yet lives of shame and deeds of blood. 
 Were not to him congenial mood, 
 Nor songlit becanse he fonnd delight 
 In slaughter, and a bliss in light. 
 Phenomenal men in epoch times 
 Commit what were in others, crimes : 
 He deemed the end he had in view. 
 Absolved the means he did pursue 
 As being to him, the instrument 
 To cany out his high intent. 
 This war]3ed his judgment till t' obtain 
 Success, he spared no cost nor pain, 
 And worse, it chilled his yielding heart, 
 
THE BKIT)K OF HAR-COCAR. 81 
 
 When Mercy bade compassion start, 
 Till, as the Gorgon looked npon 
 The form that glance transformed to stone, 
 He ceased to mourn the hearts that bled, 
 Or shudder at the carnage red, 
 However dark the deed of blight 
 Supporting the imagined right. 
 Still, even his worst extreme was less 
 Than methods of the foe's success. 
 And he could palliate his hate 
 By pointing to his country's state, 
 While Rome upon her seven hills 
 For selfish luxury wrought her ills. 
 
 XXIII. 
 His years fell short of middle age 
 And yet his mind was formed as sage. 
 Such years, though few indeed their span. 
 Transform even youthhood into man. 
 Beset with dangers and with foes. 
 The heart's deep longings, fears and Avoes, 
 
32 THE BKIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 
 
 The mind's inteiisest tension stretched 
 
 To work the plan its high hope sketched, 
 
 These all were his, and marked his face 
 
 With those stern lines such lifetimes trace. 
 
 His laugh was far more grave than gay, 
 
 His hair was prematurely gray. 
 
 And yet withal no daintier face 
 
 Had ever won a maiden's praise, 
 
 Nor sweeter voice, nor milder art. 
 
 E'er overcome an obdurate heart. 
 
 Or supplicated Beauty's shrine, 
 
 Tlian masked that outlaw's bold design. 
 
 XXIV. 
 'Twas yet three hours ere Morn should rise 
 And veil the stars in eastern skies 
 When lo ! they saw beneath their Hght 
 A splendid though expected sight. 
 
 XXV. 
 Far as tlie mounted eye could reach, 
 Encamped along the broad champaign 
 
THE BKIDK OF [i A !<-('( )CAK. 
 
 [.ike sands upon tlie I'iver hcacli, 
 
 A tented army stretched of men. 
 Wide circling all, an earthen nionnd 
 Knll ten feet high, formed ample bonn< 
 On whose uiibroken height arrayed, 
 Was bnilt a dangerous palisade, 
 Protected on the outer side 
 By ditches ten feet deep and wide. 
 Distinguished by its greater height 
 The general's quarters met the sight. 
 Within the central space and round 
 Tlie others had their proper l)oimd. 
 The footman sleeping by his spear, 
 The horseman and his charger near. 
 And martial engines further reai". 
 Where sleepless vigil did secure 
 The baggage and tlie furniture. 
 All drawn in as exact array 
 As Csesar's legions might display. 
 
34 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 In answer to some secret sign, 
 The sentinel brought them in the hne, 
 Where willing hands were waiting there 
 To render every needed care. 
 The lady sought her private tent, 
 The chief to his, his pathway bent, 
 And of his armor there undressed. 
 Sought fruitlessly an hour of rest, 
 While she with less unquiet mind, 
 Soon found the sleep he failed to find. 
 
 XXVII. 
 At last upon his eyelids pressed 
 The semblance of refreshing rest. 
 When there arose a shout so loud. 
 That thunder from the breaking cloud 
 Reverberating overliead, 
 Would seem to peal less deep and dread. 
 And on the eastern palisade, 
 A yawning breach he saw, dismayed. 
 
THE BKIDE ^F BAK-(()('Ali. ')i'> 
 
 So suddenly the crumbling clay 
 
 P^ell tlirougli or in the ditches lay, 
 
 It seemed more like the earthquake's shock, 
 
 Than battering-ram or darted rock. 
 
 And such his semi-conscious thought 
 
 Had deemed the breach and the report 
 
 Had not his eyes seen through it poured 
 
 The masses of the Roman horde, 
 
 And heard the trumpets sound alarms. 
 
 And sentries cry "to arms ! to arms I'' 
 
 XXVIII. 
 Attached to Bar-Cocab's command 
 There was a straggling motley l)and. 
 Untrained in arms. ( )f some the aim 
 Was plunder — some liad Hed from shame, 
 Both men and women — youuiJ: and fair — 
 And even old Age crouched treml)ling tliere, 
 Who fled to find a kinder life 
 .Vlthough 'mid Battle's awful strife. 
 Than bear their lords' im])ei'ious mood. 
 
86 THE BKIDK O^ BAK-COCAB. 
 
 Or live in soulless servitude ; 
 TlievSe skirted the great host and fell 
 At the first onslaught in the dell. 
 As when some landslide crunches down 
 The mountain side upon the town. 
 Or wdien in northern seas the ice 
 Towers high like craggy precipice, 
 And crushes into instant death 
 The hapless ship that steers beneath, 
 So, helplessly, they meet the blow 
 And fall before the ruthless foe, 
 And, maddened in their wild affright, 
 T.ike frightened game confuse their sight, 
 And trample down a greater host 
 Than even the enemy's sword can boast- 
 Men, women, children madly mixed, 
 Trampled to death, by spears transfixed. 
 How savage was the carnage there 
 When selfishness urged on despair. 
 And neither age nor youth could stay, 
 
rilK BRIDK OF IJAK-COOAIi. 
 
 Nor heautv awe tlie lust to slay. 
 
 XXIX. 
 Stunned tor the moment and ama/ed, 
 I>ar-Co('a1) at the coniiiet gazed, 
 As still in donbt but all might be, 
 His sleep's disordered reverie. 
 Till, cleaving throngh his open tent, 
 A pihim fell with force unspent 
 Xud passing by, so near him pressed 
 It almost grazed his unmailed breast. 
 Admonished thus, he quickly dressed 
 In armor, now too long delayed, 
 And iirmly grasped his Spanish blade. 
 
 And caught his pilnm in his hand, 
 And to the front his progress made. 
 
 To win or perish with his band. 
 Once there, his pilnm had snch aim 
 As two to kill, a third to maim ; 
 And he such greeting gave his foes, 
 That few dared stand before the blows. 
 
38 THK BKIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 His advent seemed to give new life 
 Unto his followers in tlie strife, 
 Who rush impetuously along 
 Against the overwhelming throng, 
 And many a Roman soldier dies 
 As fast and fierce the pilum flies : 
 And as from numbers they withstand, 
 The combat changes hand to hand ; 
 The broadswords in the sunlight flash. 
 The gore spurts red from many a gash. 
 While some with the barbarian's mace, 
 On either side maintain their place, 
 Until the fleld is red with blood, 
 And pools of the ensanguined flood 
 C.^ongeal, where, on the fetid plain 
 The bodies lie of maimed and slain. 
 
 XXXI. 
 The cavalry, whose greater host 
 The martial power of Rome could boast, 
 
TllK BRIDE OF BAR-COCxili. J^V> 
 
 Became, so iierce was the onslaught. 
 Detached from where tlie others fouglit, 
 And met upon the southern field — 
 
 With deadly power the Romans threw 
 
 Their solid phalanx on the Jew, 
 Who pledged to rather die than yield. 
 With awful shock against them wheeled, 
 
 And stood their ground, tho' many a horse 
 Dashed from their ranks whose rider reeled 
 
 And fell to earth a mangled corse. 
 Again the deadly charge — again 
 The wild repulse of desperate men. 
 In bloodier combat than before, 
 Themselves, their chargers, smeared with gore 
 And maddened ranks thinned more and more I 
 And yet again the sickening thud 
 Of the opposing foes — the blood 
 That from the men and horses flood ! 
 Then the irregular sallies, where 
 The Jews surrendered to despair. 
 
40 IHK ERIDE OF HAK-(()(;A1{. 
 
 Wliose only liope was in tlie strife, 
 
 To dearly sacriiice each life, 
 
 And glut defeat with foeiiiaii's hlood , 
 
 I'ill after the last rally stood, 
 
 Of all Bar-Cocab's men but one — 
 
 Brave, bloody, reckless and alone. 
 
 XXXII. 
 Tlie Jtonian horsemen ceased their strife. 
 And offered to parole his life ; 
 jVdmiring, envying, him possessed 
 The stoic valor of his breast. 
 He scoffed the life they would have fi'eed 
 And dashed the rowels in his steed. 
 And ere they saw his purpose dread, 
 His sword had cleft the leader's head, 
 Another and another dies 
 Before they wake from their surprise; 
 And hesitating then to strike. 
 Another Roman meets the like, 
 So rash, so di-ead, the soul can dare 
 
THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAE. 41 
 
 In the wild f urj of despair ; 
 
 But that last stroke hath cost him dear, 
 
 Fie ne'er shall strike another here ! 
 
 XXXIII. 
 In many (juarters of the held, 
 
 Bar-Cocab's mounted form was seen ; 
 
 His life, a charmed life had been 
 That day, for many a form had reeled 
 In death, that by his side had rode ; 
 But scathless still, though hued with l)lood 
 He rode, inciting courage where 
 The arm, at times, slacked in despair ; 
 Until he reached the sheltered tent 
 Wherein his lady-love was pent. 
 He paused a moment to assure 
 His heart she was within secure, 
 When lo ! as if with wings endued. 
 
 She past him quickly, wildly, ran 
 
 So swift, she did not see him then. 
 And by two Romans fast pursued. 
 
42 THE BEIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 Bar-Cocal) followed, gasping sunk 
 The first, a headless, quivering trunk, 
 When he himself beneath a blow 
 Struck by the second, tottered low, 
 AVho waiting not to ascertain 
 If Bar-Cocab were stunned, or slain. 
 Pursued, with still more eager pace, 
 The maid whose beauty lured his chase. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 As her pursuer drew more near 
 Her heart and brain throbl)ed wild with fear. 
 Which winged her speed that to the eye 
 Her dainty feet appeared to fly ; 
 She scarcely noticed where, or why. 
 The road she took — 'twas soaked w^ith blood, 
 
 And now and then her fleet foot slid, 
 
 So slippery and unsafe it did 
 Make all l)eneath its clotted flood; 
 But this she had not time to think, 
 Nor of the eyes that seemed to blink 
 
THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. -1-8 
 
 Upon lier from tlie field of death, 
 As on she flew with bated breath. 
 At times she passed two hving foes 
 Whose arms in deadly conflict close, 
 Or, now and then, a group who turn 
 To cheer her as her swift feet spurn 
 The ground, or blush for very shame 
 As on her vile pursuer came ; 
 But none essayed to aid her too. 
 For was slie not by race a Jew ? 
 
 XXXV. 
 How long she fled she could not tell ; 
 The moments to her frenzied fears 
 Prolonged themselves to months and years. 
 The distance stretched to many a league 
 Of footsore hardship and fatigue. 
 Until the landscape seemed to swim 
 Then fade in darkness — every limb 
 Uuto its utmost tension taxed, 
 Quick as an eye could wink, relaxed 
 
44 'rilE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 Its faithless strength and seemed to be 
 
 Palsied in her extremity ; 
 With a despairing shriek she fell, 
 His rnffian hand felt on her laid, 
 His breath upon her hot cheek played, 
 She dared not look into his face — 
 And yet — who spoke those words of grace ( 
 Was it a dream '( or did her ear 
 In truth those accents really hear '( 
 Sweet words, that bade her fear no more, 
 But rest protected by his power. 
 That on her ears far sweeter fell 
 Than welcome after long farewell, 
 Or to the exile far away 
 The voice that sings his native lay. 
 Or gracious Beauty's longed for 'yes' 
 To Love's impatient eagerness. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 It was no dream, for bending o'er. 
 With courteous solicitude, 
 
THE liRIDE OF BAR-COCAli. 45 
 
 She saw a face whose features wore 
 
 The impress of a noble mood ; 
 AVhose words assured her of a friend, 
 And brought her terrors to an end ; 
 And near him, stood the ruffian there 
 Whose evil spirit mourned to spare. 
 Even while he sullenly obeyed 
 The order that his general made, 
 And left them at his stern command 
 ( )nce more on bloody fields to stand. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 "I am the Roman Governor," said 
 Her new-found friend ; "be not dismayed ; 
 Nor harm nor fear shall follow thee, 
 As mine own sister thou shalt be. 
 But thou art tired — I will provide 
 An escort for thee, and a guide 
 To bring thee to my house and there 
 Thoii wilt receive the tender care, 
 And the repose thou need'st to share." 
 
46 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 And ere she could reply, lie gave 
 The order to his waiting slave, 
 Who finding an escort and horse, 
 
 By sheltered pathways guided them, 
 [Tntil they reached, in. rapid course. 
 
 The mansion in Jerusalem. 
 And left th' exhausted maiden there. 
 To find repose and loving care ; 
 While they returned unto the field. 
 In hopes it might some booty yield. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 The strife was o'er — that noonday sun 
 That saw the hard fought battle won. 
 His vivid beams of yellow light 
 Cast on a saddening, sickening sight. 
 Of thousands that awoke that morn 
 With hopes to see another dawn. 
 Scarce hundreds marked the noon- day glare 
 That lit the field of slaughter there. 
 And they were prisoners, save a few 
 
THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 47 
 
 Who finally for safety flew, 
 
 Yet both, perchance, had better died 
 
 In battle by their comrades' side. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 Bar-Cocab whom the Governor sought 
 Was not among the prisoners brought, 
 ]N^or to his inquiry could relate 
 A soldier what had been his fate. 
 Until the latest straggler came 
 And gained a transitory fame 
 
 By tidings that were not gainsaid. 
 "I struck him down upon the field, 
 Then sought what other scenes might yield, 
 
 Supposing I had struck him dead. 
 Returning later in the day 
 To where I left his body lay, 
 
 I found that he had risen and fled ; 
 What further fate befell his lot. 
 Escaped or fallen — I know it not." 
 
18 THE BKIDE OF BAR-COCAE. 
 
 XL. 
 
 The Governor placed upon his head 
 
 A large reward — alive or dead ; 
 
 If dead 'twere worth the price to know 
 
 The future free from that dread foe, 
 
 If living, fortunate the hour 
 
 That paid to hold him in his power ; 
 
 But still suspense the less annoyed, 
 
 Since all his army was destroyed, 
 
 So thought he, as he turned his rein 
 
 To reach Jerusalem again ; 
 
 His men to follow when they'd paid 
 
 Their pious duty to the dead. 
 XLI. 
 
 'Twas noon — 'tis night, who wanders there. 
 At this lone hour among the dead, 
 When even the spoiler flees with dread, 
 
 With gory face and clotted hair ? 
 
 Ah me ! how changed ! and yet I trace 
 Bar-Cocab's features in his face, 
 
THE BRIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 49 
 
 Unarmed he stands with forehead bare ; 
 Then leaves tlie field with hurried tread, 
 
 But j)auses on the lonely hill, 
 
 Where he can see Jerusalem still, 
 Or turning, view the sacred dead. 
 Hark ! borne along the summer air 
 His farewell message of despair. 
 
 XLII. 
 ''Oh Israel ! captive and forlorn, 
 Alas ! that I have lived to mourn ! 
 Of thousands of thy people strown 
 In death, why was I spared alone. 
 To see the tyrant's swelling host. 
 And hear his loud triumphant boast ? 
 And watch the midnight of disgrace 
 Without a star, gloom o'er my race ''i 
 Oh Death ! why hast thou stricken low 
 
 Young hearts enamored still of life, 
 While I who wildly sought thy blow. 
 
 Escaped unharmed from peril's strife ? 
 
50 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 ''For I had fondly hoped to be 
 
 The promise of thy prophecy. 
 
 To place upon thy forehead fair 
 
 The diadem that thou should'st wear, 
 
 To hurl the despot from the throne, 
 
 Thy sovereigns ruled in ages gone, 
 
 And turn the weary tides of ill. 
 
 And show thy God was with thee still. 
 
 But I have brought thee deeper wrong 
 
 And stronger chains, — oh God ! how long '( 
 
 XLIV. 
 "Oh Thou ! who clothed in living fire. 
 
 Didst choose us for thine own — how long 
 Before the heathen feel thine ire. 
 
 And meet thy vengeance for our wrong. 
 Behold on yonder bloody plain 
 The thousands of thy people slain, 
 And where a smiling city stood, 
 Behold a desolate solitude. 
 
THE BRIDE OF HAR-(;OCAB. 51 
 
 Oil ! let Thine anger turn from us 
 To fall on those who spoil us thus, 
 And hasten the auspicious hour 
 That ushers in Messiah's power, 
 And ripens all the prophecy 
 I vainly dreamed fulfilled in me. 
 
 XLV. 
 ''I see Him — worthier than I — 
 
 I see His glory from afar, 
 When He shall bring salvation nigh. 
 
 And chase the desolate clouds of war. 
 Yet shall He come to wear the crown 
 The ages keep for Him alone. 
 Once more these scenes with joy shall shine 
 That now in desolation pine. 
 And shadeless glory bloom instead, 
 And shine a halo 'round His head : 
 And thou, Jerusalem, shall be 
 
 The sacred city of the earth, 
 When men from climes beyond the sea 
 
52 THE BRTDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 Shall turn their reverent eyes to thee, 
 
 And bow to thy superior worth ; 
 From thee shall heavenly truth proceed, 
 -^y which the nations shall be freed, 
 When thou shalt bid their sorrows cease, 
 And breathe the benison of peace. 
 The glowing centuries shall endower 
 With all their wealth, thy gracious power, 
 All art, all knowledge, shall combine 
 To blend, like incense, at thy shrine. 
 And Justice, wed to Love, shall be 
 The pillars of Messiah's throne ; 
 And Kings shall bow the subject knee, 
 And to his scepter yield their own. 
 XLVI. 
 "But thou, (31i Rome ! mine enemy. 
 In my prophetic sight I see 
 That thou shalt cease to be the free ; 
 Thy glory is a blood-stained thing. 
 Oh thou ! who to thy yoke dost bring 
 
THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 58 
 
 The power and riches of the earth I 
 
 Thou shalt not always sit in mirth. 
 But sackcloth shall thy covering be. 
 Oh ! still uprear to heedless stars 
 
 The conqueror's memorial arch, 
 Yoke captive sovereigns to his cars 
 
 Of triumph, on the homeward march. 
 Still wrench from the defenceless East 
 The gems that glitter at the feast, 
 And cross the cold and dark blue wave 
 
 That beats upon the distant shore, 
 
 In very wantonness of power, 
 To make the naked savage slave. 
 But know — though thou canst smile to hear 
 
 The captive clank his galling chain- 
 Eternal Justice hovers near 
 
 To recompense thee for his pain. 
 The wail of subjugated climes 
 Shall yet prevail against thy crimes ; 
 And, great and matchless as thou art 
 
54 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 Thou yet shalt know a widowed heart, 
 And long and dark the years shall be 
 Tliat number out thy infamy." 
 
 XLVII. 
 He ceased : one glance across the right 
 Where Salem's towers wei'e bathed in light, 
 Then turning one long gaze to meet 
 The fatal field of his defeat — 
 And with an imprecation lierce 
 He lied — my vision saw him till 
 He reached the woods beyond the hill — 
 His further path it could not pierce. 
 Oh where could Hope a covert spread 
 Where he might safely rest his head ! 
 
 END OF C^ANTO FIRST. 
 
THEBRIDKOFBAIUOCAB. 
 
 CANTO THE SECOND. 
 
 I. 
 
 It is a festal scene to-night, 
 That through tlie Governor's lattice bright 
 Streams far and wide yon flashing light, 
 And shines within a gayer sight ; 
 Where Beauty's undisputed power, 
 Alone controls tli' ecstatic hour. 
 How fleet, to Music's lively sound. 
 The glittering feet the floor rebound. 
 While in the pauses of the dance. 
 Eyes smile to Love's imploring glance. 
 
58 . THE BKIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 Or some to laughing circles throng 
 To list the voice of Beauty's song, 
 Or fence in dear but dread debate, 
 Where hearts are lost to some coquette, 
 Who, skilled in Cupid's fickle arts. 
 Prizes all but captured hearts. 
 
 II. 
 Ruth, whose fair, faultless form and face. 
 The Governor knew had added grace, 
 Unto the festival and court. 
 Importunate her presence sought, 
 But vainly, for her faith forbade 
 Such revels as the heathen had. 
 Yet through her open casement floats 
 The laughter and the music notes, 
 And through the darkness, glitters bright 
 The lamps' full radiance of light. 
 But both appeals passed lightly by, 
 TTnheeded by her ear or eye, 
 For she recalls the eve she stood 
 
THE BRIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 59 
 
 Within the solitary wood, 
 
 Witli him from whose firm-plighted faith^ 
 Although since that dark morn of blood, 
 She heard no word of ill or good, 
 
 She fears no frailty, — only death. 
 III. 
 A gentle knock upon the door. 
 Admission gave the Governor, 
 Who to her glanced surprise replied, 
 "Oh yes, I fled a coquette's side, 
 A pensive hour with thee to spend, 
 My lovely, but ascetic friend. 
 The festival seemed dull as care. 
 When thou — the fairest — wert not there. 
 Oh ! had those eyes of thine there shone. 
 They had made every heart thine own ! 
 But tell me why should'st thou refuse, 
 And let such charms die without use. 
 What harm to list to Music's sound. 
 Or in the harmless dance whirl round ( 
 
60 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 The flowers live through their summer day 
 As heaven designed, in mere disjilay ; 
 The birds make life a symj^hony, 
 And thou dost love their melody ; 
 What evil then for thee, whose youth 
 Hath bloom and melody in sooth, 
 A festal night at times to spend. 
 Where social joy links friend to friend?'' 
 
 IV. 
 "I have no logic," she replied, 
 ''That would convert thee to my side ; 
 But my own heart and life to-night 
 Bear witness that my course is right. 
 I, too, have vainly whirled along 
 To Music's notes among the throng, 
 And felt my cheek blush glad to hear 
 The flatteries told my giddy ear. 
 But while I felt the vain wish swell 
 I had no thought of heaven or hell, 
 No love for God, and sadder still. 
 
THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. f)l 
 
 If tlionglit of, only scorned, His will. 
 But now since I have known His grace, 
 I find no joy in sncli a place ; 
 Where even of Pleasure's votaries 
 The heart nnrested sighs for ease, 
 And midst the most tiimaltnons joy, 
 Fnsated, feels the pleasure cloy, 
 IS'or thee, — oh ! surely life is more 
 Than the mere plaything of an hour, 
 But rather is a solenm trust. 
 For which to give accounting just. 
 The shadow of the Cross of Christ 
 
 Is resting o'er the world beneath, 
 And that life-blood there sacrificed. 
 
 Brings fuller life or dreader death. 
 It is the touchstone of the will 
 That tests its tide of good or ill, 
 And shows how runs the current broad, 
 
 In unison or enmity. 
 With its orginal source in God : 
 
62 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 How runs it, kindest friend, with thee?" 
 
 • V. 
 
 ''I have been from my very youth 
 A ceaseless searcher after truth," 
 He said "Fve turned to creeds eifete, 
 To find some truth there lingering yet ; 
 I've tried them all, but only tried 
 To turn from each unsatisfied. 
 To hnd in each, though different, still 
 The same old superetitious ill, 
 To find in each misunderstood 
 Or silence as to the supreme good. 
 I've passed through all — from seeing God 
 In earth and sea and sky and flower. 
 And everything — himself and power. 
 Till now, in all my eye beheld, 
 I see no Deity unveiled, 
 Nor to my bended knees hath e'er 
 A God answered my fervent prayer. 
 But list — my life at any time 
 
THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. ^^8 
 
 Hatli been unsoiled by loathsome crime, 
 
 For even in my boyish blood 
 
 My heart obeyed and reverenced good ; 
 
 At thy command I will resign 
 
 This Governor's office which is mine, 
 
 And we will flee to some retreat 
 
 Where naught of sin our eyes shall meet ; 
 
 Once there, and thon my lawful bride, 
 
 Thy faith and prayer my soul shall guide. 
 
 To kneel and worship at thy side — 
 
 And if indeed the Cross reveals 
 
 The infinite heart that throbs and feels 
 
 For every pang of human woe. 
 
 And sees repentant sorrows flow, 
 
 If this indeed is infinite love, 
 
 I long, I thirst, such love to prove : 
 
 But thou, be thou the teacher there. 
 
 To teach my ignorance, join my prayer." 
 
 VI. 
 He paused — her vision on his face 
 
64 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 Grew fixed as in its glance to trace 
 His inmost heart — liis eyes of fire 
 Were filled with Love's devout desire, 
 Beyond the power of utterance there. 
 And her eyes dropped before the glare, 
 And filled with tears to answer, 'no.' 
 She strove to soften it — ''I owe 
 
 To thee what I can ne'er repay ; 
 Not life — I prize it not below — 
 
 Had the wild ruflian sought to slay, 
 1 had not fied nor feared the blow, 
 But more — w^iat woman prizes most 
 And finds no substitute when lost — 
 Her virtue — through thy power and grace, 
 I 'scaped the soldier's vile embrace. 
 For tliis I thank thee, and my prayer 
 Shall make of thee a daily care. 
 My grateful praise, my heart s esteem. 
 While life holds out, or reason's beam 
 Is bright within me, shall to thee 
 
THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 65 
 
 Be given for tlij clemency ; 
 
 And that is all I have — of love 
 
 One man alone my heart can move. 
 
 The love I plighted unto him, 
 
 Nor time can change nor distance dim. 
 
 And then besides I count my life 
 
 As much his as a wedded wife, 
 
 For with our nation, when a maid 
 
 Is once betrothed, 'tis ne'er betrayed. 
 
 Or to the recreant o'er her name. 
 
 The worst blight falls of sin and shame." 
 
 VII. 
 ''Fair lady, (why art thou so fair ?) 
 Bar-Cocab lives not — on the plain 
 He was struck down with other slain. 
 'Tis the unreason of hope to bear 
 The thought that he has 'scaped from there, 
 Unless, indeed, he showed such care 
 For his own safety as to ilee, 
 And think not, care not, what chanced thee : 
 
66 THE BEIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 Ill any case tliou art set free. 
 
 Why nurse a love, then, in thy breast 
 
 That must forever be unblest '( 
 
 And cast along thy future life, 
 
 Too young, too sweet, to fill with strife, 
 
 Tlie shadow of a hopeless care, 
 
 Whose only courage is despair ?" 
 
 VIII. 
 "Thou little reck'st what thou dost ask," 
 She answered, "nor how false the mask 
 Which thou wouldst have me wear ; for know 
 His love is all I prize below. 
 Nor would I change, even be he dead. 
 My affection for the spirit lied, 
 For any living lover here, 
 Nor could another be so dear. • 
 For since my childhood's earliest bliss. 
 My life has been entwined with his. 
 The playmate of my youthful hours 
 In more propitious times and bowers, 
 
THE BRIDE OF EAR-COCAB. f)7 
 
 And when years sped liis breast was fired 
 To see liis people's hopes expired, 
 I felt witli him a mutual flame, 
 To turn the tide that flowed their shame. 
 I was his confidante — my ear 
 Drank greedily his hope and fear. 
 And eagerly we hoj^ed, indeed, 
 And oft we talked of the high meed 
 That should reward the soul that freed. 
 And I with him oft shai*ed the bliss, 
 Anticipative, that would be his, 
 And wlien my faith was changed, his heart 
 Was constant though pierced by a dart. 
 Yea, though I knew there was no pain 
 That man e'er felt in heart and brain, 
 More sharp than his when from my lips 
 He heard what seemed his hopes t' eclipse, 
 He loved me still, although his face 
 Worked, as his inmost thoughts did trace. 
 Upon it all the heart can know 
 
68 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 Of baffled hope and sudden woe, 
 
 And even left me uncontrolled 
 
 To practice what mj conscience told, 
 
 Although the creed my soul professed 
 
 Was most abhorrent to his breast. 
 
 Oh no ! my heart where'er he be 
 
 Is wedded to his memory, 
 
 Nor can it know another love, 
 
 Or faithless to that memory prove." 
 
 IX. 
 "I ask no treachery," he said, 
 ''Unto the memory of the dead. 
 Still let him have the prior part, 
 The first allegiance of thy heart, 
 I only ask a friend's esteem. 
 Which would not falsehood be to him ; 
 No more than this from thee I'd claim. 
 Though pledged by ties of dearer name. 
 Since he is dead, oh ! grant to me 
 The right to guide and succor thee ; 
 
THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. ()0 
 
 As if the dead with his last word 
 Had willed it, that my suit be heard. 
 And had committed to me there 
 Thyself for my peculiar care. 
 Wait if thou wilt until thy grief 
 In time and distance finds relief. 
 To test my love and find it shown 
 Solicitous to win thine own ; 
 But oh ! deny me not to know 
 I'm dearer thee than all below. 
 Nay, give me no harsh answer now, 
 But ponder what I here avow. 
 I leave thee to thy solitude 
 To answer in a calmer mood, 
 And may my heart rejoice to find 
 Thy gracious will to me resigned." 
 
 X. 
 Days passed — again and oft renewed. 
 His ardent suit he still pursued. 
 With all the argument and art 
 
70 THE BRIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 
 
 That love assaults an obdurate heart. - 
 
 But still, though madly he may cope 
 
 Her answer gave his heart no hope. 
 
 At last, as yielding to his fate 
 
 He seemed the less importunate, 
 
 A week had rolled away and then 
 
 Another ere he spoke again ; 
 
 But oh ! how changed in that short time, 
 
 As by an age of grief and crime 
 
 His cheek, which had been fair with youth, 
 
 Was white and sunken, too, in sooth, 
 
 His brow, once smooth, was lined with pain. 
 
 And furrowed by each starting vein. 
 
 And his wild eye sepulchral shown 
 
 Bright, but its beam unearthly thrown ; 
 
 His hair unkempt, untrimmed his beard. 
 
 And every feature worn and weird, 
 
 And even his clothing disarranged — 
 
 Alas, indeed, how sadly changed ! 
 
THE BlilDE OF BAR-COGAB. 71 
 
 XI. 
 
 '' Forgive, '^ she noticed as he spoke 
 How Imskilj the wild words broke, 
 "Forgive me if thou canst," he cried, 
 "The measures wdiich despair may guide, 
 I can all lioj)es but thee resign, 
 I love thee, and thou shalt be mine. 
 If not persuasion, then must force. 
 In this last time be my resource." 
 
 XII. 
 With eyes that flashed and bosom heaving. 
 She turned upon him, scarce believing 
 The awful threat his words implied, 
 "I would not bend to thee," she cried 
 "Though thou didst to thy service bring 
 Captivity's most dreaded sting. 
 Shut the bright sun from these fond eyes, 
 Chain these frail limbs till each one dies, 
 And more than these, bring to thine aid. 
 The torture — I am not dismayed ; 
 
Y2 THE BKIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 I scorn thee and defy thee still, 
 And make no bending to thy will !'' 
 
 xm. 
 "Beware !'' he answered "oh ! beware, 
 Nor spurn nie more than I can bear ; 
 And think how near, ere 'tis too late, 
 Is unrecjuited love to hate." 
 
 XIV. 
 "Dost call this love ( it only proves 
 Such heart as thine is, never loves. 
 Nay, slander not the word, nor prate 
 ( )f love that may be turned to hate. 
 Love is no courtier that displays 
 His loyalty on sunny days. 
 And changes when misfortune's hour 
 O'ercomes the reign of hokle power. 
 It has no ebb — it knows no change, 
 No jealousy and no revenge : 
 It has no self-will, but will blend 
 The way its deep affections tend. 
 
THE BRIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 
 
 As ever to its proper pole 
 
 The faithful needle owns control. 
 
 So love, though time or distance part, 
 
 Still pays the worship of the heart ; 
 
 That homage, which though unreturned, 
 
 Or scarcely owned or harshly spurned, 
 
 Becomes the temper of the soul. 
 
 And holds, unconsciously, control. 
 
 Aye, love can suffer and can wait. 
 
 But never fellowships with hate. 
 
 'Tis said that women's eyes soon learn 
 
 Love's latent presence to discern. 
 
 And such I feared was in thy breast ; 
 
 Yes, feared, since it must be unblessed, 
 
 Thy threats have proved thy care for me 
 
 Was less of love than vanity. 
 
 Brave man ! who stoops his glance to lour 
 
 Upon a captive in his power ! 
 
 But know — I believe Bar-Cocab lives. 
 
 Thy fear a dilferent answer gives. 
 
74 THE BRIDE OF BAR-OOCAB. 
 
 And some day from thee will demand 
 
 The life thus thrown within thy hand. 
 
 Yet living or dead— hear thou my oath ! 
 
 To thee I ne'er will plight a troth ; 
 
 My vow recorded is on high, 
 
 Rather than wed thee I would die : 
 
 For heathen as thou art indeed, 
 
 In barbarous nature and in creed. 
 
 My faith forbids my life to be 
 
 Allied in marriage thus to thee. 
 
 Waste not thy words — thou canst not move 
 
 My heart — I scorn thy hate or love !" 
 
 XV. 
 "I thank thee for the thought — my power 
 Wonld safely shield in peril's hour 
 If love enlists its sympathy, 
 But oh — beware its enmity. 
 Thou dost reproach my pagan creed ; 
 Rash woman ! dost forget thy faith 
 By lioman statutes is indeed 
 
THE BHIDE OK liA K-('0('Ali. 75 
 
 A crime adjudged deserving death i 
 Yet would my power protect tliee still, 
 If thou art gracious to my will ; 
 If not, then dread the worst extreme 
 That scoffed and maddened love may seem. 
 Thine is a woman's thought of love, 
 Whose symbol is the timid dove. 
 r cannot love and find it scoffed, 
 
 And school my bursting heart and mind 
 To meekly bear and l)e resigned ; 
 My nature was not moulded soft. 
 My heart was made to love but once. 
 And love and find or force response. 
 If. not, the scoffer shall not live 
 To mock my ruined hopes, and give 
 The preference to a rival's suit. 
 While I must worship and be mute. 
 Xay, now thou must decide thy fate. 
 Shall love shield love e'er 'tis too late, 
 Or dost thou scoff and brave my hate ( 
 
Tf> THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 XVI. 
 "I, too, can love but once" she said, 
 "And Laving loved, my heart is dead 
 To all approach that could be made ; 
 I do not fear thy power, but still 
 I would not wish in aught to dare 
 A desperate man's forlorn despair, 
 Kor aught responsibility bear 
 For his wild deeds of crime and ill. 
 And yet the truth must still be said, 
 And thee I will not, cannot wed. 
 Yet — not because I fear the stake, 
 l>ut let me plead for thine own sake : 
 Beware e'er thy despair's resource 
 Shall be a lifetime's vain remorse. 
 For oh ! too plainly can I see 
 'Twill bring more ill to thee than me. 
 Such deeds so chill the guilty heart. 
 Repentance oft can find no part. 
 Then think how dread thy doom will be 
 
THE BKIDE OF BAK-(()CAB, 
 
 Tlii'ougliout a lost eternitj.*" 
 
 XVII. 
 "'Tis idle thus to threaten woe 
 To one who bliss can neA^er know ; 
 Mj love seems impotent to move 
 Thy bosom to responsive love ; 
 Then take my hate, and with it cower 
 Beneath a passion of more power.'' 
 He left the room, his bondman called, 
 AV^ho, at his visage shrank appalled ; 
 "Slave, to my dungeon cell convey 
 The Jewess saved the other day, 
 Disrobe her of her garb and clothe 
 Her in such dress as Christains loathe. 
 Guard well thy captive — with thy head 
 If she escape it will be paid." 
 I'hus saying, waiting no reply, 
 
 He entered in his room of state 
 
 To seal judicially his hate. 
 And sign the writ that Euth should die, 
 
78 TIIK BRI])K OF BAR-COCA B. 
 
 Yet Oil Ill's -liaggard brow, the gloom 
 Might seem the shadow cast of doom, 
 That fall on such beyond the tomb. 
 While in this life his vengeful l)rain 
 And heart nigh bursting in its pain 
 Distinguish him another Cain. 
 
 XVIII. 
 The hours creep slowly on toward night, 
 The lessening sun i-etires from sight. 
 Yet, ere tlie stars that nightly shine 
 To mark the gaudy day's decline, 
 Have wlieeled their glittering ranks in line, 
 The tidings wide have spread, and seem 
 Of speech the sole absorbing theme, 
 And wake such interest even pride 
 xVncestral, ceases to divide. 
 And Gentiles freely with the Jew 
 rutiringly the theme renew. 
 The victim's beauty and the doom 
 So awful in that beauty's ])loom ; 
 
TIIK HRTDK OF HAK-(H^rAH. iH 
 
 And vague iiisiimatioiis thrown, 
 Her crime was not her faith alone, 
 And all the air of mystery 
 Of what her nnknown rank might be. 
 During the three days given of grace. 
 Conjecture strives in vain to trace — 
 And adds more interest to the case. 
 
 XIX. 
 And she, the victim of his hate, 
 How doth she bear her altered state ? 
 Hath dungeon fare and fear repressed 
 The constant courage of her breast '( 
 The difference from her glittering room 
 
 With all that luxury could provide 
 Of that damp dungeon's rayless gloom. 
 
 Hath this, too, crushed her spirit's pride ( 
 Kay, faith, to her unshaken breast 
 Hath given more than earthly rest, 
 As trusting Him whose presence near 
 Can make a prison shine with cheer. 
 
80 THE BRIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 
 
 She leans upon His faithfulness 
 To hold lier with almighty grace, 
 Assured a brighter crown to wear 
 A¥itli Him for whom she suffers here. 
 She hears Him bid her troubling cease. 
 And feels her heart tilled with His peace ; 
 And twice, for now two days hath tlown 
 Since she was in the dungeon thrown, 
 She hath lain down to slumbers deep 
 As peaceful as an infant's sleep. 
 
 XX 
 Not so to her destroyer passed 
 The hours since he beheld her last. 
 Before his sleep-deserted eyes 
 In constant view her features rise ; 
 His mansion turned to solitude, 
 Where he forbade in his wild mood 
 Aught but his servants to intrude, 
 Who shudder as they pass him by. 
 At that mad glance and bloodshot eye. 
 
THE BRIDE OF BAK-COCAB. Si 
 
 Or by the half-closed doorway crouch 
 To proffer food he scarce will touch. 
 For there for hours he sits alone 
 And motionless and heeding none, 
 There, in that room, where oft he came 
 To see her whom they dare not name. 
 That room was hers, and is the same 
 As when she left it — naught is changed, 
 Kot even a curtain disarranged. 
 It seems to soothe his frenzy there 
 To sit him down upon her chair. 
 And bend his head upon his hands 
 And think — but who e'er understands 
 The frenzied thoughts of that despair. 
 Which, when Remorse the spirit rends 
 'Twixt pride that neither sleeps nor bends, 
 And Conscience's reproving tone 
 Feels Reason totter on her throne ^: 
 
 XXI. 
 But oft he startles from the chair 
 
82 THE BRIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 
 
 With eyes that like a madman's glare, 
 And flees from room to gilded room, 
 As if he fled Orestes' doom ; 
 And words of more than earthly fear 
 Fall on each frightened bondman's ear. 
 And tell how in his crazy mood 
 He deems that Are consumes his blood. 
 And all apart from mortal life 
 His sjDirit writhes in deatliless strife ; 
 And round him, as witliin him, plays 
 The tortures of that endless blaze 
 Which is reserved unquenchable. 
 For those whose black lives merit hell. 
 Or, perhaps, recurring to its cause, 
 The vision that his frenzy draws 
 Pictures a maiden, young and fair. 
 Whose eyes implore his soul to spare, 
 And on her naked limbs are stains 
 That show the bruise of galling chains 
 Fpon their gleaming whiteness there ; 
 
THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 83 
 
 And near her, in tlie act to spring, 
 
 He sees a lion balancing 
 
 That springs, but missing her, has pressed 
 
 Its shaggy form against his breast ; 
 
 He feels the sharp remorseless teeth 
 
 Crush through him as he lies beneath. 
 
 So vivid is his fancy's sight 
 
 Exhausted nature faints outright ; 
 
 But when revived his mind grows clear, 
 
 He curses at his frenzied fear, 
 
 And hastens to his room to hide 
 
 The shame of his unhumbled pride. 
 
 XXII. 
 It was the second night that fell 
 Since Ruth was pent in dungeon cell ; 
 The stars were marshalled in the sky, 
 The moon was bright, half heaven high, 
 The wind had died, so calm, so still, 
 Not even an echo left the hill. 
 The Governor in his favorite room 
 
84 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 Had seen the early shadows gloom, 
 And on that cloudless heaven and clear, 
 Had watched the glittering stars appear 
 As if (as ancient sybils say 
 There were in their prophetic ray 
 The destinies of men indeed) 
 He strove his future there to read. 
 Oh, long he looked along that scene, 
 
 And seemed to feel his fevered breast 
 
 Soothed into something like to rest ; 
 Beneath those rays so calm yet keen. 
 And long, perchance, he still had gazed, 
 Save as a casual eye he raised 
 I^nto a star that shone so bright 
 Upon the dark blue plain of night. 
 He chose it for his future's flight ; 
 When down through those still depths of air 
 
 It fell, a luminous trail of light 
 
 That faded into utter night. 
 It chilled him with a worse despair. 
 
THE BKIDE OF BAK-(X)CAB. 
 
 Sf) 
 
 ''The stars,'' he murnuired,"in the sky. 
 
 Betoken curses from on high.'' 
 
 Kor could he wish to look again 
 
 Upon that brilliant, starry plain, 
 
 But turned, so slight a thing can change, 
 
 His heart on maddening thoughts to range. 
 
 . XXIII. 
 Long hours that room he paces 'round 
 And by his footfalls' echoed sound. 
 Awakes the slaves who hear with dread 
 That hurried, tireless, ceaseless tread. 
 When lo ! a shriek their ears appall — 
 A wild despairing shriek — a fall. 
 And then a gurgling cry of pain. 
 And silence ominous again : 
 They list a moment still to hear 
 That footfall echo to the ear ; 
 Then rush witli bated breath dismayed. 
 And lighted tapers, to his aid, 
 Although their heavy hearts forbode 
 
S6 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 Their help could bring their lord no good. 
 
 XXIV. 
 How dread the scene that meets their sight 
 By the frail taper's flickering light. 
 There, scarcely dead, their master laid, 
 Mis l)ody pierced through by his blade; 
 I n his wild frenzy thus their lord 
 Had Hung himself upon his sword. 
 A pool of blood drips in their view, 
 The floor absorbs the sanguine hue, 
 His body warm — his arms still shake 
 At the half-timid touch they make ; 
 His eyes roll once at that mild touch. 
 Then close forever in reproach. 
 They bear him softly to the bed. 
 But ere they lay him he is dead. 
 The needless leech they send for still 
 Confirms the fear he has no skill ; 
 Too sure the aim of his despair. 
 To leave a hope of saving there. 
 
THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 8< 
 
 XXV. 
 
 To Eath, although the deed fullilled 
 The prophecy she feared, not willed, 
 The end so swiftly came — the blow 
 Subdued her heart and chilled her brow. 
 And fast and sympathizing fell 
 The first tears shed within her cell, 
 And more regret her lips express 
 Than ever for her own distress. 
 The jailer views, amazed, the scene 
 Of her, who, until now had been 
 In that dark cell as calm as though 
 She had no sense nor fear of woe. 
 Weep feelingly for him whose hate 
 Had doomed her to that awful fate. 
 But little could he know, and live 
 'Mid scenes of battle and of strife. 
 With stern revenge and rancor rife, 
 How much a woman can forgive. 
 
88 THE BRIDE OF EAR-COCAB. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 It is not Battle's liery mood 
 
 That shows the noblest fortitude. 
 
 Xor he, who dies as Brutns died 
 
 The suicide of his own pride, 
 
 Who flees from life, nor dares to meet 
 
 The scoff, the humbling of defeat, 
 
 Of Circumstance thelielpless slave. 
 
 Can call his temper truly l)rave ; 
 
 Xor he, whom pains nor dangers great 
 
 Deter not his determined hate, 
 
 Though thwarted oft, intent to range 
 
 Until it dies or wreaks revenge. 
 
 Can pluck from Truth the estimate 
 
 ( )f soul heroic, grand or great. 
 
 But those who could, like Buth, thus brave 
 
 The criminal cell — the martyr's grave, 
 
 Nor yield unto the tyrant's might 
 
 Their simple loyalty to right, 
 
 And the oppressor stricken low, 
 
THE BRIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 89 
 
 Forgiv^e his wrong and mourn his woe, 
 Display a heroism as high 
 
 Above mere ignorance of fear, 
 As noonday snn and arching sky 
 
 Are high o'er earth and objects here. 
 XXVII. 
 It does not to her thought occur 
 Th' effect his death may have on her, 
 How the lone hope her bosom pent. 
 That at the last he might relent, 
 With love triumphing over hate 
 And snatch her from that awful fate. 
 Was finally forever gone. 
 It comes though with the morrow's sun 
 That rising, ushers into birth 
 The last day she will sj^end on earth. 
 It comes but not disturbs the mind. 
 That fixed on heaven is resigned ; 
 For with that vividness of faith 
 With which new converts spurn at death. 
 
90 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 xlnd long to walk in calm delight 
 
 Those scenes where Faith is changed to sight, 
 
 She feels in lier impatient breast, 
 
 A yearning to embrace the test, 
 
 And win what gleams before her eyes, 
 
 The choicest hope — a martyr's j)rize — 
 
 Where seems a rapture in the j)ain. 
 
 To those who such reward obtain. 
 
 She does not boast the pangs to feel, 
 
 And her belief in blood to seal. 
 
 Without a shudder or a groan 
 
 From lacerated flesh and bone. 
 
 But as her memor}^ pondered o'er 
 
 That host who greater sufferings bore, 
 
 Since Stephen testifying stood 
 
 And sealed his witness in his blood, 
 
 And knew how strength direct from heaven 
 
 Unto its bleeding saints was given. 
 
 She felt assured who was her trust 
 
 Would show His strength thro' her weak dust. 
 
THE BRIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 91 
 
 And prove tlie apostle's words ere long : 
 "When I am weak then I am stronfir." 
 
 o 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 And yet she was a woman too, 
 
 To all her sex's instincts trne — 
 
 A saint, wdio thongh of spiritnal mood. 
 
 Yet had not lost her human blood — 
 
 A woman with such lovely face, 
 
 Snch grace her every motion in. 
 That not to praise were want of grace. 
 
 And not to love were almost sin ; 
 A beauty who at times appears 
 'Now wreathed in smiles, now bathed in tears, 
 Who would delight in love's young bliss — 
 To give and to receive a kiss ; 
 A woman with a woman's breast 
 To love, be praised, and be caressed ; 
 And not too much an anchorite, 
 Her social tastes and charms to blight. 
 But who could cheer a husband's life 
 
92 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 With tlie devotion of a wife : 
 
 Could rouse his hopes, could soothe his fears 
 With every fondness that endears, 
 And yet with faults and human ill. 
 That prove her more a woman still. 
 
 XXIX. 
 The sun awakes — how callous still, 
 All nature seems to human ill, 
 And pitiless, on land or main, 
 With glory veils or mocks man's pain. 
 Who ever knew the sky less blue. 
 
 The morning sun less warm or bright, 
 Although some sufferer lingering through 
 
 The cooler hours of grateful night, 
 But feels liis awful pains renew, 
 
 And only sees to curse the light. 
 The battle-fields with blood bedewed, 
 A populous town made solitude. 
 Old Nature sends her thoughtless rain, 
 Th' unconscious flowers there sjjring again, 
 
THE BRIDE OE BAR-(X)rAB. 98 
 
 And though an empire there entombs, 
 She still as sweetly sings and blooms. 
 
 XXX. 
 Such morning dawned on Kutli's dread day, 
 And mocked her with its brightest ray. 
 The early matin lay she heard 
 Of many an unimprisoned bird. 
 Which rose above her dungeon dun, 
 With gladsome notes to greet the sun ; 
 The free winds through the prison waft 
 The odors of the flowers they qnaffed ; 
 She heard the rustling of the trees 
 Swayed into motion by the breeze, 
 And watched the sunliglit as it fell 
 Through the slant windows of her cell. 
 Until the jailer brought her food, 
 And thus disturbed her solitude. 
 
 XXXI. 
 The theater that Herod built, 
 
 Still in its pride of beauty stood ; 
 
94 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 Its slmfts elaborately lie wed 
 From costliest white marble, filled 
 With hatred old Jerusalem 
 Whose bigotry abhorred tliat gem, 
 And scorned tlie efforts of his reign 
 To reconcile them to their pain, 
 And hide the subjugating chain 
 The tyrant forged around their rights. 
 By splendid domes and pleasure sites. 
 In vain he sought to win their hearts : 
 They hated him and scoffed his arts, 
 Yet had they known the time would come 
 That there would be the martyrdom 
 Of an apostate from their creed, 
 They had forgiven him tlie deed 
 In rearing close their temple by 
 That pile they deemed profanely nigh. 
 
 XXXII. 
 But never since it had been built. 
 Had such a ^atherins^ in it filled, 
 
THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 05 
 
 As at tir appointed time had come 
 To witness Ruth's harsh martyrdom ; 
 For free to all to celebrate 
 His advent to his new estate, 
 The Governor's successor had 
 Unto the scene his subjects bade, 
 With promised drama, but the crowd 
 With curbed restraint, or whispers loud. 
 Await the final scene — in them 
 The music soft, the sparkling gem, 
 (3r play-c[ueen's mimic diadem, 
 Or nimble dancer ne'er at rest 
 Awake but little interest. 
 But tier o'er tier — a countless throng. 
 The arch and galleries among. 
 Await with deep impatience there 
 To see Ruth's advent and despair ; 
 And even woman's gentler soul 
 Is barred to mercy's mild control. 
 And views witliout solicitude 
 
90 THE BRIDE OF EAR-COCAB. 
 
 Tlie scene that sheds a sister's blood ; 
 While on a seat apart and high, 
 The Governor looks with stoic eye. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 The longed for scene arrives — of all 
 The one which holds their hearts in thrall. 
 'Tis strange that morbid, mad dehght 
 With which the sonl can crave such sight, 
 Tliat fester in the human breast, 
 Extreme in some, in most repressed ; 
 And yet in all to some degree, 
 And fired to Hame so easily. 
 That even the mildest, gentlest mood 
 Feels the contagion stir its blood 
 Amid a morbid nmltitude ; 
 That passion, like the tiger thirst, 
 When once in human gore immersed. 
 That, satiate of former food. 
 Will taste no flesh but human blood. 
 Attest it such a scene as this. 
 
THE BKIDE OF BAK-COCAB. 
 
 Wliere beauty joins its winesses 
 And even in modern times again 
 The cruel sport of sunny Spain, 
 Still shows that temper fanned to flame 
 Without the blusli of natural shame, 
 Where even the gentlest natures see, 
 With wild delight, the agony 
 Burning in every bleeding vein 
 Of helpless creatures crazed with pain. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 The motley crowd grew hushed as death, 
 xA.nd Expectation held its breath, 
 As, with a mighty roar, each beast 
 In the arena was released. 
 But first, the crier did advise 
 The crime for which the victim dies. 
 Such sins he charged the Christain name 
 As roused the mob to wilder fiame, 
 And crushed each struggling feeling low 
 That pleaded pity on her woe. 
 
98 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 The jailer led Ruth gently there, 
 As if he were compassionate 
 And mourned for her terrific fate, 
 And scorned the multitude's wild hate 
 That could destroy a thing so fair ; 
 And stood upon the parapet 
 
 That guarded from the dangerous place, 
 Where the gaunt heasts crouch low, *or 
 Each other round the enclosed space, [chase 
 And waited — for no signal yet. 
 The Governor's motionless hands display. 
 That he shall cast the beasts their prey. 
 
 XXXV. 
 A murmur 'scaped the multitude, 
 As there before them all slie stood. 
 Of admiration — surely ne'er 
 Had e'er they seen a face more fair. 
 The youthful bloom was scarcely pale 
 Upon a cheek that told no tale 
 Of terror — each large lustrous eye 
 
THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. ^M 
 
 Had never beamed more l)rig]it and dry ; 
 
 ]^o fear sliook her undaunted breast, 
 
 But cahn with peace and self-possessed, 
 
 She turned upon the populace 
 
 The sunshine of her holy gaze, 
 
 As might some heavenly creature fair. 
 
 Who for a moment had lit there. 
 
 Glance on them consciously still safe, 
 
 Howe'er their powerless rage might chafe. 
 
 So fell her glance on them — but they 
 
 Felt no remorse or pity pray 
 
 In their wild hearts, the beasts that champed 
 
 Their hungry jaws and fought and stamped 
 
 In the arena, had more grace 
 
 Than that infuriate populace. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 The Governor yet delays — oli say ! 
 Hath mercy finally gained the day 
 And triumphed o'er the wish to slay 'i 
 Will he forgive the Christian creed 
 
lOO THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 That is to him a crime indeed? 
 
 And dare he thwart the frenzied mood 
 
 Of that bloodthirsty mnltitnde ? 
 
 In sooth, lie is far more than brave 
 
 If at this hour he dares to save. 
 
 But why the pause ? while wild and loud, 
 
 The clamor rises of the crowd ; 
 
 He stands as if irresolute, 
 
 Attentive to a stranger's suit. 
 
 Which must be of a grave import 
 
 At such a place t' engage his thought. 
 
 Then leaning, waves his hand, to gain 
 
 Their ear and the delay explain — 
 
 "This stranger brings unto my ear 
 
 Strange tidings of a danger near ; 
 
 Which, though I deem them dubious, sooth. 
 
 An hour confirms or proves untruth. 
 
 But few weeks since I only knew 
 
 Bar-Cocab as an outcast Jew, 
 
 The leader of lawless horde 
 
THE BKTDE OF BAR-COCAB. 101 
 
 Whom pillage was the sole reward, 
 Until the later tidings bore 
 Of Jew revolt from Roman power, 
 With him to lead the rebel force : 
 And then came in snccessive conrse 
 The news of desperate battle fonght, 
 His force destroyed — himself nncanght. 
 This stranger fled from his command, 
 Brings me strange tidings of his band ; 
 How that Bar-Cocab 'scaped again 
 Unto the remnant of his men, 
 From many a distant province draws 
 A new support unto his cause; 
 Of whom til' informer here was one. 
 But, for some evil to him done, 
 And by his chief repeated long, 
 Kow seeks revenge for his deep wrong 
 And will Bar-Cocab's plans betray — 
 Ho ! rescue ! seize her ! traitor stay !" 
 
102 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Too late to foil the rescue planned. 
 Unknown to Rutli — ])j those who lied 
 That fatal held of ruin red 
 To grasp from his consenting hand 
 The prisoner whom the jailer held ; 
 Who, largely bribed and fully taught, 
 All unsuspected, as he brought 
 The victim where the lions fought, 
 Had chosen a place to stand and wait 
 The Governor's signal, near a gate ; 
 The farthest from the crowd, but near, 
 Where mounted men outside appear. 
 And as the stranger's word compelled 
 
 The Governor his tale to hear, 
 And for a moment to him drew 
 The multitude's attention too. 
 Few saw the treachery consummated 
 Nor marked how, springing out tlie gate 
 The jailer bore a lovely weight ; 
 
THE BKIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 108 
 
 And joining there the three who waited, 
 He mounts a steed that saddled stood. 
 And with them galloped nnpiirsned, 
 Till, by the Governor's cry recalled, 
 The audience beheld, appalled 
 And powerless then to stop them sped. 
 The prey they deemed secnre had fled. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 Within a chaos reigned, that made 
 For his escape a welcome aid, 
 As, leaping from the Governor's grasp, 
 The stranger did his sword unclasp 
 And almost gained the outer door, 
 So fierce and fast his way he bore, 
 When rose a voice the uproar o'er — 
 "It it is Bar-Cocab's self," it cries, 
 Seize him ere yonder door he tries.'' 
 Already one is dead who thought 
 To bar the egress that he sought. 
 Another feels his dangerous blade ; 
 
104 THP] BKIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 But all in vain — the crowd liave made 
 Concerted onslaught where he stood, 
 And thrown to earth, he is subdued. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 Loud execrations load the air 
 Against the captive pinioned there, 
 Who bravely owned his name — nor quailed 
 Before the hatred that assailed ; 
 But cast his fearless eye along 
 That maddened, disappointed throng, 
 As if amid a feast's repose 
 Instead of circled round with foes, 
 Who even of his own nation stood 
 Alike athirst to shed his blood. 
 The hearts that yesterday had bled 
 To save him in the cause he led, 
 Are turned from him who snatch'd from death 
 The loathed apostate from their faith. 
 And deem him by that act displayed 
 Alike with her a renegade. 
 
THE EKIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 1(>5 
 
 XL. 
 
 His eyes roam slowly round the plaoe, 
 
 And glance defiance at each face, 
 
 Then fall on the arena's space ; 
 
 They rested but a moment there, 
 
 To see the lions' eyeballs glare, 
 
 Yet quicker than a flash, the tliouglit. 
 
 The fevered multitude hath caught, 
 
 "The lions !" is the awful cry ; 
 
 Such fate aw^ait the treacherous spy ; 
 
 He robbed us of our sport — 'tis fair 
 
 Himself another prey prepare." 
 
 That cry that more impatiently 
 
 Rolls on, may not resisted be. 
 
 They loose his bands, but unarmed yet. 
 
 They fling liim o'er the parapet ; 
 
 AVith one wild roar that rolls along 
 
 Like thunder echoing hills among, 
 
 The lions rush upon their prey. 
 
 And crunch '' '^- "^ '' ^ 
 
106 THE BRIDE OF BAR-COCAB. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 But Ruth, tlnis saved from martyr strife 
 A gentler evening ends her life, 
 Devoted by her willing vow. 
 To Heaven only here below. 
 In fasts and prayers and choral song, 
 And deeds of love and vigils long. 
 Where poverty and dread disease, 
 Upon their hapless victims seize. 
 She makes no reference to the past. 
 And if her thoughts are on it cast, 
 Th' occasional sigh alone betrays, 
 The memory of other days. 
 And so beloved and loving all. 
 The shadows of the long year's fall. 
 While she awaits with patient faith, 
 The hour that crowns her even in death. 
 
 Brooklyn, N. Y., October 15, 1881. 
 FINIS.