“Single instances decide nothing,” said Myron, “but a nation which, in its most flourishing period, is obliged to engage artists from foreign kings, and can do nothing by its own ingenuity and dexterity, is surely a poor and helpless race. How different from the great Hellenic people! Poetry in abundance I have indeed heard from you, but this is the only branch of art in which you have done any thing. No painting, no statuary, no drama!”
“Thou speakest,” said Elisama, interposing angrily, “like a blind heathen, and what I have so often intimated seems to have been lost upon thee. Israel was not designed, nor ever aimed, to excel in such worldly arts. It was to be a kingdom of priests and a holy people, to receive and to preserve the law of Jehovah; and on this account he calls it his people, his Jeshurun, his beloved Israel. The time which other nations might devote to the culture of the elegant arts, Israel was to spend in the observance of the law. You have omitted all mention too of our music. This and our poetry are alone worthy to accompany the people before the presence of Jehovah; his temple must be splendid, but it was of no consequence that it was made so by foreign hands. Besides, the present temple, which yields little if at all to the former, was built by native artists; and supposing that in Solomon’s time architecture was unknown among us, could this skill be reasonably expected in a nation, which had struggled for five hundred years for the possession of the soil, which even then had not been completely united for more than half a century, and had passed a considerable portion even of that short time in internal commotion!
“You are unjust, Myron, in another respect,” added Helon, “the state of the arts among a people should be judged of from that department, in which it has put forth its powers. Compare our poets with yours; we have no need to fear the comparison.”
“Mention to me then your Homer and Sophocles,” said Myron.
“In those species of poetry our fathers have written nothing. But name to me a Greek, who has surpassed the odes of David, the elegies of Jeremiah, or the epigrams and scolia of Solomon.”[Solomon.”]
“I will read your poets,” said Myron, “when I return to Alexandria, but it is impossible that a barbarian should rival the great masters of Greece.”
“Compare, with a mind free from prejudice, as becomes a true critic of art, and you will be astonished at the lyric flights of our psalms, which leave Pindar behind; at the plaintive tenderness of Jeremiah, more deep and touching than that of Simonides. Remember, too, that this poetry of ours was never designed by its authors as a work of art, or a display of poetic power, but was the effusion of a mind swelling with the praise of Jehovah, lamenting its own, or its country’s sorrows, or intent upon enforcing the precepts of the law. With us the artist is more prominent and interesting than his work; you think you have succeeded, when the artist is forgotten in the merit of his production.”
Sallu brought in the meal, and they ate and drank in peace, Elisama and Helon ruminating on the glory of Solomon, Myron not less pleased with his reflections on the preeminence of his own nation. They slept from the heat of the noonday till the sun went down, and when evening came on were still in a state between sleeping and waking, enjoying the coolness of the breeze. The stars had begun to appear over the desert, when they were roused by a blast of the trumpet, in its harshest tone. They started up. “That,” said Elisama, “is not the signal of the march; it is an alarm.” Sallu rushed in and informed them that a horde of Arabs was in sight, and threatened an attack. The tumult was excessive. The men mounted their horses and hastened to the side on which the danger appeared. The guides vociferated and endeavoured to restore order. The bows were strung; the slaves struck the tents, and were preparing to drive the camels further into the rear. After all these preparations had been made the enemy retired, feeling himself probably too weak to encounter such a resistance.
While all were resuming their places, Myron seemed somewhat disappointed at the loss of the adventure which he had promised himself, to season the insipid sameness of the caravan’s march, Elisama turned himself in the direction of Jerusalem, and in an attitude of prayer repeated,
When I call my enemies turn back;