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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poems of Emma Lazarus, by Emma Lazarus
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Poems of Emma Lazarus
+       Vol. II. (of II.), Jewish Poems: Translations
+
+Author: Emma Lazarus
+
+Posting Date: January 13, 2009 [EBook #3473]
+Release Date: October, 2002
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POEMS OF EMMA LAZARUS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Douglas E. Levy
+
+
+
+
+
+THE POEMS of EMMA LAZARUS
+
+By Emma Lazarus
+
+
+in Two Volumes
+
+VOL. II.
+
+Jewish Poems: Translation
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
+
+  As a convenience to the reader I have included in this volume the
+  biographical sketch of Emma Lazarus which originally appeared only
+  in Vol. I. of these works.  Further, the sketch contains references
+  to passages contained in this volume.--D.L.
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+     BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF EMMA LAZARUS.
+
+
+     THE NEW YEAR.
+     THE CROWING OF THE RED COCK.
+     IN EXILE.
+     IN MEMORIAM--REV. J. J. LYONS.
+     THE VALLEY OF THE BACA.
+     THE BANNER OF THE JEW.
+     THE GUARDIAN OF THE RED DISK.
+     THE NEW EZEKIEL.
+     THE CHOICE.
+     THE WORLD'S JUSTICE.
+     THE SUPREME SACRIFICE.
+     THE FEAST OF LIGHT GIFTS.
+     BAR KOCHBA.
+     1492.
+     THE BIRTH OF MAN.
+     RASCHI IN PRAGUE.
+     THE DEATH OF RASCHI.
+     AN EPISTLE.
+
+     BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON: LITTLE POEMS IN PROSE.
+          I. The Exodus.
+         II. Treasures.
+        III. The Sower.
+         IV. The Test.
+          V. Currents.
+         VI. The Prophet.
+        VII. Chrysalis.
+
+     TO CARMEN SYLVA.
+     THE DANCE TO DEATH.
+
+     TRANSLATIONS.
+
+       FROM SOLOMON BEN JUDAH GABIROL.
+          Night-Piece.
+          Night-Thoughts.
+          Meditations.
+          Hymn.
+          To a Detractor.
+          Fragment.
+          Stanzas.
+          Wine and Grief.
+          Defiance.
+          A Degenerate Age.
+
+       FROM ABUL HASSAN JUDAH BEN HA-LEVI.
+
+          A Letter to his Friend Isaac.
+          Admonition.
+          Love-Song.
+          Separation.
+          Longing for Jerusalem.
+          On the Voyage to Jerusalem.
+          To the West Wind.
+
+       FROM MOSES BEN ESRA.
+
+          Extracts from the Book of Tarshish, or "Necklace of Pearls."
+          In the Night.
+          Love Song of Alcharisi.
+
+     NACHUM.
+
+          Spring Songs.
+
+     A TRANSLATION AND TWO IMITATIONS.
+
+          I. Donna Clara.
+         II. Don Pedrillo.
+        III. Fra Pedro.
+
+     TRANSLATIONS FROM PETRARCH.
+
+          In Vita, LXVII.
+          In Vita, LXXVI.
+          In Vita, CV.
+          In Vita, CIX.
+          In Morte, II. On the Death of Cardinal Colonna and Laura.
+          In Morte, XLIII.
+          In Vita. Canzone XI.
+          Fragment. Canzone XII.
+          Fragment. Trionfo d'Amore.
+          Fragment. Trionfo della Morte.
+
+     TRANSLATIONS FROM ALFRED DE MUSSET.
+
+          The May Night.
+          The October Night.
+
+     NOTES TO "EPISTLE" OF JOSHUA IBN VIVES OF ALLORQUI.
+
+
+     Most of the poems in this volume were originally printed in
+                     "The American Hebrew."
+
+
+
+
+  Publisher's note: Thanks are due to the Editors of "The Century,"
+  Lippincott's Magazine, and "The Critic," for their courtesy in
+  allowing the poems published by them to be reprinted in these pages.
+
+
+
+
+EMMA LAZARUS. (Written for "The Century Magazine")
+
+Born July 22, 1849; Died November 19, 1887.
+
+
+One hesitates to lift the veil and throw the light upon a life so hidden
+and a personality so withdrawn as that of Emma Lazarus; but while her
+memory is fresh, and the echo of her songs still lingers in these pages,
+we feel it a duty to call up her presence once more, and to note the
+traits that made it remarkable and worthy to shine out clearly before
+the world. Of dramatic episode or climax in her life there is none;
+outwardly all was placid and serene, like an untroubled stream whose
+depths alone hold the strong, quick tide. The story of her life is the
+story of a mind, of a spirit, ever seeking, ever striving, and pressing
+onward and upward to new truth and light. Her works are the mirror of
+this progress. In reviewing them, the first point that strikes us is the
+precocity, or rather the spontaneity, of her poetic gift. She was a born
+singer; poetry was her natural language, and to write was less effort
+than to speak, for she was a shy, sensitive child, with strange reserves
+and reticences, not easily putting herself "en rapport" with those
+around her. Books were her world from her earliest years; in them she
+literally lost and found herself. She was eleven years old when the War
+of Succession broke out, which inspired her first lyric outbursts.
+Her poems and translations written between the ages of fourteen and
+seventeen were collected, and constituted her first published volume.
+Crude and immature as these productions naturally were, and utterly
+condemned by the writer's later judgment, they are, nevertheless, highly
+interesting and characteristic, giving, as they do, the keynote of
+much that afterwards unfolded itself in her life. One cannot fail to
+be rather painfully impressed by the profound melancholy pervading the
+book. The opening poem is "In Memoriam,"--on the death of a school
+friend and companion; and the two following poems also have death for
+theme. "On a Lock of my Mother's Hair" gives us reflections on growing
+old. These are the four poems written at the age of fourteen. There is
+not a wholly glad and joyous strain in the volume, and we might smile
+at the recurrence of broken vows, broken hearts, and broken lives in the
+experience of this maiden just entered upon her teens, were it not
+that the innocent child herself is in such deadly earnest. The two long
+narrative poems, "Bertha" and "Elfrida," are tragic in the extreme. Both
+are dashed off apparently at white heat: "Elfrida," over fifteen hundred
+lines of blank verse, in two weeks; "Bertha," in three and a half. We
+have said that Emma Lazarus was a born singer, but she did not sing,
+like a bird, for joy of being alive; and of being young, alas! there is
+no hint in these youthful effusions, except inasmuch as this unrelieved
+gloom, this ignorance of "values," so to speak, is a sign of youth,
+common especially among gifted persons of acute and premature
+sensibilities, whose imagination, not yet focused by reality,
+overreached the mark. With Emma Lazarus, however, this sombre streak has
+a deeper root; something of birth and temperament is in it--the stamp
+and heritage of a race born to suffer. But dominant and fundamental
+though it was, Hebraism was only latent thus far. It was classic
+and romantic art that first attracted and inspired her. She pictures
+Aphrodite the beautiful, arising from the waves, and the beautiful
+Apollo and his loves,--Daphne, pursued by the god, changing into the
+laurel, and the enamored Clytie into the faithful sunflower. Beauty, for
+its own sake, supreme and unconditional, charmed her primarily and
+to the end. Her restless spirit found repose in the pagan idea,--the
+absolute unity and identity of man with nature, as symbolized in the
+Greek myths, where every natural force becomes a person, and where, in
+turn, persons pass with equal readiness and freedom back into nature
+again.
+
+In this connection a name would suggest itself even if it did not
+appear,--Heine, the Greek, Heine the Jew, Heine the Romanticist, as Emma
+Lazarus herself has styled him; and already in this early volume of hers
+we have trace of the kinship and affinity that afterwards so plainly
+declared itself. Foremost among the translations are a number of
+his songs, rendered with a finesse and a literalness that are rarely
+combined. Four years later, at the age of twenty-one, she published her
+second volume, "Admetus and Other Poems," which at once took rank as
+literature both in America and England, and challenged comparison with
+the work of established writers. Of classic themes we have "Admetus" and
+"Orpheus," and of romantic the legend of Tannhauser and of the saintly
+Lohengrin. All are treated with an artistic finish that shows perfect
+mastery of her craft, without detracting from the freshness and flow of
+her inspiration. While sounding no absolutely new note in the world,
+she yet makes us aware of a talent of unusual distinction, and a highly
+endowed nature,--a sort of tact of sentiment and expression, an instinct
+of the true and beautiful, and that quick intuition which is like
+second-sight in its sensitiveness to apprehend and respond to external
+stimulus. But it is not the purely imaginative poems in this volume that
+most deeply interest us. We come upon experience of life in these pages;
+not in the ordinary sense, however, of outward activity and movement,
+but in the hidden undercurrent of being. "The epochs of our life are not
+in the visible facts, but in the silent thoughts by the wayside as we
+walk." This is the motto, drawn from Emerson, which she chooses for her
+poem of "Epochs," which marks a pivotal moment in her life. Difficult
+to analyze, difficult above all to convey, if we would not encroach
+upon the domain of private and personal experience, is the drift of
+this poem, or rather cycle of poems, that ring throughout with a deeper
+accent and a more direct appeal than has yet made itself felt. It is the
+drama of the human soul,--"the mystic winged and flickering butterfly,"
+"flitting between earth and sky," in its passage from birth to death.
+
+A golden morning of June! "Sweet empty sky without a stain." Sunlight
+and mist and "ripple of rain-fed rills." "A murmur and a singing
+manifold."
+
+
+            "What simple things be these the soul to raise
+             To bounding joy, and make young pulses beat
+             With nameless pleasure, finding life so sweet!"
+
+
+Such is youth, a June day, fair and fresh and tender with dreams and
+longing and vague desire. The morn lingers and passes, but the noon has
+not reached its height before the clouds begin to rise, the sunshine
+dies, the air grows thick and heavy, the lightnings flash, the thunder
+breaks among the hills, rolls and gathers and grows, until
+
+
+                   Behold, yon bolt struck home,
+             And over ruined fields the storm hath come."
+
+
+Now we have the phases of the soul,--the shock and surprise of grief in
+the face of the world made desolate. Loneliness and despair for a space,
+and then, like stars in the night, the new births of the spirit, the
+wonderful outcoming from sorrow: the mild light of patience at first;
+hope and faith kindled afresh in the very jaws of evil; the new meaning
+and worth of life beyond sorrow, beyond joy; and finally duty, the
+holiest word of all, that leads at last to victory and peace. The poem
+rounds and completes itself with the close of "the long, rich day," and
+the release of
+
+
+           "The mystic winged and flickering butterfly,
+            A human soul, that drifts at liberty,
+            Ah! who can tell to what strange paradise,
+            To what undreamed-of fields and lofty skies!"
+
+
+We have dwelt at some length upon this poem, which seems to us, in a
+certain sense, subjective and biographical; but upon closer analysis
+there is still another conclusion to arrive at. In "Epochs" we have,
+doubtless, the impress of a calamity brought very near to the writer,
+and profoundly working upon her sensibilities; not however by direct,
+but reflex action, as it were, and through sympathetic emotion--the
+emotion of the deeply-stirred spectator, of the artist, the poet who
+lives in the lives of others, and makes their joys and their sorrows his
+own.
+
+Before dismissing this volume we may point out another clue as to the
+shaping of mind and character. The poem of "Admetus" is dedicated "to
+my friend Ralph Waldo Emerson." Emma Lazarus was between seventeen and
+eighteen years of age when the writings of Emerson fell into her hands,
+and it would be difficult to over-estimate the impression produced upon
+her. As she afterwards wrote: "To how many thousand youthful hearts has
+not his word been the beacon--nay, more, the guiding star--that led them
+safely through periods of mental storm and struggle!" Of no one is this
+more true than herself. Left, to a certain extent, without compass or
+guide, without any positive or effective religious training, this was
+the first great moral revelation of her life. We can easily realize
+the chaos and ferment of an over-stimulated brain, steeped in romantic
+literature, and given over to the wayward leadings of the imagination.
+Who can tell what is true, what is false, in a world where fantasy is as
+real as fact? Emerson's word fell like truth itself, "a shaft of light
+shot from the zenith," a golden rule of thought and action. His books
+were bread and wine to her, and she absorbed them into her very being.
+She felt herself invincibly drawn to the master, "that fount of wisdom
+and goodness," and it was her great privilege during these years to be
+brought into personal relations with him. From the first he showed her
+a marked interest and sympathy, which became for her one of the most
+valued possessions of her life. He criticised her work with the fine
+appreciation and discrimination that made him quick to discern the
+quality of her talent as well as of her personality, and he was no doubt
+attracted by her almost transparent sincerity and singleness of soul, as
+well as by the simplicity and modesty that would have been unusual even
+in a person not gifted. He constituted himself, in a way, her literary
+mentor, advised her as to the books she should read and the attitude of
+mind she should cultivate. For some years he corresponded with her very
+faithfully; his letters are full of noble and characteristic utterances,
+and give evidence of a warm regard that in itself was a stimulus and
+a high incentive. But encouragement even from so illustrious a source
+failed to elate the young poetess, or even to give her a due sense of
+the importance and value of her work, or the dignity of her vocation.
+We have already alluded to her modesty in her unwillingness to
+assert herself or claim any prerogative,--something even morbid
+and exaggerated, which we know not how to define, whether as
+over-sensitiveness or indifference. Once finished, the heat and glow of
+composition spent, her writings apparently ceased to interest her. She
+often resented any allusion to them on the part of intimate friends, and
+the public verdict as to their excellence could not reassure or satisfy
+her. The explanation is not far, perhaps, to seek. Was it not the "Ewig-
+Weibliche" that allows no prestige but its own? Emma Lazarus was a true
+woman, too distinctly feminine to wish to be exceptional, or to stand
+alone and apart, even by virtue of superiority.
+
+A word now as to her life and surroundings. She was one of a family of
+seven, and her parents were both living. Her winters were passed in
+New York, and her summers by the sea. In both places her life was
+essentially quiet and retired. The success of her book had been mainly
+in the world of letters. In no wise tricked out to catch the public
+eye, her writings had not yet made her a conspicuous figure, but were
+destined slowly to take their proper place and give her the rank that
+she afterwards held.
+
+For some years now almost everything that she wrote was published in
+"Lippincott's Magazine," then edited by John Foster Kirk, and we shall
+still find in her poems the method and movement of her life. Nature
+is still the fount and mirror, reflecting, and again reflected, in the
+soul. We have picture after picture, almost to satiety, until we grow
+conscious of a lack of substance and body and of vital play to the
+thought, as though the brain were spending itself in dreamings and
+reverie, the heart feeding upon itself, and the life choked by its
+own fullness without due outlet. Happily, however, the heavy cloud of
+sadness has lifted, and we feel the subsidence of waves after a storm.
+She sings "Matins:"--
+
+
+                  "Does not the morn break thus,
+                   Swift, bright, victorious,
+                   With new skies cleared for us
+                   Over the soul storm-tost?
+                   Her night was long and deep,
+                   Strange visions vexed her sleep,
+                   Strange sorrows bade her weep,
+                   Her faith in dawn was lost.
+
+
+                  "No halt, no rest for her,
+                   The immortal wanderer
+                   From sphere to higher sphere
+                   Toward the pure source of day.
+                   The new light shames her fears,
+                   Her faithlessness and tears,
+                   As the new sun appears
+                   To light her god-like way."
+
+
+Nature is the perpetual resource and consolation. "'T is good to be
+alive!" she says, and why? Simply,
+
+
+                            "To see the light
+            That plays upon the grass, to feel (and sigh
+            With perfect pleasure) the mild breeze stir
+              Among the garden roses, red and white,
+                With whiffs of fragrancy."
+
+
+She gives us the breath of the pines and of the cool, salt seas,
+"illimitably sparkling." Her ears drink the ripple of the tide, and she
+stops
+
+
+        "To gaze as one who is not satisfied
+         With gazing at the large, bright, breathing sea."
+
+
+"Phantasies" (after Robert Schumann) is the most complete and perfect
+poem of this period. Like "Epochs," it is a cycle of poems, and the
+verse has caught the very trick of music,--alluring, baffling, and
+evasive. This time we have the landscape of the night, the glamour of
+moon and stars,--pictures half real and half unreal, mystic imaginings,
+fancies, dreams, and the enchantment of "faerie," and throughout the
+unanswered cry, the eternal "Wherefore" of destiny. Dawn ends the song
+with a fine clear note, the return of day, night's misty phantoms
+rolled away, and the world itself, again green, sparkling and breathing
+freshness.
+
+In 1874 she published "Alide," a romance in prose drawn from Goethe's
+autobiography. It may be of interest to quote the letter she received
+from Tourgeneff on this occasion:--
+
+
+    "Although, generally speaking, I do not think it advisable
+    to take celebrated men, especially poets and artists, as a
+    subject for a novel, still I am truly glad to say that I
+    have read your book with the liveliest interest.  It is
+    very sincere and very poetical at the same time; the life
+    and spirit of Germany have no secrets for you, and your
+    characters are drawn with a pencil as delicate as it is
+    strong.  I feel very proud of the approbation you give to
+    my works, and of the influence you kindly attribute to them
+    on your own talent; an author who write as you do is not
+    a pupil in art any more; he is not far from being himself
+    a master."
+
+
+Charming and graceful words, of which the young writer was justly proud.
+
+About this time occurred the death of her mother, the first break in the
+home and family circle. In August of 1876 she made a visit to Concord,
+at the Emersons', memorable enough for her to keep a journal and note
+down every incident and detail. Very touching to read now, in its almost
+childlike simplicity, is this record of "persons that pass and shadows
+that remain." Mr. Emerson himself meets her at the station, and drives
+with her in his little one-horse wagon to his home, the gray square
+house, with dark green blinds, set amidst noble trees. A glimpse of the
+family,--"the stately, white-haired Mrs. Emerson, and the beautiful,
+faithful Ellen, whose figure seems always to stand by the side of her
+august father." Then the picture of Concord itself, lovely and smiling,
+with its quiet meadows, quiet slopes, and quietest of rivers. She meets
+the little set of Concord people: Mr. Alcott, for whom she does not
+share Mr. Emerson's enthusiasm; and William Ellery Channing, whose
+figure stands out like a gnarled and twisted scrub-oak,--a pathetic,
+impossible creature, whose cranks and oddities were submitted to on
+account of an innate nobility of character. "Generally crabbed and
+reticent with strangers, he took a liking to me," says Emma Lazarus.
+"The bond of our sympathy was my admiration for Thoreau, whose memory he
+actually worships, having been his constant companion in his best
+days, and his daily attendant in the last years of illness and heroic
+suffering. I do not know whether I was most touched by the thought of
+the unique, lofty character that had inspired this depth and fervor of
+friendship, or by the pathetic constancy and pure affection of the poor,
+desolate old man before me, who tried to conceal his tenderness and
+sense of irremediable loss by a show of gruffness and philosophy. He
+never speaks of Thoreau's death," she says, "but always 'Thoreau's
+loss,' or 'when I lost Mr. Thoreau,' or 'when Mr. Thoreau went away from
+Concord;' nor would he confess that he missed him, for there was not a
+day, an hour, a moment, when he did not feel that his friend was still
+with him and had never left him. And yet a day or two after," she goes
+on to say, "when I sat with him in the sunlit wood, looking at the
+gorgeous blue and silver summer sky, he turned to me and said: 'Just
+half of the world died for me when I lost Mr. Thoreau. None of it looks
+the same as when I looked at it with him.'... He took me through the
+woods and pointed out to me every spot visited and described by his
+friend. Where the hut stood is a little pile of stones, and a sign,
+'Site of Thoreau's Hut,' and a few steps beyond is the pond with
+thickly-wooded shore,--everything exquisitely peaceful and beautiful in
+the afternoon light, and not a sound to be heard except the crickets or
+the 'z-ing' of the locusts which Thoreau has described. Farther on he
+pointed out to me, in the distant landscape, a low roof, the only one
+visible, which was the roof of Thoreau's birthplace. He had been over
+there many times, he said, since he lost Mr. Thoreau, but had never gone
+in,--he was afraid it might look lonely! But he had often sat on a
+rock in front of the house and looked at it." On parting from his young
+friend, Mr. Channing gave her a package, which proved to be a copy of
+his own book on Thoreau, and the pocket compass which Thoreau carried to
+the Maine woods and on all his excursions. Before leaving the Emersons
+she received the proof-sheets of her drama of "The Spagnoletto," which
+was being printed for private circulation. She showed them to Mr.
+Emerson, who had expressed a wish to see them, and, after reading them,
+he gave them back to her with the comment that they were "good." She
+playfully asked him if he would not give her a bigger word to take home
+to the family. He laughed, and said he did not know of any; but he
+went on to tell her that he had taken it up, not expecting to read it
+through, and had not been able to put it down. Every word and line told
+of richness in the poetry, he said, and as far as he could judge
+the play had great dramatic opportunities. Early in the autumn "The
+Spagnoletto" appeared,--a tragedy in five acts, the scene laid in Italy,
+1655.
+
+Without a doubt, every one in these days will take up with misgiving,
+and like Mr. Emerson "not expecting to read it through," a five-act
+tragedy of the seventeenth century, so far removed apparently from the
+age and present actualities,--so opposed to the "Modernite," which has
+come to be the last word of art. Moreover, great names at once appear;
+great shades arise to rebuke the presumptuous new-comer in this highest
+realm of expression. "The Spagnoletto" has grave defects that would
+probably preclude its ever being represented on the stage. The denoument
+especially is unfortunate, and sins against our moral and aesthetic
+instinct. The wretched, tiger-like father stabs himself in the presence
+of his crushed and erring daughter, so that she may forever be haunted
+by the horror and the retribution of his death. We are left suspended,
+as it were, over an abyss, our moral judgment thwarted, our humanity
+outraged. But "The Spagnoletto" is, nevertheless, a remarkable
+production, and pitched in another key from anything the writer has
+yet given us. Heretofore we have only had quiet, reflective, passive
+emotion: now we have a storm and sweep of passion for which we were
+quite unprepared. Ribera's character is charged like a thunder-cloud
+with dramatic elements. Maria Rosa is the child of her father, fired at
+a flash, "deaf, dumb, and blind" at the touch of passion.
+
+
+              "Does love steal gently o'er our soul?"
+
+she asks;
+
+
+                        "What if he come,
+                 A cloud, a fire, a whirlwind?"
+
+and then the cry:
+
+
+                           "O my God!
+            This awful joy in mine own heart is love."
+
+Again:
+
+
+           "While you are here the one thing real to me
+            In all the universe is love."
+
+
+Exquisitely tender and refined are the love scenes--at the ball and in
+the garden--between the dashing prince-lover in search of his pleasure
+and the devoted girl with her heart in her eyes, on her lips, in her
+hand. Behind them, always like a tragic fate, the somber figure of the
+Spagnoletto, and over all the glow and color and soul of Italy.
+
+In 1881 appeared the translation of Heine's poems and ballads, which was
+generally accepted as the best version of that untranslatable poet. Very
+curious is the link between that bitter, mocking, cynic spirit and the
+refined, gentle spirit of Emma Lazarus. Charmed by the magic of his
+verse, the iridescent play of his fancy, and the sudden cry of the heart
+piercing through it all, she is as yet unaware or only vaguely conscious
+of the of the real bond between them: the sympathy in the blood,
+the deep, tragic, Judaic passion of eighteen hundred years that was
+smouldering in her own heart, soon to break out and change the whole
+current of thought and feeling.
+
+Already, in 1879, the storm was gathering. In a distant province of
+Russia at first, then on the banks of the Volga, and finally in Moscow
+itself, the old cry was raised, the hideous mediaeval charge revived,
+and the standard of persecution unfurled against the Jews. Province
+after province took it up. In Bulgaria, Servia, and, above all,
+Roumania, where, we were told, the sword of the Czar had been drawn to
+protect the oppressed, Christian atrocities took the place of Moslem
+atrocities, and history turned a page backward into the dark annals of
+violence and crime. And not alone in despotic Russia, but in Germany,
+the seat of modern philosophic thought and culture, the rage of
+Anti-Semitism broke out and spread with fatal ease and potency. In
+Berlin itself tumults and riots were threatened. We in America could
+scarcely comprehend the situation or credit the reports, and for a while
+we shut our eyes and ears to the facts; but we were soon rudely awakened
+from our insensibility, and forced to face the truth. It was in England
+that the voice was first raised in behalf of justice and humanity.
+In January, 1881, there appeared in the "London Times" a series of
+articles, carefully compiled on the testimony of eye-witnesses, and
+confirmed by official documents, records, etc., giving an account of
+events that had been taking place in southern and western Russia during
+a period of nine months, between April and December of 1880. We do
+not need to recall the sickening details. The headings will suffice:
+outrage, murder, arson, and pillage, and the result,--100,000 Jewish
+families made homeless and destitute, and nearly $100,000,000 worth of
+property destroyed. Nor need we recall the generous outburst of sympathy
+and indignation from America. "It is not that it is the oppression
+of Jews by Russia," said Mr. Evarts in the meeting at Chickering Hall
+Wednesday evening, February 4; "it is that it is the oppression of men
+and women, and we are men and women." So spoke civilized Christendom,
+and for Judaism,--who can describe that thrill of brotherhood, quickened
+anew, the immortal pledge of the race, made one again through sorrow?
+For Emma Lazarus it was a trumpet call that awoke slumbering and
+unguessed echoes. All this time she had been seeking heroic ideals in
+alien stock, soulless and far removed; in pagan mythology and mystic,
+mediaeval Christianity, ignoring her very birthright,--the majestic
+vista of the past, down which, "high above flood and fire," had been
+conveyed the precious scroll of the Moral Law. Hitherto Judaism had been
+a dead letter to her. Of Portuguese descent, her family had always been
+members of the oldest and most orthodox congregation of New York, where
+strict adherence to custom and ceremonial was the watchword of faith;
+but it was only during her childhood and earliest years that she
+attended the synagogue, and conformed to the prescribed rites and usages
+which she had now long since abandoned as obsolete and having no bearing
+on modern life. Nor had she any great enthusiasm for her own people. As
+late as April, 1882, she published in "The Century Magazine" an
+article written probably some months before, entitled "Was the Earl of
+Beaconsfield a Representative Jew?" in which she is disposed to accept
+as the type of the modern Jew the brilliant, successful, but not
+over-scrupulous chevalier d'industrie. In view of subsequent, or rather
+contemporaneous events, the closing paragraph of the article in question
+is worthy of being cited:--
+
+
+    "Thus far their religion [the Jewish], whose mere preservation
+    under such adverse conditions seems little short of a miracle,
+    has been deprived of the natural means of development and
+    progress, and has remained a stationary force.  The next
+    hundred years will, in our opinion be the test of their
+    vitality as a people; the phase of toleration upon which
+    they are only now entering will prove whether or not they
+    are capable of growth."
+
+
+By a curious, almost fateful juxtaposition, in the same number of the
+magazine appeared Madame Ragozin's defense of Russian barbarity, and in
+the following (May) number Emma Lazarus's impassioned appeal and reply,
+"Russian Christianity versus Modern Judaism." From this time dated the
+crusade that she undertook in behalf of her race, and the consequent
+expansion of all her faculties, the growth of spiritual power which
+always ensues when a great cause is espoused and a strong conviction
+enters the soul. Her verse rang out as it had never rung before,--a
+clarion note, calling a people to heroic action and unity, to the
+consciousness and fulfillment of a grand destiny. When has Judaism been
+so stirred as by "The Crowing of the Red Cock" and
+
+
+                      THE BANNER OF THE JEW.
+
+              Wake, Israel, wake!  Recall to-day
+              The glorious Maccabean rage,
+              The sire heroic, hoary-gray,
+              His five-fold lion-lineage;
+              The Wise, the Elect, the Help-of-God,
+              The Burst-of-Spring, the Avenging Rod.
+
+
+              From Mizpeh's mountain ridge they saw
+              Jerusalem's empty streets; her shrine
+              Laid waste where Greeks profaned the Law
+              With idol and with pagan sign.
+              Mourners in tattered black were there
+              With ashes sprinkled on their hair.
+
+
+              Then from the stony peak there rang
+              A blast to ope the graves; down poured
+              The Maccabean clan, who sang
+              Their battle anthem to the Lord.
+              Five heroes lead, and following, see
+              Ten thousand rush to victory!
+
+
+              Oh for Jerusalem's trumpet now,
+              To blow a blast of shattering power,
+              To wake the sleeper high and low,
+              And rouse them to the urgent hour!
+              No hand for vengeance, but to save,
+              A million naked swords should wave.
+
+
+              Oh, deem not dead that martial fire,
+              Say not the mystic flame is spent!
+              With Moses' law and David's lyre,
+              Your ancient strength remains unbent.
+              Let but an Ezra rise anew,
+              To lift the BANNER OF THE JEW!
+
+
+              A rag, a mock at first,--erelong
+              When men have bled and women wept,
+              To guard its precious folds from wrong,
+              Even they who shrunk, even they who slept,
+              Shall leap to bless it and to save.
+              Strike! for the brave revere the brave!
+
+
+The dead forms burst their bonds and lived again. She sings "Rosh
+Hashanah" (the Jewish New Year) and "Hanuckah" (the Feast of Lights):--
+
+
+        "Kindle the taper like the steadfast star
+         Ablaze on Evening's forehead o'er the earth,
+         And add each night a lustre till afar
+         An eight-fold splendor shine above thy hearth.
+         Clash, Israel, the cymbals, touch the lyre,
+         Blow the brass trumpet and the harsh-tongued horn;
+         Chant psalms of victory till the heart take fire,
+         The Maccabean spirit leap new-born."
+
+
+  And "The New Ezekiel:"--
+
+
+        "What! can these dead bones live, whose sap is dried
+         By twenty scorching centuries of wrong?
+         Is this the House of Israel whose pride
+         Is as a tale that's told, an ancient song?
+         Are these ignoble relics all that live
+         Of psalmist, priest, and prophet?  Can the breath
+         Of very heaven bid these bones revive,
+         Open the graves, and clothe the ribs of death?
+         Yea, Prophesy, the Lord hath said again:
+         Say to the wind, come forth and breathe afresh,
+         Even that they may live, upon these slain,
+         And bone to bone shall leap, and flesh to flesh.
+         The spirit is not dead, proclaim the word.
+         Where lay dead bones a host of armed men stand!
+         I ope your graves, my people, saith the Lord,
+         And I shall place you living in your land."
+
+
+Her whole being renewed and refreshed itself at its very source. She
+threw herself into the study of her race, its language, literature, and
+history.
+
+Breaking the outward crust, she pierced to the heart of the faith and
+"the miracle" of its survival. What was it other than the ever-present,
+ever-vivifying spirit itself, which cannot die,--the religious and
+ethical zeal which fires the whole history of the people, and of which
+she herself felt the living glow within her own soul? She had come upon
+the secret and the genius of Judaism,--that absolute interpenetration
+and transfusion of spirit with body and substance which, taken
+literally, often reduces itself to a question of food and drink, a
+dietary regulation, and again, in proper splendor, incarnates itself
+and shines out before humanity in the prophets, teachers, and saviors of
+mankind.
+
+Those were busy, fruitful years for Emma Lazarus, who worked, not with
+the pen alone, but in the field of practical and beneficent activity.
+For there was an immense task to accomplish. The tide of immigration had
+set in, and ship after ship came laden with hunted human beings flying
+from their fellow-men, while all the time, like a tocsin, rang the
+terrible story of cruelty and persecution,--horrors that the pen refuses
+to dwell upon. By the hundreds and thousands they flocked upon our
+shores,--helpless, innocent victims of injustice and oppression,
+panic-stricken in the midst of strange and utterly new surroundings.
+
+Emma Lazarus came into personal contact with these people, and visited
+them in their refuge on Ward Island. While under the influence of all
+the emotions aroused by this great crisis in the history of her race,
+she wrote the "Dance of Death," a drama of persecution of the twelfth
+century, founded upon the authentic records,--unquestionably her finest
+work in grasp and scope, and, above all, in moral elevation and purport.
+The scene is laid in Nordhausen, a free city in Thuringia, where the
+Jews, living, as the deemed, in absolute security and peace, were caught
+up in the wave of persecution that swept over Europe at that time.
+Accused of poisoning the wells and causing the pestilence, or black
+death, as it was called, they were condemned to be burned.
+
+We do not here intend to enter upon a critical or literary analysis of
+the play, or to point out dramatic merits or defects, but we should
+like to make its readers feel with us the holy ardor and impulse of
+the writer and the spiritual import of the work. The action is without
+surprise, the doom fixed from the first; but so glowing is the canvas
+with local and historic color, so vital and intense the movement, so
+resistless, the "internal evidence," if we may call it thus, penetrating
+its very substance and form, that we are swept along as by a wave of
+human sympathy and grief. In contrast with "The Spagnoletto," how large
+is the theme and how all-embracing the catastrophe! In place of the
+personal we have the drama of the universal. Love is only a flash
+now,--a dream caught sight of and at once renounced at a higher claim.
+
+
+        "Have you no smile to welcome love with, Liebhaid?
+         Why should you tremble?
+         Prince, I am afraid!
+         Afraid of my own heart, my unfathomed joy,
+         A blasphemy against my father's grief,
+         My people's agony!
+
+
+        "What good shall come, forswearing kith and God,
+         To follow the allurements of the heart?"
+
+
+asks the distracted maiden, torn between her love for he princely wooer
+and her devotion to the people among whom her lot has been cast.
+
+
+                                      "O God!
+            How shall I pray for strength to love him less
+            Than mine own soul!
+                                       No more of that,
+            I am all Israel's now.  Till this cloud pass,
+            I have no thought, no passion, no desire,
+            Save for my people."
+
+
+Individuals perish, but great ideas survive,--fortitude and courage,
+and that exalted loyalty and devotion to principle which alone are worth
+living and dying for.
+
+The Jews pass by in procession--men, women, and children--on their way
+to the flames, to the sound of music, and in festal array, carrying the
+gold and silver vessels, the roll of the law, the perpetual lamp and the
+seven branched silver candle-stick of the synagogue. The crowd hoot and
+jeer at them.
+
+
+           "The misers! they will take their gems and gold
+            Down to the grave!"
+
+
+                             "Let us rejoice"
+
+
+sing the Jewish youths in chorus; and the maidens:--
+
+
+           "Our feet stand within thy gates, O Zion!
+             Within thy portals, O Jerusalem!"
+
+
+The flames rise and dart among them; their garments wave, their jewels
+flash, as they dance and sing in the crimson blaze. The music ceases, a
+sound of crashing boards is heard and a great cry,--"Hallelujah!" What
+a glory and consecration of the martyrdom! Where shall we find a more
+triumphant vindication and supreme victory of spirit over matter?
+
+
+                            "I see, I see,
+         How Israel's ever-crescent glory makes
+         These flames that would eclipse it dark as blots
+         Of candle-light against the blazing sun.
+         We die a thousand deaths,--drown, bleed, and burn.
+         Our ashes are dispersed unto the winds.
+         Yet the wild winds cherish the sacred seed,
+         The fire refuseth to consume.
+
+          .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
+
+         Even as we die in honor, from our death
+         Shall bloom a myriad heroic lives,
+         Brave through our bright example, virtuous
+         Lest our great memory fall in disrepute."
+
+
+The "Dance to Death" was published, along with other poems and
+translations from the Hebrew poets of mediaeval Spain, in a small column
+entitled "Songs of a Semite." The tragedy was dedicated, "In profound
+veneration and respect to the memory of George Eliot, the illustrious
+writer who did most among the artists of our day towards elevating and
+ennobling the spirit of Jewish nationality."
+
+For this was the idea that had caught the imagination of Emma Lazarus,
+--a restored and independent nationality and repatriation in Palestine.
+In her article in "The Century" of February, 1883, on the "Jewish
+Problem," she says:--
+
+
+    "I am fully persuaded that all suggested solutions other
+    than this are but temporary palliatives.... The idea
+    formulated by George Eliot has already sunk into the minds
+    of many Jewish enthusiasts, and it germinates with miraculous
+    rapidity.  'The idea that I am possessed with,' says Deronda,
+    'is that of restoring a political existence to my people;
+    making them a nation again, giving them a national centre,
+    such as the English have, though they, too, are scattered
+    over the face of the globe.  That task which presents itself
+    to me as a duty.... I am resolved to devote my life to
+    it.  AT THE LEAST, I MAY AWAKEN A MOVEMENT IN OTHER MINDS
+    SUCH HAS BEEN AWAKENED IN MY OWN.'  Could the noble
+    prophetess who wrote the above words have lived but till to-
+    day to see the ever-increasing necessity of adopting her
+    inspired counsel,...she would have been herself astonished
+    at the flame enkindled by her seed of fire, and the practical
+    shape which the movement projected by her poetic vision is
+    beginning to assume."
+
+
+In November of 1882 appeared her first "Epistle to the Hebrews,"--one
+of a series of articles written for the "American Hebrew," published
+weekly through several months. Addressing herself now to a Jewish
+audience, she sets forth without reserve her views and hopes for
+Judaism, now passionately holding up the mirror for the shortcomings and
+peculiarities of her race. She says:--
+
+
+    "Every student of the Hebrew language is aware that we have
+    in the conjugation of our verbs a mode known as the 'intensive
+    voice,' which, by means of an almost imperceptible modification
+    of vowel-points, intensifies the meaning of the primitive root.
+    A similar significance seems to attach to the Jews themselves
+    in connection with the people among whom they dwell.  They are
+    the 'intensive form' of any nationality whose language and
+    customs they adopt.... Influenced by the same causes, they
+    represent the same results; but the deeper lights and shadows
+    of the Oriental temperament throw their failings, as well as
+    their virtues, into more prominent relief."
+
+
+In drawing the epistles to a close, February 24, 1883, she thus
+summarizes the special objects she has had in view:--
+
+
+    "My chief aim has been to contribute my mite towards arousing
+    that spirit of Jewish enthusiasm which might manifest itself:
+    First, in a return to varied pursuits and broad system of
+    physical and intellectual education adopted by our ancestors;
+    Second, in a more fraternal and practical movement towards
+    alleviating the sufferings of oppressed Jews in countries less
+    favored than our own; Third, in a closer and wider study of
+    Hebrew literature and history and finally, in a truer recognition
+    of the large principals of religion, liberty, and law upon
+    which Judaism is founded, and which should draw into harmonious
+    unity Jews of every shade of opinion."
+
+
+Her interest in Jewish affairs was at its height when she planned a
+visit abroad, which had been a long-cherished dream, and May 15,
+1883, she sailed for England, accompanied by a younger sister. We have
+difficulty in recognizing the tragic priestess we have been portraying
+in the enthusiastic child of travel who seems new-born into a new world.
+From the very outset she is in a maze of wonder and delight. At sea she
+writes:--
+
+
+    "Our last day on board ship was a vision of beauty from
+    morning till night,--the sea like a mirror and the sky
+    dazzling with light.  In the afternoon we passed a ship
+    in full sail, near enough to exchange salutes and cheers.
+    After tossing about for six days without seeing a human
+    being, except those on our vessel, even this was a sensation.
+    Then an hour or two before sunset came the great sensation
+    of--land!  At first, nothing but a shadow on the far horizon,
+    like the ghost of a ship; two or three widely scattered rocks
+    which were the promontories of Ireland, and sooner than we
+    expected we were steaming along low-lying purple hills."
+
+
+The journey to Chester gives her "the first glimpse of mellow
+England,"--a surprise which is yet no surprise, so well known and
+familiar does it appear. Then Chester, with its quaint, picturesque
+streets, "like the scene of a Walter Scott novel, the cathedral planted
+in greenness, and the clear, gray river where a boatful of scarlet
+dragoons goes gliding by." Everything is a picture for her special
+benefit. She "drinks in, at every sense, the sights, sounds, and smells,
+and the unimaginable beauty of it all." Then the bewilderment of London,
+and a whirl of people, sights, and impressions. She was received with
+great distinction by the Jews, and many of the leading men among them
+warmly advocated her views. But it was not alone from her own people
+that she met with exceptional consideration. She had the privilege
+of seeing many of the most eminent personages of the day, all of whom
+honored her with special and personal regard. There was, no doubt,
+something that strongly attracted people to her at this time,--the force
+of her intellect at once made itself felt, while at the same time the
+unaltered simplicity and modesty of her character, and her readiness and
+freshness of enthusiasm, kept her still almost like a child.
+
+She makes a flying visit to Paris, where she happens to be on the 14th
+of July, the anniversary of the storming of the Bastile, and of the
+beginning of the republic; she drives to Versailles, "that gorgeous
+shell of royalty, where the crowd who celebrate the birth of the
+republic wander freely through the halls and avenues, and into the most
+sacred rooms of the king.... There are ruins on every side in Paris,"
+she says; "ruins of the Commune, or the Siege, or the Revolution; it is
+terrible--it seems as if the city were seared with fire and blood."
+
+Such was Paris to her then, and she hastens back to her beloved London,
+starting from there on the tour through England that has been mapped
+out for her. "A Day in Surrey with William Morris," published in "The
+Century Magazine," describes her visit to Merton Abbey, the old Norman
+monastery, converted into a model factory by the poet-humanitarian,
+who himself received her as his guest, conducted her all over the
+picturesque building and garden, and explained to her his views of art
+and his aims for the people.
+
+She drives through Kent, "where the fields, valleys, and slopes are
+garlanded with hops and ablaze with scarlet poppies." Then Canterbury,
+Windsor, and Oxford, Stratford, Warwick, the valley of the Wye, Wells,
+Exeter, and Salisbury,--cathedral after cathedral. Back to London,
+and then north through York, Durham, and Edinburgh, and on the 15th of
+September she sails for home. We have merely named the names, for it is
+impossible to convey an idea of the delight and importance of this trip,
+"a crescendo of enjoyment," as she herself calls it. Long after, in
+strange, dark hours of suffering, these pictures of travel arose before
+her, vivid and tragic even in their hold and spell upon her.
+
+The winter of 1883-84 was not especially productive. She wrote a few
+reminiscences of her journey and occasional poems on the Jewish themes,
+which appeared in the "American Hebrew;" but for the most part gave
+herself up to quiet retrospect and enjoyment with her friends of the
+life she had had a glimpse of, and the experience she had stored,--a
+restful, happy period. In August of the same year she was stricken with
+a severe and dangerous malady, from which she slowly recovered, only to
+go through a terrible ordeal and affliction. Her father's health, which
+had long been failing, now broke down completely, and the whole winter
+was one long strain of acute anxiety, which culminated in his death,
+in March, 1885. The blow was a crushing one for Emma. Truly, the silver
+cord was loosed, and the golden bowl broken. Life lost its meaning and
+charm. Her father's sympathy and pride in her work had been her chief
+incentive and ambition, and had spurred her on when her own confidence
+and spirit failed. Never afterwards did she find complete and
+spontaneous expression. She decided to go abroad as the best means
+of regaining composure and strength and sailed once more in May for
+England, where she was welcomed now by the friends she had made, almost
+as to another home. She spent the summer very quietly at Richmond, an
+ideally beautiful spot in Yorkshire, where she soon felt the beneficial
+influence of her peaceful surroundings. "The very air seems to rest one
+here," she writes; and inspired by the romantic loveliness of the place,
+she even composed the first few chapters of a novel, begun with a good
+deal of dash and vigor, but soon abandoned, for she was still struggling
+with depression and gloom.
+
+"I have neither ability, energy, nor purpose," she writes. "It is
+impossible to do anything, so I am forced to set it aside for the
+present; whether to take it up again or not in the future remains to be
+seen."
+
+In the autumn she goes on the Continent, visiting the Hague, which
+"completely fascinates" her, and where she feels "stronger and more
+cheerful" than she has "for many a day." Then Paris, which this time
+amazes her "with its splendor and magnificence. All the ghosts of the
+Revolution are somehow laid," she writes, and she spends six weeks
+here enjoying to the full the gorgeous autumn weather, the sights, the
+picture galleries, the bookshops, the whole brilliant panorama of the
+life; and early in December she starts for Italy.
+
+And now once more we come upon that keen zest of enjoyment, that
+pure desire and delight of the eyes, which are the prerogative of the
+poet,--Emma Lazarus was a poet. The beauty of the world,--what a rapture
+and intoxication it is, and how it bursts upon her in the very land of
+beauty, "where Dante and Petrarch trod!" A magic glow colours it all; no
+mere blues and greens anymore, but a splendor of purple and scarlet
+and emerald; "each tower, castle, and village shining like a jewel; the
+olive, the fig, and at your feet the roses, growing in mid-December."
+A day in Pisa seems like a week, so crowded is it with sensations and
+unforgettable pictures. Then a month in Florence, which is still more
+entrancing with its inexhaustible treasures of beauty and art; and
+finally Rome, the climax of it all,--
+
+
+    "wiping out all other places and impressions, and opening
+    a whole new world of sensations.  I am wild with the
+    excitement of this tremendous place.  I have been here a
+    week, and have seen the Vatican and the Capitoline Museums,
+    and the Sistine Chapel, and St. Peter's, besides the ruins
+    on the streets and on the hills, and the graves of Shelley
+    and Keats.
+
+    "It is all heart-breaking.  I don't only mean those beautiful
+    graves, overgrown with acanthus and violets, but the mutilated
+    arches and columns and dumb appealing fragments looming up in
+    the glowing sunshine under the Roman blue sky."
+
+
+True to her old attractions, it is pagan Rome that appeals to her most
+strongly,--
+
+
+    "and the far-away past, that seems so sad and strange and
+    near.  I am even out of humor with pictures; a bit of broken
+    stone or a  fragment of a bas-relief, or a Corinthian column
+    standing out against this lapis-lazuli sky, or a tremendous
+    arch, are the only things I can look at for the moment,--
+    except the Sistine Chapel, which is as gigantic as the rest,
+    and forces itself upon you with equal might."
+
+
+Already, in February, spring is in the air; "the almond-trees are in
+bloom, violets cover the grass, and oh! the divine, the celestial, the
+unheard-of beauty of it all!" It is almost a pang for her, "with its
+strange mixture of longing and regret and delight," and in the midst
+of it she says, "I have to exert all my strength not to lose myself in
+morbidness and depression."
+
+Early in March she leaves Rome, consoled with the thought of returning
+the following winter. In June she was in England again, and spent the
+summer at Malvern. Disease was no doubt already beginning to prey upon
+her, for she was oppressed at times by a languor and heaviness amounting
+almost to lethargy. When she returned to London, however, in September,
+she felt quite well again, and started for another tour in Holland,
+which she enjoyed as much as before. She then settled in Paris, to await
+the time when she could return to Italy. But she was attacked at once
+with grave and alarming symptoms, that betokened a fatal end to her
+malady. Entirely ignorant, however, of the danger that threatened her,
+she kept up courage and hope, made plans for the journey, and looked
+forward to setting out at any moment. But the weeks passed and the
+months also; slowly and gradually the hope faded. The journey to Italy
+must be given up; she was not in condition to be brought home, and she
+reluctantly resigned herself to remain where she was and "convalesce,"
+as she confidently believed, in the spring. Once again came the analogy,
+which she herself pointed out now, to Heine on his mattress-grave in
+Paris. She, too, the last time she went out, dragged herself to the
+Louvre, to the feet of the Venus, "the goddess without arms, who could
+not help." Only her indomitable will and intense desire to live seemed
+to keep her alive. She sunk to a very low ebb, but, as she herself
+expressed it, she "seemed to have always one little window looking out
+into life," and in the spring she rallied sufficiently to take a few
+drives and to sit on the balcony of her apartment. She came back to
+life with a feverish sort of thirst and avidity. "No such cure for
+pessimism," she says, "as a severe illness; the simplest pleasures are
+enough,--to breathe the air and see the sun."
+
+Many plans were made for leaving Paris, but it was finally decided to
+risk the ocean voyage and bring her home, and accordingly she sailed
+July 23rd, arriving in New York on the last day of that month.
+
+She did not rally after this; and now began her long agony, full of
+every kind of suffering, mental and physical. Only her intellect seemed
+kindled anew, and none but those who saw her during the last supreme
+ordeal can realize that wonderful flash and fire of the spirit before
+its extinction. Never did she appear so brilliant. Wasted to a shadow,
+and between acute attacks of pain, she talked about art, poetry, the
+scenes of travel, of which her brain was so full, and the phases of her
+own condition, with an eloquence for which even those who knew her best
+were quite unprepared. Every faculty seemed sharpened and every sense
+quickened as the "strong deliveress" approached, and the ardent soul was
+released from the frame that could no longer contain it.
+
+We cannot restrain a feeling of suddenness and incompleteness and a
+natural pang of wonder and regret for a life so richly and so vitally
+endowed thus cut off in its prime. But for us it is not fitting to
+question or repine, but rather to rejoice in the rare possession that
+we hold. What is any life, even the most rounded and complete, but a
+fragment and a hint? What Emma Lazarus might have accomplished, had she
+been spared, it is idle and even ungrateful to speculate. What she did
+accomplish has real and peculiar significance. It is the privilege of
+a favored few that every fact and circumstance of their individuality
+shall add lustre and value to what they achieve. To be born a Jewess was
+a distinction for Emma Lazarus, and she in turn conferred distinction
+upon her race. To be born a woman also lends a grace and a subtle
+magnetism to her influence. Nowhere is there contradiction or
+incongruity. Her works bear the imprint of her character, and her
+character of her works; the same directness and honesty, the same limpid
+purity of tone, and the same atmosphere of things refined and beautiful.
+The vulgar, the false, and the ignoble,--she scarcely comprehended them,
+while on every side she was open and ready to take in and respond to
+whatever can adorn and enrich life. Literature was no mere "profession"
+for her, which shut out other possibilities; it was only a free, wide
+horizon and background for culture. She was passionately devoted to
+music, which inspired some of her best poems; and during the last years
+of her life, in hours of intense physical suffering, she found relief
+and consolation in listening to the strains of Bach and Beethoven. When
+she went abroad, painting was revealed to her, and she threw herself
+with the same ardor and enthusiasm into the study of the great masters;
+her last work (left unfinished) was a critical analysis of the genius
+and personality of Rembrandt.
+
+And now, at the end, we ask, Has the grave really closed over all these
+gifts? Has that eager, passionate striving ceased, and "is the rest
+silence?"
+
+Who knows? But would we break, if we could, that repose, that silence
+and mystery and peace everlasting?
+
+
+
+
+THE NEW YEAR.
+
+                      ROSH-HASHANAH, 5643.
+
+
+     Not while the snow-shroud round dead earth is rolled,
+       And naked branches point to frozen skies,--
+     When orchards burn their lamps of fiery gold,
+       The grape glows like a jewel, and the corn
+     A sea of beauty and abundance lies,
+                   Then the new year is born.
+
+
+     Look where the mother of the months uplifts
+       In the green clearness of the unsunned West,
+     Her ivory horn of plenty, dropping gifts,
+       Cool, harvest-feeding dews, fine-winnowed light;
+     Tired labor with fruition, joy and rest
+                   Profusely to requite.
+
+
+     Blow, Israel, the sacred cornet!  Call
+       Back to thy courts whatever faint heart throb
+     With thine ancestral blood, thy need craves all.
+       The red, dark year is dead, the year just born
+     Leads on from anguish wrought by priest and mob,
+                   To what undreamed-of morn?
+
+
+     For never yet, since on the holy height,
+       The Temple's marble walls of white and green
+     Carved like the sea-waves, fell, and the world's light
+       Went out in darkness,--never was the year
+     Greater with portent and with promise seen,
+                   Than this eve now and here.
+
+
+     Even as the Prophet promised, so your tent
+       Hath been enlarged unto earth's farthest rim.
+     To snow-capped Sierras from vast steppes ye went,
+       Through fire and blood and tempest-tossing wave,
+     For freedom to proclaim and worship Him,
+                   Mighty to slay and save.
+
+
+     High above flood and fire ye held the scroll,
+       Out of the depths ye published still the Word.
+     No bodily pang had power to swerve your soul:
+       Ye, in a cynic age of crumbling faiths,
+     Lived to bear witness to the living Lord,
+                   Or died a thousand deaths.
+
+
+     In two divided streams the exiles part,
+       One rolling homeward to its ancient source,
+     One rushing sunward with fresh will, new heart.
+       By each the truth is spread, the law unfurled,
+     Each separate soul contains the nation's force,
+                   And both embrace the world.
+
+
+     Kindle the silver candle's seven rays,
+       Offer the first fruits of the clustered bowers,
+     The garnered spoil of bees.  With prayer and praise
+       Rejoice that once more tried, once more we prove
+     How strength of supreme suffering still is ours
+                   For Truth and Law and Love.
+
+
+
+
+THE CROWING OF THE RED COCK.
+
+
+     Across the Eastern sky has glowed
+       The flicker of a blood-red dawn,
+     Once more the clarion cock has crowed,
+       Once more the sword of Christ is drawn.
+     A million burning rooftrees light
+     The world-wide path of Israel's flight.
+
+
+     Where is the Hebrew's fatherland?
+       The folk of Christ is sore bestead;
+     The Son of Man is bruised and banned,
+       Nor finds whereon to lay his head.
+     His cup is gall, his meat is tears,
+     His passion lasts a thousand years.
+
+
+     Each crime that wakes in man the beast,
+       Is visited upon his kind.
+     The lust of mobs, the greed of priest,
+       The tyranny of kings, combined
+     To root his seed from earth again,
+     His record is one cry of pain.
+
+
+     When the long roll of Christian guilt
+       Against his sires and kin is known,
+     The flood of tears, the life-blood spilt
+       The agony of ages shown,
+     What oceans can the stain remove,
+     From Christian law and Christian love?
+
+
+     Nay, close the book; not now, not here,
+       The hideous tale of sin narrate,
+     Reechoing in the martyr's ear,
+       Even he might nurse revengeful hate,
+     Even he might turn in wrath sublime,
+     With blood for blood and crime for crime.
+
+
+     Coward?  Not he, who faces death,
+       Who singly against worlds has fought,
+     For what?  A name he may not breathe,
+       For liberty of prayer and thought.
+     The angry sword he will not whet,
+     His nobler task is--to forget.
+
+
+
+
+IN EXILE.
+
+
+        "Since that day till now our life is one unbroken paradise.  We
+        live a true brotherly life.  Every evening after supper we take
+        a seat under the mighty oak and sing our songs."--Extract from
+        a letter of a Russian refugee in Texas.
+
+
+     Twilight is here, soft breezes bow the grass,
+       Day's sounds of various toil break slowly off,
+     The yoke-freed oxen low, the patient ass
+       Dips his dry nostril in the cool, deep trough.
+     Up from the prairie the tanned herdsmen pass
+       With frothy pails, guiding with voices rough
+     Their udder-lightened kine.  Fresh smells of earth,
+     The rich, black furrows of the glebe send forth.
+
+
+     After the Southern day of heavy toil,
+       How good to lie, with limbs relaxed, brows bare
+     To evening's fan, and watch the smoke-wreaths coil
+       Up from one's pipe-stem through the rayless air.
+     So deem these unused tillers of the soil,
+       Who stretched beneath the shadowing oak tree, stare
+     Peacefully on the star-unfolding skies,
+     And name their life unbroken paradise.
+
+
+     The hounded stag that has escaped the pack,
+       And pants at ease within a thick-leaved dell;
+     The unimprisoned bird that finds the track
+       Through sun-bathed space, to where his fellows dwell;
+     The martyr, granted respite from the rack,
+       The death-doomed victim pardoned from his cell,--
+     Such only know the joy these exiles gain,--
+     Life's sharpest rapture is surcease of pain.
+
+
+     Strange faces theirs, wherethrough the Orient sun
+       Gleams from the eyes and glows athwart the skin.
+     Grave lines of studious thought and purpose run
+       From curl-crowned forehead to dark-bearded chin.
+     And over all the seal is stamped thereon
+       Of anguish branded by a world of sin,
+     In fire and blood through ages on their name,
+     Their seal of glory and the Gentiles' shame.
+
+
+     Freedom to love the law that Moses brought,
+       To sing the songs of David, and to think
+     The thoughts Gabirol to Spinoza taught,
+       Freedom to dig the common earth, to drink
+     The universal air--for this they sought
+       Refuge o'er wave and continent, to link
+     Egypt with Texas in their mystic chain,
+     And truth's perpetual lamp forbid to wane.
+
+
+     Hark! through the quiet evening air, their song
+       Floats forth with wild sweet rhythm and glad refrain.
+     They sing the conquest of the spirit strong,
+       The soul that wrests the victory from pain;
+     The noble joys of manhood that belong
+       To comrades and to brothers.  In their strain
+     Rustle of palms and Eastern streams one hears,
+     And the broad prairie melts in mist of tears.
+
+
+
+
+IN MEMORIAM--REV. J. J. LYONS.
+
+                 ROSH-HASHANAH, 5638.
+
+
+     The golden harvest-tide is here, the corn
+     Bows its proud tops beneath the reaper's hand.
+     Ripe orchards' plenteous yields enrich the land;
+     Bring the first fruits and offer them this morn,
+     With the stored sweetness of all summer hours,
+     The amber honey sucked from myriad flowers,
+     And sacrifice your best first fruits to-day,
+     With fainting hearts and hands forespent with toil,
+     Offer the mellow harvest's splendid spoil,
+     To Him who gives and Him who takes away.
+
+
+     Bring timbrels, bring the harp of sweet accord,
+     And in a pleasant psalm your voice attune,
+     And blow the cornet greeting the new moon.
+     Sing, holy, holy, holy, is the Lord,
+     Who killeth and who quickeneth again,
+     Who woundeth and who healeth mortal pain,
+     Whose hand afflicts us, and who sends us peace.
+     Hail thou slim arc of promise in the West,
+     Thou pledge of certain plenty, peace, and rest.
+     With the spent year, may the year's sorrows cease.
+
+
+     For there is mourning now in Israel,
+     The crown, the garland of the branching tree
+     Is plucked and withered.  Ripe of years was he.
+     The priest, the good old man who wrought so well
+     Upon his chosen globe.  For he was one
+     Who at his seed-plot toiled through rain and sun.
+     Morn found him not as one who slumbereth,
+     Noon saw him faithful, and the restful night
+     Stole o'er him at his labors to requite
+     The just man's service with the just man's death.
+
+
+     What shall be said when such as he do pass?
+     Go to the hill-side, neath the cypress-trees,
+     Fall midst that peopled silence on your knees,
+     And weep that man must wither as the grass.
+     But mourn him not, whose blameless life complete
+     Rounded its perfect orb, whose sleep is sweet,
+     Whom we must follow, but may not recall.
+     Salute with solemn trumpets the New Year,
+     And offer honeyed fruits as were he here,
+     Though ye be sick with wormwood and with gall.
+
+
+
+
+THE VALLEY OF BACA.
+
+                    PSALM LXXXIV.
+
+
+     A brackish lake is there with bitter pools
+       Anigh its margin, brushed by heavy trees.
+     A piping wind the narrow valley cools,
+       Fretting the willows and the cypresses.
+     Gray skies above, and in the gloomy space
+     An awful presence hath its dwelling-place.
+
+
+     I saw a youth pass down that vale of tears;
+       His head was circled with a crown of thorn,
+     His form was bowed as by the weight of years,
+       His wayworn feet by stones were cut and torn.
+     His eyes were such as have beheld the sword
+     Of terror of the angel of the Lord.
+
+
+     He passed, and clouds and shadows and thick haze
+       Fell and encompassed him.  I might not see
+     What hand upheld him in those dismal ways,
+       Wherethrough he staggered with his misery.
+     The creeping mists that trooped and spread around,
+     The smitten head and writhing form enwound.
+
+
+     Then slow and gradual but sure they rose,
+       Those clinging vapors blotting out the sky.
+     The youth had fallen not, his viewless foes
+       Discomfited, had left the victory
+     Unto the heart that fainted not nor failed,
+     But from the hill-tops its salvation hailed.
+
+
+     I looked at him in dread lest I should see,
+       The anguish of the struggle in his eyes;
+     And lo, great peace was there!  Triumphantly
+       The sunshine crowned him from the sacred skies.
+     "From strength to strength he goes," he leaves beneath
+     The valley of the shadow and of death.
+
+
+     "Thrice blest who passing through that vale of Tears,
+       Makes it a well,"--and draws life-nourishment
+     From those death-bitter drops.  No grief, no fears
+       Assail him further, he may scorn the event.
+     For naught hath power to swerve the steadfast soul
+     Within that valley broken and made whole.
+
+
+
+
+THE BANNER OF THE JEW.
+
+
+     Wake, Israel, wake!  Recall to-day
+       The glorious Maccabean rage,
+     The sire heroic, hoary-gray,
+       His five-fold lion-lineage:
+     The Wise, the Elect, the Help-of-God,
+     The Burst-of-Spring, the Avenging Rod.*
+
+
+     From Mizpeh's mountain-ridge they saw
+       Jerusalem's empty streets, her shrine
+     Laid waste where Greeks profaned the Law,
+       With idol and with pagan sign.
+     Mourners in tattered black were there,
+     With ashes sprinkled on their hair.
+
+
+     Then from the stony peak there rang
+       A blast to ope the graves: down poured
+     The Maccabean clan, who sang
+       Their battle-anthem to the Lord.
+     Five heroes lead, and following, see,
+     Ten thousand rush to victory!
+
+
+     Oh for Jerusalem's trumpet now,
+       To blow a blast of shattering power,
+     To wake the sleepers high and low,
+       And rouse them to the urgent hour!
+     No hand for vengeance--but to save,
+     A million naked swords should wave.
+
+
+     Oh deem not dead that martial fire,
+       Say not the mystic flame is spent!
+     With Moses' law and David's lyre,
+       Your ancient strength remains unbent.
+     Let but an Ezra rise anew,
+     To lift the BANNER OF THE JEW!
+
+
+     A rag, a mock at first--erelong,
+       When men have bled and women wept,
+     To guard its precious folds from wrong,
+       Even they who shrunk, even they who slept,
+     Shall leap to bless it, and to save.
+     Strike! for the brave revere the brave!
+
+       *The sons of Mattathias--Jonanthan, John, Eleazer,
+       Simon (also called the Jewel), and Jonas, the Prince
+
+
+
+
+THE GUARDIAN OF THE RED DISK.
+
+         Spoken by a Citizen of Malta--1300.
+
+
+     A curious title held in high repute,
+     One among many honors, thickly strewn
+     On my lord Bishop's head, his grace of Malta.
+     Nobly he bears them all,--with tact, skill, zeal,
+     Fulfills each special office, vast or slight,
+     Nor slurs the least minutia,--therewithal
+     Wears such a stately aspect of command,
+     Broad-checked, broad-chested, reverend, sanctified,
+     Haloed with white about the tonsure's rim,
+     With dropped lids o'er the piercing Spanish eyes
+     (Lynx-keen, I warrant, to spy out heresy);
+     Tall, massive form, o'ertowering all in presence,
+     Or ere they kneel to kiss the large white hand.
+     His looks sustain his deeds,--the perfect prelate,
+     Whose void chair shall be taken, but not filled.
+     You know not, who are foreign to the isle,
+     Haply, what this Red Disk may be, he guards.
+     'T is the bright blotch, big as the Royal seal,
+     Branded beneath the beard of every Jew.
+     These vermin so infest the isle, so slide
+     Into all byways, highways that may lead
+     Direct or roundabout to wealth or power,
+     Some plain, plump mark was needed, to protect
+     From the degrading contact Christian folk.
+
+
+     The evil had grown monstrous: certain Jews
+     Wore such a haughty air, had so refined,
+     With super-subtile arts, strict, monkish lives,
+     And studious habit, the coarse Hebrew type,
+     One might have elbowed in the public mart
+     Iscariot,--nor suspected one's soul-peril.
+     Christ's blood! it sets my flesh a-creep to think!
+     We may breathe freely now, not fearing taint,
+     Praise be our good Lord Bishop!  He keeps count
+     Of every Jew, and prints on cheek or chin
+     The scarlet stamp of separateness, of shame.
+
+
+     No beard, blue-black, grizzled or Judas-colored,
+     May hide that damning little wafer-flame.
+     When one appears therewith, the urchins know
+     Good sport's at hand; they fling their stones and mud,
+     Sure of their game.  But most the wisdom shows
+     Upon the unbelievers' selves; they learn
+     Their proper rank; crouch, cringe, and hide,--lay by
+     Their insolence of self-esteem; no more
+     Flaunt forth in rich attire, but in dull weeds,
+     Slovenly donned, would slink past unobserved;
+     Bow servile necks and crook obsequious knees,
+     Chin sunk in hollow chest, eyes fixed on earth
+     Or blinking sidewise, but to apprehend
+     Whether or not the hated spot be spied.
+     I warrant my Lord Bishop has full hands,
+     Guarding the Red Disk--lest one rogue escape!
+
+
+
+
+THE NEW EZEKIEL.
+
+
+     What, can these dead bones live, whose sap is dried
+       By twenty scorching centuries of wrong?
+     Is this the House of Israel, whose pride
+       Is as a tale that's told, an ancient song?
+     Are these ignoble relics all that live
+       Of psalmist, priest, and prophet?  Can the breath
+     Of very heaven bid these Bones revive,
+       Open the graves and clothe the ribs of death?
+
+
+     Yea, Prophesy, the Lord hath said.  Again
+       Say to the wind, Come forth and breathe afresh,
+     Even that they may live upon these slain,
+       And bone to bone shall leap, and flesh to flesh.
+     The Spirit is not dead, proclaim the word,
+       Where lay dead bones, a host of armed men stand!
+     I ope your graves, my people, saith the Lord,
+       And I shall place you living in your land.
+
+
+
+
+THE CHOICE.
+
+
+     I saw in dream the spirits unbegot,
+     Veiled, floating phantoms, lost in twilight space;
+     For one the hour had struck, he paused; the place
+     Rang with an awful Voice:
+                              "Soul, choose thy lot!
+     Two paths are offered; that, in velvet-flower,
+     Slopes easily to every earthly prize.
+     Follow the multitude and bind thine eyes,
+     Thou and thy sons' sons shall have peace with power.
+     This narrow track skirts the abysmal verge,
+     Here shalt thou stumble, totter, weep and bleed,
+     All men shall hate and hound thee and thy seed,
+     Thy portion be the wound, the stripe, the scourge.
+     But in thy hand I place my lamp for light,
+     Thy blood shall be the witness of my Law,
+     Choose now for all the ages!"
+                                  Then I saw
+     The unveiled spirit, grown divinely bright,
+     Choose the grim path.  He turned, I knew full well
+     The pale, great martyr-forehead shadowy-curled,
+     The glowing eyes that had renounced the world,
+     Disgraced, despised, immortal Israel.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE WORLD'S JUSTICE.
+
+
+     If the sudden tidings came
+       That on some far, foreign coast,
+     Buried ages long from fame,
+       Had been found a remnant lost
+     Of that hoary race who dwelt
+       By the golden Nile divine,
+     Spake the Pharaoh's tongue and knelt
+       At the moon-crowned Isis' shrine--
+     How at reverend Egypt's feet,
+     Pilgrims from all lands would meet!
+
+
+     If the sudden news were known,
+       That anigh the desert-place
+     Where once blossomed Babylon,
+       Scions of a mighty race
+     Still survived, of giant build,
+       Huntsmen, warriors, priest and sage,
+     Whose ancestral fame had filled,
+       Trumpet-tongued, the earlier age,
+     How at old Assyria's feet
+     Pilgrims from all lands would meet!
+
+
+     Yet when Egypt's self was young,
+       And Assyria's bloom unworn,
+     Ere the mythic Homer sung,
+       Ere the gods of Greece were born,
+     Lived the nation of one God,
+       Priests of freedom, sons of Shem,
+     Never quelled by yoke or rod,
+       Founders of Jerusalem--
+     Is there one abides to-day,
+     Seeker of dead cities, say!
+
+
+     Answer, now as then, THEY ARE;
+       Scattered broadcast o'er the lands,
+     Knit in spirit nigh and far,
+       With indissoluble bands.
+     Half the world adores their God,
+       They the living law proclaim,
+     And their guerdon is--the rod,
+       Stripes and scourgings, death and shame.
+     Still on Israel's head forlorn,
+     Every nation heaps its scorn.
+
+
+
+
+THE SUPREME SACRIFICE.
+
+
+     Well-nigh two thousand years hath Israel
+       Suffered the scorn of man for love of God;
+       Endured the outlaw's ban, the yoke, the rod,
+     With perfect patience.  Empires rose and fell,
+       Around him Nebo was adored and Bel;
+     Edom was drunk with victory, and trod
+     On his high places, while the sacred sod
+       Was desecrated by the infidel.
+     His faith proved steadfast, without breach or flaw,
+       But now the last renouncement is required.
+     His truth prevails, his God is God, his Law
+       Is found the wisdom most to be desired.
+     Not his the glory!  He, maligned, misknown,
+     Bows his meek head, and says, "Thy will be done!"
+
+
+
+
+THE FEAST OF LIGHTS.
+
+
+     Kindle the taper like the steadfast star
+       Ablaze on evening's forehead o'er the earth,
+     And add each night a lustre till afar
+       An eightfold splendor shine above thy hearth.
+     Clash, Israel, the cymbals, touch the lyre,
+       Blow the brass trumpet and the harsh-tongued horn;
+     Chant psalms of victory till the heart takes fire,
+       The Maccabean spirit leap new-born.
+
+
+     Remember how from wintry dawn till night,
+       Such songs were sung in Zion, when again
+     On the high altar flamed the sacred light,
+       And, purified from every Syrian stain,
+     The foam-white walls with golden shields were hung,
+       With crowns and silken spoils, and at the shrine,
+     Stood, midst their conqueror-tribe, five chieftains sprung
+       From one heroic stock, one seed divine.
+
+
+     Five branches grown from Mattathias' stem,
+       The Blessed John, the Keen-Eyed Jonathan,
+     Simon the fair, the Burst-of Spring, the Gem,
+       Eleazar, Help of-God; o'er all his clan
+     Judas the Lion-Prince, the Avenging Rod,
+       Towered in warrior-beauty, uncrowned king,
+     Armed with the breastplate and the sword of God,
+       Whose praise is: "He received the perishing."
+
+
+     They who had camped within the mountain-pass,
+       Couched on the rock, and tented neath the sky,
+     Who saw from Mizpah's heights the tangled grass
+       Choke the wide Temple-courts, the altar lie
+     Disfigured and polluted--who had flung
+       Their faces on the stones, and mourned aloud
+     And rent their garments, wailing with one tongue,
+       Crushed as a wind-swept bed of reeds is bowed,
+
+
+     Even they by one voice fired, one heart of flame,
+       Though broken reeds, had risen, and were men,
+     They rushed upon the spoiler and o'ercame,
+       Each arm for freedom had the strength of ten.
+     Now is their mourning into dancing turned,
+       Their sackcloth doffed for garments of delight,
+     Week-long the festive torches shall be burned,
+       Music and revelry wed day with night.
+
+
+     Still ours the dance, the feast, the glorious Psalm,
+       The mystic lights of emblem, and the Word.
+     Where is our Judas?  Where our five-branched palm?
+       Where are the lion-warriors of the Lord?
+     Clash, Israel, the cymbals, touch the lyre,
+       Sound the brass trumpet and the harsh-tongued horn,
+     Chant hymns of victory till the heart take fire,
+       The Maccabean spirit leap new-born!
+
+
+
+
+GIFTS.
+
+
+     "O World-God, give me Wealth!" the Egyptian cried.
+     His prayer was granted.  High as heaven, behold
+     Palace and Pyramid; the brimming tide
+     Of lavish Nile washed all his land with gold.
+     Armies of slaves toiled ant-wise at his feet,
+     World-circling traffic roared through mart and street,
+     His priests were gods, his spice-balmed kings enshrined,
+     Set death at naught in rock-ribbed charnels deep.
+     Seek Pharaoh's race to-day and ye shall find
+     Rust and the moth, silence and dusty sleep.
+
+
+     "O World-God, give me beauty!" cried the Greek.
+     His prayer was granted.  All the earth became
+     Plastic and vocal to his sense; each peak,
+     Each grove, each stream, quick with Promethean flame,
+     Peopled the world with imaged grace and light.
+     The lyre was his, and his the breathing might
+     Of the immortal marble, his the play
+     Of diamond-pointed thought and golden tongue.
+     Go seek the sun-shine race, ye find to-day
+     A broken column and a lute unstrung.
+
+
+     "O World-God, give me Power!" the Roman cried.
+     His prayer was granted.  The vast world was chained
+     A captive to the chariot of his pride.
+     The blood of myriad provinces was drained
+     To feed that fierce, insatiable red heart.
+     Invulnerably bulwarked every part
+     With serried legions and with close-meshed Code,
+     Within, the burrowing worm had gnawed its home,
+     A roofless ruin stands where once abode
+     The imperial race of everlasting Rome.
+
+
+     "O Godhead, give me Truth!" the Hebrew cried.
+     His prayer was granted; he became the slave
+     Of the Idea, a pilgrim far and wide,
+     Cursed, hated, spurned, and scourged with none to save.
+     The Pharaohs knew him, and when Greece beheld,
+     His wisdom wore the hoary crown of Eld.
+     Beauty he hath forsworn, and wealth and power.
+     Seek him to-day, and find in every land.
+     No fire consumes him, neither floods devour;
+     Immortal through the lamp within his hand.
+
+
+
+
+BAR KOCHBA.
+
+
+     Weep, Israel! your tardy meed outpour
+       Of grateful homage on his fallen head,
+     That never coronal of triumph wore,
+       Untombed, dishonored, and unchapleted.
+     If Victory makes the hero, raw Success
+       The stamp of virtue, unremembered
+     Be then the desperate strife, the storm and stress
+       Of the last Warrior Jew.  But if the man
+     Who dies for freedom, loving all things less,
+       Against world-legions, mustering his poor clan;
+     The weak, the wronged, the miserable, to send
+       Their death-cry's protest through the ages' span--
+     If such an one be worthy, ye shall lend
+       Eternal thanks to him, eternal praise.
+     Nobler the conquered than the conqueror's end!
+
+
+
+
+                     1492.
+
+
+     Thou two-faced year, Mother of Change and Fate,
+     Didst weep when Spain cast forth with flaming sword,
+     The children of the prophets of the Lord,
+     Prince, priest, and people, spurned by zealot hate.
+     Hounded from sea to sea, from state to state,
+     The West refused them, and the East abhorred.
+     No anchorage the known world could afford,
+     Close-locked was every port, barred every gate.
+     Then smiling, thou unveil'dst, O two-faced year,
+     A virgin world where doors of sunset part,
+     Saying, "Ho, all who weary, enter here!
+     There falls each ancient barrier that the art
+     Of race or creed or rank devised, to rear
+     Grim bulwarked hatred between heart and heart!"
+       1883.
+
+
+
+
+THE BIRTH OF MAN.
+
+               A Legend of the Talmud.
+
+
+                         I.
+
+
+     When angels visit earth, the messengers
+     Of God's decree, they come as lightning, wind:
+     Before the throne, they all are living fire.
+     There stand four rows of angels--to the right
+     The hosts of Michael, Gabriel's to the left,
+     Before, the troop of Ariel, and behind,
+     The ranks of Raphael; all, with one accord,
+     Chanting the glory of the Everlasting.
+     Upon the high and holy throne there rests,
+     Invisible, the Majesty of God.
+     About his brows the crown of mystery
+     Whereon the sacred letters are engraved
+     Of the unutterable Name.  He grasps
+     A sceptre of keen fire; the universe
+     Is compassed in His glance; at His right hand
+     Life stands, and at His left hand standeth Death.
+
+
+
+
+
+     II.
+
+
+     Lo, the divine idea of making man
+     Had spread abroad among the heavenly hosts;
+     And all at once before the immortal throne
+     Pressed troops of angels and of seraphim,
+     With minds opposed, and contradicting cries:
+     "Fulfill, great Father, thine exalted thought!
+     Create and give unto the earth her king!"
+     "Cease, cease, Almighty God! create no more!"
+     And suddenly upon the heavenly sphere
+     Deep silence fell; before the immortal throne
+     The angel Mercy knelt, and thus he spoke:
+     "Fulfill, great Father, thine exalted thought!
+     Create the likeness of thyself on earth.
+     In this new creature I will breathe the spirit
+     Of a divine compassion; he shall be
+     Thy fairest image in the universe."
+     But to his words the angel Peace replied,
+     With heavy sobs: "My spirit was outspread,
+     Oh God, on thy creation, and all things
+     Were sweetly bound in gracious harmony.
+     But man, this strange new being, everywhere
+     Shall bring confusion, trouble, discord, war."
+     "Avenger of injustice and of crime,"
+     Exclaimed the angel Justice, "he shall be
+     Subject to me, and peace shall bloom again.
+     Create, oh Lord, create!"  "Father of truth,"
+     Implored with tears the angel Truth, "Thou bring'st
+     Upon the earth the father of all lies!"
+     And over the celestial faces gloomed
+     A cloud of grief, and stillness deep prevailed.
+     Then from the midst of that abyss of light
+     Whence sprang the eternal throne, these words rang forth:
+     "Be comforted, my daughter!  Thee I send
+     To be companion unto man on earth."
+     And all the angels cried, lamenting loud:
+     "Thou robbest heaven of her fairest gem.
+     Truth! seal of all thy thoughts, Almighty God,
+     The richest jewel that adorns thy crown."
+     From the abyss of glory rang the voice:
+     "From heaven to earth, from earth once more to heaven,
+     Shall Truth, with constant interchange, alight
+     And soar again, an everlasting link
+     Between the world and sky."
+                   And man was born.
+
+
+
+
+RASCHI IN PRAGUE.
+
+
+     Raschi of Troyes, the Moon of Israel,
+     The authoritative Talmudist, returned
+     From his wide wanderings under many skies,
+     To all the synagogues of the Orient,
+     Through Spain and Italy, the isles of Greece,
+     Beautiful, dolorous, sacred Palestine,
+     Dead, obelisked Egypt, floral, musk-breathed Persia,
+     Laughing with bloom, across the Caucasus,
+     The interminable sameness of bare steppes,
+     Through dark luxuriance of Bohemian woods,
+     And issuing on the broad, bright Moldau vale,
+     Entered the gates of Prague.  Here, too, his fame,
+     Being winged, preceded him.  His people swarmed
+     Like bees to gather the rich honey-dew
+     Of learning from his lips.  Amazement filled
+     All eyes beholding him.  No hoary sage,
+     He who had sat in Egypt at the feet
+     Of Moses ben-Maimuni, called him friend;
+     Raschi the scholiast, poet, and physician,
+     Who bore the ponderous Bible's storied wisdom,
+     The Mischna's tangled lore at tip of tongue,
+     Light as a garland on a lance, appeared
+     In the just-ripened glory of a man.
+     From his clear eye youth flamed magnificent;
+     Force, masked by grace, moved in his balanced frame;
+     An intellectual, virile beauty reigned
+     Dominant on domed brow, on fine, firm lips,
+     An eagle profile cut in gilded bronze,
+     Strong, delicate as a head upon a coin,
+     While, as an aureole crowns a burning lamp,
+     Above all beauty of the body and brain
+     Shone beauty of a soul benign with love.
+     Even as a tawny flock of huddled sheep,
+     Grazing each other's heels, urged by one will,
+     With bleat and baa following the wether's lead,
+     Or the wise shepherd, so o'er the Moldau bridge
+     Trotted the throng of yellow-caftaned Jews,
+     Chattering, hustling, shuffling.  At their head
+     Marched Rabbi Jochanan ben-Eleazar,
+     High priest in Prague, oldest and most revered,
+     To greet the star of Israel.  As a father
+     Yearns toward his son, so toward the noble Raschi
+     Leapt at first sight the patriarch's fresh old heart.
+     "My home be thine in Prague!  Be thou my son,
+     Who have no offspring save one simple girl.
+     See, glorious youth, who dost renew the days
+     Of David and of Samuel, early graced
+     With God's anointing oil, how Israel
+     Delights to honor who hath honored him."
+     Then Raschi, though he felt a ball of fire
+     Globe itself in his throat, maintained his calm,
+     His cheek's opaque, swart pallor while he kissed
+     Silent the Rabbi's withered hand, and bowed
+     Divinely humble, his exalted head
+     Craving the benison.
+                            For each who asked
+     He had the word of counsel, comfort, help;
+     For all, rich eloquence of thanks.  His voice,
+     Even and grave, thrilled secret chords and set
+     Plain speech to music.  Certain folk were there
+     Sick in the body, dragging painful limbs,
+     To the physician.  These he solaced first,
+     With healing touch, with simples from his pouch,
+     Warming and lulling, best with promises
+     Of constant service till their ills were cured.
+     And some, gray-bearded, bald, and curved with age,
+     Blear-eyed from poring over lines obscure
+     And knotty riddles of the Talmud, brought
+     Their problems to this youth, who cleared and solved,
+     Yielding prompt answer to a lifetime's search.
+     Then, followed, pushed by his obsequious tribe,
+     Who fain had pedestaled him on their backs,
+     Hemming his steps, choking the airs of heaven
+     With their oppressive honors, he advanced,
+     Midst shouts, tumultuous welcomes, kisses showered
+     Upon his road-stained garments, through Prague's streets,
+     Gaped at by Gentiles, hissed at and reviled,
+     But no whit altering his majestic mien
+     For overwhelming plaudits or contempt.
+     Glad tidings Raschi brought from West and East
+     Of thriving synagogues, of famous men,
+     And flourishing academies.  In Rome
+     The Papal treasurer was a pious Jew,
+     Rabbi Jehiel, neath whose patronage
+     Prospered a noble school.  Two hundred Jews
+     Dwelt free and paid no tributary mark.
+     Three hundred lived in peace at Capua,
+     Shepherded by the learned Rabbi David,
+     A prince of Israel.  In Babylon
+     The Jews established their Academy.
+     Another still in Bagdad, from whose chair
+     Preached the great rabbi, Samuel Ha-levi,
+     Versed in the written and the oral law,
+     Who blindfold could repeat the whole vast text
+     Of Mischna and Gemara.  On the banks
+     Of Eden-born Euphrates, one day's ride
+     From Bagdad, Raschi found in the wilderness,
+     Which once was Babylon, Ezekiel's tomb.
+     Thrice ten perpetual lamps starred the dim shrine,
+     Two hundred sentinels held the sleepless vigil,
+     Receiving offerings.  At the Feast of Booths
+     Here crowded Jews by thousands, out of Persia,
+     From all the neighboring lands, to celebrate
+     The glorious memories of the golden days.
+     Ten thousand Jews with their Academy
+     Damascus boasted, while in Cairo shone
+     The pearl, the crown of Israel, ben-Maimuni,
+     Physician at the Court of Saladin,
+     The second Moses, gathering at his feet
+     Sages from all the world.
+                               As Raschi spake,
+     Forgetting or ignoring the chief shrine,
+     The Exile's Home, whereunto yearned all hearts,
+     All ears were strained for tidings.  Some one asked:
+     "What of Jerusalem?  Speak to us of Zion."
+     The light died from his eyes.  From depths profound
+     Issued his grave, great voice: "Alas for Zion!
+     Verily is she fallen!  Where our race
+     Dictated to the nations, not a handful,
+     Nay, not a score, not ten, not two abide!
+     One, only one, one solitary Jew,
+     The Rabbi Abraham Haceba, flits
+     Ghostlike amid the ruins; every year
+     Beggars himself to pay the idolaters
+     The costly tax for leave to hold a-gape
+     His heart's live wound; to weep, a mendicant,
+     Amidst the crumbled stones of palaces
+     Where reigned his ancestors, upon the graves
+     Where sleep the priests, the prophets, and the kings
+     Who were his forefathers.  Ask me no more!"
+
+
+     Now, when the French Jew's advent was proclaimed,
+     And his tumultuous greeting, envious growls
+     And ominous eyebeams threatened storm in Prague.
+     "Who may this miracle of learning be?
+     The Anti-Christ!  The century-long-awaited,
+     The hourly-hoped Messiah, come at last!
+     Else dared they never wax so arrogant,
+     Flaunting their monstrous joy in Christian eyes,
+     And strutting peacock-like, with hideous screams,
+     Who are wont to crawl, mute reptiles underfoot."
+     A stone or two flung at some servile form,
+     Liveried in the yellow gaberdine
+     (With secret happiness but half suppressed
+     On features cast for misery), served at first
+     For chance expression of the rabble's hate;
+     But, swelling like a snow-ball rolled along
+     By mischief-plotting boys, the rage increased,
+     Grew to a mighty mass, until it reached
+     The palace of Duke Vladislaw.  He heard
+     With righteous wrath his injured subjects' charge
+     Against presumptuous aliens: how these blocked
+     His avenues, his bridges; bared to the sun
+     The canker-taint of Prague's obscurest coigne;
+     Paraded past the churches of the Lord
+     One who denied Him, one by them hailed Christ.
+     Enough!  This cloud, no bigger than one's hand,
+     Gains overweening bulk.  Prague harbored, first,
+     Out of contemptuous ruth, a wretched band
+     Of outcast paupers, gave them leave to ply
+     Their money-lending trade, and leased them land
+     On all too facile terms.  Behold! to-day,
+     Like leeches bloated with the people's blood,
+     They batten on Bohemia's poverty;
+     They breed and grow; like adders, spit back hate
+     And venomed perfidy for Christian love.
+     Thereat the Duke, urged by wise counsellors--
+     Narzerad the statesman (half whose wealth was pledged
+     To the usurers), abetted by the priest,
+     Bishop of Olmutz, who had visited
+     The Holy Sepulchre, whose long, full life
+     Was one clean record of pure piety--
+     The Duke, I say, by these persuasive tongues,
+     Coaxed to his darling aim, forbade his guards
+     To hinder the just anger of his town,
+     And ordered to be led in chains to him
+     The pilgrim and his host.
+
+
+                                At noontide meal
+     Raschi sat, full of peace, with Jochanan,
+     And the sole daughter of the house, Rebekah,
+     Young, beautiful as her namesake when she brought
+     Her firm, frail pitcher balanced on her neck
+     Unto the well, and gave the stranger drink,
+     And gave his camels drink.  The servant set
+     The sparkling jar's refreshment from his lips,
+     And saw the virgin's face, bright as the moon,
+     Beam from the curled luxuriance of black locks,
+     And cast-back linen veil's soft-folded cloud,
+     Then put the golden ear-ring by her cheek,
+     The bracelets on her hands, his master's pledge,
+     Isaac's betrothal gift, whom she should wed,
+     And be the mother of millions--one whose seed
+     Dwells in the gates of those which hate them.
+                                          So
+     Yearned Raschi to adorn the radiant girl
+     Who sat at board before him, nor dared lift
+     Shy, heavy lids from pupils black as grapes
+     That dart the imprisoned sunshine from their core.
+     But in her ears keen sense was born to catch,
+     And in her heart strange power to hold, each tone
+     O' the low-keyed, vibrant voice, each syllable
+     O' the eloquent discourse, enriched with tales
+     Of venturous travel, brilliant with fine points
+     Of delicate humor, or illustrated
+     With living portraits of world-famoused men,
+     Jews, Saracens, Crusaders, Islamites,
+     Whose hand he had grasped--the iron warrior,
+     Godfrey of Bouillon, the wise infidel
+     Who in all strength, wit, courtesy excelled
+     The kings his foes--imperial Saladin.
+     But even as Raschi spake an abrupt noise
+     Of angry shouts, of battering staves that shook
+     The oaken portal, stopped the enchanted voice,
+     The uplifted wine spilled from the nerveless hand
+     Of Rabbi Jochanan.  "God pity us!
+     Our enemies are upon us once again.
+     Hie thee, Rebekah, to the inmost chamber,
+     Far from their wanton eyes' polluting gaze,
+     Their desecrating touch!  Kiss me!  Begone!
+     Raschi, my guest, my son"--But no word more
+     Uttered the reverend man.  With one huge crash
+     The strong doors split asunder, pouring in
+     A stream of soldiers, ruffians, armed with pikes,
+     Lances, and clubs--the unchained beast, the mob.
+     "Behold the town's new guest!" jeered one who tossed
+     The half-filled golden wine-cup's contents straight
+     In the noble pure young face.  "What, master Jew!
+     Must your good friends of Prague break bolts and bars
+     To gain a peep at this prodigious pearl
+     You bury in your shell?  Forth to the day!
+     Our Duke himself claims share of your new wealth;
+     Summons to court the Jew philosopher!"
+     Then, while some stuffed their pokes with baubles snatched
+     From board and shelf, or with malignant sword
+     Slashed the rich Orient rugs, the pictured woof
+     That clothed the wall; others had seized and bound,
+     And gagged from speech, the helpless, aged man;
+     Still others outraged, with coarse, violent hands,
+     The marble-pale, rigid as stone, strange youth,
+     Whose eye like struck flint flashed, whose nether lip
+     Was threaded with a scarlet line of blood,
+     Where the compressed teeth fixed it to forced calm.
+     He struggled not while his free limbs were tied,
+     His beard plucked, torn and spat upon his robe--
+     Seemed scarce to know these insults were for him;
+     But never swerved his gaze from Jochanan.
+     Then, in God's language, sealed from these dumb brutes,
+     Swiftly and low he spake: "Be of good cheer,
+     Reverend old man.  I deign not treat with these.
+     If one dare offer bodily hurt to thee,
+     By the ineffable Name!  I snap my chains
+     Like gossamer, and in his blood, to the hilt,
+     Bathe the prompt knife hid in my girdle's folds.
+     The Duke shall hear me.  Patience.  Trust in me."
+     Somewhat the authoritative voice abashed,
+     Even hoarse and changed, the miscreants, who feared
+     Some strong curse lurked in this mysterious tongue,
+     Armed with this evil eye.  But brief the spell.
+     With gibe and scoff they dragged their victims forth,
+     The abused old man, the proud, insulted youth,
+     O'er the late path of his triumphal march,
+     Befouled with mud, with raiment torn, wild hair
+     And ragged beard, to Vladislaw.  He sat
+     Expectant in his cabinet.  On one side
+     His secular adviser, Narzerad,
+     Quick-eyed, sharp-nosed, red-whiskered as a fox;
+     On the other hand his spiritual guide,
+     Bishop of Olmutz, unctuous, large, and bland.
+     "So these twain are chief culprits!" sneered the Duke,
+     Measuring with the noble's ignorant scorn
+     His masters of a lesser caste.  "Stand forth!
+     Rash, stubborn, vain old man, whose impudence
+     Hath choked the public highways with thy brood
+     Of nasty vermin, by our sufferance hid
+     In lanes obscure, who hailed this charlatan
+     With sky-flung caps, bent knees, and echoing shouts,
+     Due to ourselves alone in Prague; yea, worse,
+     Who offered worship even ourselves disclaim,
+     Our Lord Christ's meed, to this blaspheming Jew--
+     Thy crimes have murdered patience.  Thou hast wrecked
+     Thy people's fortune with thy own.  But first
+     (For even in anger we are just) recount
+     With how great compensation from thy store
+     Of hoarded gold and jewels thou wilt buy
+     Remission of the penalty.  Be wise.
+     Hark how my subjects, storming through the streets,
+     Vent on thy tribe accursed their well-based wrath."
+     And, truly, through closed casements roared the noise
+     Of mighty surging crowds, derisive cries,
+     And victims' screams of anguish and affright.
+     Then Raschi, royal in his rags, began:
+     "Hear me, my liege!"  At that commanding voice,
+     The Bishop, who with dazed eyes had perused
+     The grieved, wise, beautiful, pale face, sprang up,
+     Quick recognition in his glance, warm joy
+     Aflame on his broad cheeks.  "No more!  No more!
+     Thou art the man!  Give me the hand to kiss
+     That raised me from the shadow of the grave
+     In Jaffa's lazar-house!  Listen, my liege!
+     During my pilgrimage to Palestine
+     I, sickened with the plague and nigh to death,
+     Languished 'midst strangers, all my crumbling flesh
+     One rotten mass of sores, a thing for dogs
+     To shy from, shunned by Christian as by Turk,
+     When lo! this clean-breathed, pure-souled, blessed youth,
+     Whom I, not knowing for an infidel,
+     Seeing featured like the Christ, believed a saint,
+     Sat by my pillow, charmed the sting from pain,
+     Quenched the fierce fever's heat, defeated Death;
+     And when I was made whole, had disappeared,
+     No man knew whither, leaving no more trace
+     Than a re-risen angel.  This is he!"
+     Then Raschi, who had stood erect, nor quailed
+     From glances of hot hate or crazy wrath,
+     Now sank his eagle gaze, stooped his high head,
+     Veiling his glowing brow, returned the kiss
+     Of brother-love upon the Christian's hand,
+     And dropping on his knees implored the three,
+     "Grace for my tribe!  They are what ye have made.
+     If any be among them fawning, false,
+     Insatiable, revengeful, ignorant, mean--
+     And there are many such--ask your own hearts
+     What virtues ye would yield for planted hate,
+     Ribald contempt, forced, menial servitude,
+     Slow centuries of vengeance for a crime
+     Ye never did commit?  Mercy for these!
+     Who bear on back and breast the scathing brand
+     Of scarlet degradation, who are clothed
+     In ignominious livery, whose bowed necks
+     Are broken with the yoke.  Change these to men!
+     That were a noble witchcraft simply wrought,
+     God's alchemy transforming clods to gold.
+     If there be one among them strong and wise,
+     Whose lips anoint breathe poetry and love,
+     Whose brain and heart served ever Christian need--
+     And there are many such--for his dear sake,
+     Lest ye chance murder one of God's high priests,
+     Spare his thrice-wretched tribe!  Believe me, sirs,
+     Who have seen various lands, searched various hearts,
+     I have yet to touch that undiscovered shore,
+     Have yet to fathom that impossible soul,
+     Where a true benefit's forgot; where one
+     Slight deed of common kindness sown yields not
+     As now, as here, abundant crop of love.
+     Every good act of man, our Talmud says,
+     Creates an angel, hovering by his side.
+     Oh! what a shining host, great Duke, shall guard
+     Thy consecrated throne, for all the lives
+     Thy mercy spares, for all the tears thy ruth
+     Stops at the source.  Behold this poor old man,
+     Last of a line of princes, stricken in years,
+     As thy dead father would have been to-day.
+     Was that white beard a rag for obscene hands
+     To tear? a weed for lumpish clowns to pluck?
+     Was that benignant, venerable face
+     Fit target for their foul throats' voided rheum?
+     That wrinkled flesh made to be pulled and pricked,
+     Wounded by flinty pebbles and keen steel?
+     Behold the prostrate, patriarchal form,
+     Bruised, silent, chained.  Duke, such is Israel!"
+     "Unbind these men!" commanded Vladislaw.
+     "Go forth and still the tumult of my town.
+     Let no Jew suffer violence.  Raschi, rise!
+     Thou who hast served the Christ--with this priest's life,
+     Who is my spirit's counselor--Christ serves thee.
+     Return among thy people with my seal,
+     The talisman of safety.  Let them know
+     The Duke's their friend.  Go, publish the glad news!"
+     Raschi the Saviour, Raschi the Messiah,
+     Back to the Jewry carried peace and love.
+     But Narzerad fed his venomed heart with gall,
+     Vowing to give his fatal hatred vent,
+     Despite a world of weak fantastic Dukes
+     And heretic bishops.  He fulfilled his vow.
+
+
+
+
+THE DEATH OF RASCHI.
+
+
+              [Aaron Ben Mier "loquitur."]
+
+
+     If I remember Raschi?  An I live,
+     Grandson, to bless thy grandchild, I'll forget
+     Never that youth and what he did for Prague.
+     Aye, aye, I know! he slurred a certain verse
+     In such and such a prayer; omitted quite
+     To stand erect there where the ritual
+     Commands us rise and bow towards the East;
+     Therefore, the ingrates brand him heterodox,
+     Neglect his memory whose virtue saved
+     Each knave of us alive.  Not I forget,
+     No more does God, who wrought a miracle
+     For his dear sake.  The Passover was here.
+     Raschi, just wedded with the fair Rebekah,
+     Bode but the lapsing of the holy week
+     For homeward journey with his bride to France.
+     The sacred meal was spread.  All sat at board
+     Within the house of Rabbi Jochanan:
+     The kind old priest; his noble, new-found son,
+     Whose name was wrung in every key of praise,
+     By every voice in Prague, from Duke to serf
+     (Save the vindictive bigot, Narzerad);
+     The beautiful young wife, whose cup of joy
+     Sparkled at brim; next her the vacant chair
+     Awaited the Messiah, who, unannounced,
+     In God's good time shall take his place with us.
+     Now when the Rabbi reached the verse where one
+     Shall rise from table, flinging wide the door,
+     To give the Prophet entrance, if so be
+     The glorious hour have sounded, Raschi rose,
+     Pale, grave, yet glad with great expectancy,
+     Crossed the hushed room, and, with a joyous smile
+     To greet the Saviour, opened the door.
+                                            A curse!
+     A cry, "Revenged!" a thrust, a stifled moan,
+     The sheathing of a poniard--that was all!
+     In the dark vestibule a fleeing form,
+     Masked, gowned in black; and in the room of prayer,
+     Raschi, face downward on the stone-cold floor,
+     Bleeding his life out.  Oh! what a cry was that
+     (Folk shuddered, hearing, roods off in the street)
+     Wherewith Rebekah rushed to raise her lord,
+     Kneeling beside him, striving in vain to quench
+     With turban, veil, torn shreds of gown, stained hands,
+     The black blood's sickening gush.  He never spoke,
+     Never rewarded with one glance of life
+     The passion in her eyes.  He met his end
+     Even as beneath the sickle the full ear
+     Bows to its death--so beautiful, silent, ripe.
+
+
+     Well, we poor Jews must gulp our injuries,
+     Howe'er they choke us.  What redress in Prague
+     For the inhuman murder?  A strange Jew
+     The victim; the suspected criminal
+     The ducal counselor!  Such odds forbade
+     Revenge or justice.  We forbore to seek.
+     The priest, discrowned o' the glory of his age,
+     The widow-bride, mourned as though smitten of God,
+     Gave forth they would with solemn obsequies
+     Bury their dead, and crave no help from man.
+     Now of what chanced betwixt the night of murder
+     And the appointed burial I can give
+     Only the sum of gossip--servants' tales,
+     Neighbors' reports, close confidences leaked
+     From friends and kindred.  Night and day, folk said,
+     Rebekah wept, prayed, fasted by the corpse,
+     Three mortal days.  Upon the third, her eyes,
+     Sunk in their pits, glimmered with wild, strange fire.
+     She started from her place beside the dead,
+     Kissed clay-cold brow, cheeks, lids, and lips once more,
+     And with a maniac's wan, heart-breaking smile,
+     Veiled, hooded, glided through the twilight streets,
+     A sable shadow.  From the willow-grove,
+     Close by the Moldau's brink, beyond the bridge,
+     Her trace was lost.  'T was evening and mild May,
+     Air full of spring, skies perfect as a pearl;
+     Yet one who saw her pass amidst the shades
+     O' the blue-gray branches swears a sudden flame,
+     As of miraculous lightning, thrilled through heaven.
+     One hour thereafter she reentered Prague,
+     Slid swiftly through the streets, as though borne on
+     By ankle-wings or floating on soft cloud,
+     Smiling no more, but with illumined eyes,
+     Transfigured brow, grave lips, and faltering limbs,
+     So came into the room where Raschi lay
+     Stretched 'twixt tall tapers lit at head and foot.
+     She held in both hands leafy, flowerless plants,
+     Some she had fastened in her twisted hair,
+     Stuck others in her girdle, and from all
+     Issued a racy odor, pungent-sweet,
+     The living soul of Spring.  Death's chamber seemed
+     As though clear sunshine and a singing bird
+     Therein had entered.  From the precious herb
+     She poured into a golden bowl the sap,
+     Sparkling like wine; then with a soundless prayer,
+     White as the dead herself, she held the cup
+     To Raschi's mouth.  A quick, small flame sprang up
+     From the enchanted balsam, died away,
+     And lo! the color dawned in cheek and lips,
+     The life returned, the sealed, blind lids were raised,
+     And in the glorious eyes love reawoke,
+     And, looking up, met love.
+                                So runs the tale,
+     Mocked by the worldly-wise; but I believe,
+     Knowing the miracles the Lord hath wrought
+     In every age for Jacob's seed.  Moreover,
+     I, with the highest and meanest Jew in Prague,
+     Was at the burial.  No man saw the dead.
+     Sealed was the coffin ere the rites began,
+     And none could swear it went not empty down
+     Into the hollow earth.  Too shrewd our priest
+     To publish such a wonder, and expose
+     That consecrated life to second death.
+     Scarce were the thirty days of mourning sped,
+     When we awoke to find his home left bare,
+     Rebekah and her father fled from Prague.
+     God grant they had glad meeting otherwhere!
+
+
+
+
+AN EPISTLE.
+
+
+     From Joshua Ibn Vives of Allorqui to his Former Master, Solomon
+     Levi-Paul, de Santa-Maria, Bishop of Cartegna Chancellor of
+     Castile, and Privy Councillor to King Henry III. of Spain.
+
+
+       [In this poem I have done little more than elaborate
+       and versify the account given in Graetz's History of the
+       Jews (Vol. VIII., page 77), of an Epistle actually written
+       in the beginning of the 15th century by Joshua ben Joseph
+       Ibn Vives to Paulus de Santa Maria--E.L.]
+
+
+                           I.
+
+
+     Master and Sage, greetings and health to thee,
+       From thy most meek disciple!  Deign once more
+     Endure me at thy feet, enlighten me,
+       As when upon my boyish head of yore,
+     Midst the rapt circle gathered round thy knee
+       Thy sacred vials of learning thou didst pour.
+     By the large lustre of thy wisdom orbed
+     Be my black doubts illumined and absorbed.
+
+
+
+
+
+     II.
+
+
+     Oft I recall that golden time when thou,
+       Born for no second station, heldst with us
+     The Rabbi's chair, who art priest and bishop now;
+       And we, the youth of Israel, curious,
+     Hung on thy counsels, lifted reverent brow
+       Unto thy sanctity, would fain discuss
+     With thee our Talmud problems good and evil,
+     Till startled by the risen stars o'er Seville.
+
+
+
+
+
+     III.
+
+
+     For on the Synagogue's high-pillared porch
+       Thou didst hold session, till the sudden sun
+     Beyond day's purple limit dropped his torch.
+       Then we, as dreamers, woke, to find outrun
+     Time's rapid sands.  The flame that may not scorch,
+       Our hearts caught from thine eyes, thou Shining One.
+     I scent not yet sweet lemon-groves in flower,
+     But I re-breathe the peace of that deep hour.
+
+
+
+
+
+     IV.
+
+
+     We kissed the sacred borders of thy gown,
+       Brow-aureoled with thy blessing, we went forth
+     Through the hushed byways of the twilight town.
+       Then in all life but one thing seemed of worth,
+     To seek, find, love the Truth.  She set her crown
+       Upon thy head, our Master, at thy birth;
+     She bade thy lips drop honey, fired thine eyes
+     With the unclouded glow of sun-steeped skies.
+
+
+
+
+                      V.
+
+
+     Forgive me, if I dwell on that which, viewed
+       From thy new vantage-ground, must seem a mist
+     Of error, by auroral youth endued
+       With alien lustre.  Still in me subsist
+     Those reeking vapors; faith and gratitude
+       Still lead me to the hand my boy-lips kissed
+     For benison and guidance.  Not in wrath,
+     Master, but in wise patience, point my path.
+
+
+
+
+
+     VI.
+
+
+     For I, thy servant, gather in one sheaf
+       The venomed shafts of slander, which thy word
+     Shall shrivel to small dust.  If haply grief,
+       Or momentary pain, I deal, my Lord
+     Blame not thy servant's zeal, nor be thou deaf
+       Unto my soul's blind cry for light.  Accord--
+     Pitying my love, if too superb to care
+     For hate-soiled name--an answer to my prayer.
+
+
+
+
+
+     VII.
+
+
+     To me, who, vine to stone, clung close to thee,
+       The very base of life appeared to quake
+     When first I knew thee fallen from us, to be
+       A tower of strength among our foes, to make
+     'Twixt Jew and Jew deep-cloven enmity.
+       I have wept gall and blood for thy dear sake.
+     But now with temperate soul I calmly search
+     Motive and cause that bound thee to the Church.
+
+
+
+
+
+     VIII.
+
+
+     Four motives possible therefor I reach--
+       Ambition, doubt, fear, or mayhap--conviction.
+     I hear in turn ascribed thee all and each
+       By ignorant folk who part not truth from fiction.
+     But I, whom even thyself didst stoop to teach,
+       May poise the scales, weigh this with that confliction,
+     Yea, sift the hid grain motive from the dense,
+     Dusty, eye-blinding chaff of consequence.
+
+
+
+
+
+     IX.
+
+
+     Ambition first!  I find no fleck thereof
+       In all thy clean soul.  What! could glory, gold,
+     Or sated senses lure thy lofty love?
+       No purple cloak to shield thee from the cold,
+     No jeweled sign to flicker thereabove,
+       And dazzle men to homage--joys untold
+     Of spiritual treasure, grace divine,
+     Alone (so saidst thou) coveting for thine!
+
+
+
+
+                     X.
+
+
+     I saw thee mount with deprecating air,
+       Step after step, unto our Jewish throne
+     Of supreme dignity, the Rabbi's chair;
+       Shrinking from public honors thrust upon
+     Thy meek desert, regretting even there
+       The placid habit of thy life foregone;
+     Silence obscure, vast peace and austere days
+     Passed in wise contemplation, prayer, and praise.
+
+
+
+
+
+     XI.
+
+
+     One less than thou had ne'er known such regret.
+       How must thou suffer, who so lov'st the shade,
+     In Fame's full glare, whom one stride more shall set
+       Upon the Papal seat!  I stand dismayed,
+     Familiar with thy fearful soul, and yet
+       Half glad, perceiving modest worth repaid
+     Even by the Christians!  Could thy soul deflect?
+     No, no, thrice no!  Ambition I reject!
+
+
+
+
+
+     XII.
+
+
+     Next doubt.  Could doubt have swayed thee, then I ask,
+       How enters doubt within the soul of man?
+     Is it a door that opens, or a mask
+       That falls? and Truth's resplendent face we scan.
+     Nay, 't is a creeping, small, blind worm, whose task
+       Is gnawing at Faith's base; the whole vast plan
+     Rots, crumbles, eaten inch by inch within,
+     And on its ruins falsehood springs and sin.
+
+
+
+
+
+     XIII.
+
+
+     But thee no doubt confused, no problems vexed.
+       Thy father's faith for thee proved bright and sweet.
+     Thou foundst no rite superfluous, no text
+       Obscure; the path was straight before thy feet.
+     Till thy baptismal day, thou, unperplexed
+       By foreign dogma, didst our prayers repeat,
+     Honor the God of Israel, fast and feast,
+     Even as thy people's wont, from first to least.
+
+
+
+
+
+     XIV.
+
+
+     Yes, Doubt I likewise must discard.  Not sleek,
+       Full-faced, erect of head, men walk, when doubt
+     Writhes at their entrails; pinched and lean of cheek,
+       With brow pain-branded, thou hadst strayed about
+     As midst live men a ghost condemned to seek
+       That soul he may nor live nor die without.
+     No doubts the font washed from thee, thou didst glide
+     From creed to creed, complete, sane-souled, clear-eyed.
+
+
+
+
+
+     XV.
+
+
+     Thy pardon, Master, if I dare sustain
+       The thesis thou couldst entertain a fear.
+     I would but rout thine enemies, who feign
+       Ignoble impulse prompted thy career.
+     I will but weigh the chances and make plain
+       To Envy's self the monstrous jest appear.
+     Though time, place, circumstance confirmed in seeming,
+     One word from thee should frustrate all their scheming.
+
+
+
+
+
+     XVI.
+
+
+     Was Israel glad in Seville on the day
+       Thou didst renounce him?  Then mightst thou indeed
+     Snap finger at whate'er thy slanderers say.
+       Lothly must I admit, just then the seed
+     Of Jacob chanced upon a grievous way.
+       Still from the wounds of that red year we bleed.
+     The curse had fallen upon our heads--the sword
+     Was whetted for the chosen of the Lord.
+
+
+
+
+
+     XVII.
+
+
+     There where we flourished like a fruitful palm,
+       We were uprooted, spoiled, lopped limb from limb.
+     A bolt undreamed of out of heavens calm,
+       So cracked our doom.  We were destroyed by him
+     Whose hand since childhood we had clasped.  With balm
+       Our head had been anointed, at the brim
+     Our cup ran over--now our day was done,
+     Our blood flowed free as water in the sun.
+
+
+
+
+
+     XVIII.
+
+
+     Midst the four thousand of our tribe who held
+       Glad homes in Seville, never a one was spared,
+     Some slaughtered at their hearthstones, some expelled
+       To Moorish slavery.  Cunningly ensnared,
+     Baited and trapped were we; their fierce monks yelled
+       And thundered from our Synagogues, while flared
+     The Cross above the Ark.  Ah, happiest they
+     Who fell unconquered martyrs on that day!
+
+
+
+
+
+     XIX.
+
+
+     For some (I write it with flushed cheek, bowed head),
+       Given free choice 'twixt death and shame, chose shame,
+     Denied the God who visibly had led
+       Their fathers, pillared in a cloud of flame,
+     Bathed in baptismal waters, ate the bread
+       Which is their new Lord's body, took the name
+     Marranos the Accursed, whom equally
+     Jew, Moor, and Christian hate, despise, and flee.
+
+
+
+
+
+     XX.
+
+
+     Even one no less than an Abarbanel
+       Prized miserable length of days, above
+     Integrity of soul.  Midst such who fell,
+       Far be it, however, from my duteous love,
+     Master, to reckon thee.  Thine own lips tell
+       How fear nor torture thy firm will could move.
+     How thou midst panic nowise disconcerted,
+     By Thomas of Aquinas wast converted!
+
+
+
+
+
+     XXI.
+
+
+     Truly I know no more convincing way
+       To read so wise an author, than was thine.
+     When burning Synagogues changed night to day,
+       And red swords underscored each word and line.
+     That was a light to read by!  Who'd gainsay
+       Authority so clearly stamped divine?
+     On this side, death and torture, flame and slaughter,
+     On that, a harmless wafer and clean water.
+
+
+
+
+
+     XXII.
+
+
+     Thou couldst not fear extinction for our race;
+       Though Christian sword and fire from town to town
+     Flash double bladed lightning to efface
+       Israel's image--though we bleed, burn, drown
+     Through Christendom--'t is but a scanty space.
+       Still are the Asian hills and plains our own,
+     Still are we lords in Syria, still are free,
+     Nor doomed to be abolished utterly.
+
+
+
+
+
+     XXIII.
+
+
+     One sole conclusion hence at last I find,
+       Thou whom ambition, doubt, nor fear could swerve,
+     Perforce hast been persuaded through the mind,
+       Proved, tested the new dogmas, found them serve
+     Thy spirit's needs, left flesh and sense behind,
+       Accepted without shrinking or reserve,
+     The trans-substantial bread and wine, the Christ
+     At whose shrine thine own kin were sacrificed.
+
+
+
+
+
+     XXIV.
+
+
+     Here then the moment comes when I crave light.
+       All's dark to me.  Master, if I be blind,
+     Thou shalt unseal my lids and bless with sight,
+       Or groping in the shadows, I shall find
+     Whether within me or without, dwell night.
+       Oh cast upon my doubt-bewildered mind
+     One ray from thy clear heaven of sun-bright faith,
+     Grieving, not wroth, at what thy servant saith.
+
+
+
+
+
+     XXV.
+
+
+     Where are the signs fulfilled whereby all men
+       Should know the Christ?  Where is the wide-winged peace
+     Shielding the lamb within the lion's den?
+       The freedom broadening with the wars that cease?
+     Do foes clasp hands in brotherhood again?
+       Where is the promised garden of increase,
+     When like a rose the wilderness should bloom?
+     Earth is a battlefield and Spain a tomb.
+
+
+
+
+
+     XXVI.
+
+
+     Our God of Sabaoth is an awful God
+       Of lightnings and of vengeance,--Christians say.
+     Earth trembled, nations perished at his nod;
+       His Law has yielded to a milder sway.
+     Theirs is the God of Love whose feet have trod
+       Our common earth--draw near to him and pray,
+     Meek-faced, dove-eyed, pure-browed, the Lord of life,
+     Know him and kneel, else at your throat the knife!
+
+
+
+
+
+     XXVII.
+
+
+     This is the God of Love, whose altars reek
+       With human blood, who teaches men to hate;
+     Torture past words, or sins we may not speak
+       Wrought by his priests behind the convent-grate.
+     Are his priests false? or are his doctrines weak
+       That none obeys him?  State at war with state,
+     Church against church--yea, Pope at feud with Pope
+     In these tossed seas what anchorage for hope?
+
+
+
+
+
+     XXVIII.
+
+
+     Not only for the sheep without the fold
+       Is the knife whetted, who refuse to share
+     Blessings the shepherd wise doth not withhold
+       Even from the least among his flock--but there
+     Midmost the pale, dissensions manifold,
+       Lamb flaying lamb, fierce sheep that rend and tear.
+     Master, if thou to thy pride's goal should come,
+     Where wouldst thou throne--at Avignon or Rome?
+
+
+
+
+
+     XXIX.
+
+
+     I handle burning questions, good my lord,
+       Such as may kindle fagots, well I wis.
+     Your Gospel not denies our older Word,
+       But in a way completes and betters this.
+     The Law of Love shall supersede the sword,
+       So runs the promise, but the facts I miss.
+     Already needs this wretched generation,
+     A voice divine--a new, third revelation.
+
+
+
+
+
+     XXX.
+
+
+     Two Popes and their adherents fulminate
+       Ban against ban, and to the nether hell
+     Condemn each other, while the nations wait
+       Their Christ to thunder forth from Heaven, and tell
+     Who is his rightful Vicar, reinstate
+       His throne, the hideous discord to dispel.
+     Where shall I seek, master, while such things be,
+     Celestial truth, revealed certainty!
+
+
+
+
+
+     XXXI.
+
+
+     Not miracles I doubt, for how dare man,
+       Chief miracle of life's mystery, say HE KNOWS?
+     How may he closely secret causes scan,
+       Who learns not whence he comes nor where he goes?
+     Like one who walks in sleep a doubtful span
+       He gropes through all his days, till Death unclose
+     His cheated eyes and in one blinding gleam,
+     Wakes, to discern the substance from the dream.
+
+
+
+
+
+     XXXII.
+
+
+     I say not therefore I deny the birth,
+       The Virgin's motherhood, the resurrection,
+     Who know not how mine own soul came to earth,
+       Nor what shall follow death.  Man's imperfection
+     May bound not even in thought the height and girth
+       Of God's omnipotence; neath his direction
+     We may approach his essence, but that He
+     Should dwarf Himself to us--it cannot be!
+
+
+
+
+
+     XXXIII.
+
+
+     The God who balances the clouds, who spread
+       The sky above us like a molten glass,
+     The God who shut the sea with doors, who laid
+       The corner-stone of earth, who caused the grass
+     Spring forth upon the wilderness, and made
+       The darkness scatter and the night to pass--
+     That He should clothe Himself with flesh, and move
+     Midst worms a worm--this, sun, moon, stars disprove.
+
+
+
+
+
+     XXXIV.
+
+
+     Help me, O thou who wast my boyhood's guide,
+       I bend my exile-weary feet to thee,
+     Teach me the indivisible to divide,
+       Show me how three are one and One is three!
+     How Christ to save all men was crucified,
+       Yet I and mine are damned eternally.
+     Instruct me, Sage, why Virtue starves alone,
+     While falsehood step by step ascends the throne.
+
+
+
+
+BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON.
+
+
+     LITTLE POEMS IN PROSE.
+
+
+                     I. THE EXODUS. (August 3, 1492.)
+
+
+     1. The Spanish noon is a blaze of azure fire, and the dusty
+     pilgrims crawl like an endless serpent along treeless plains and
+     bleached highroads, through rock-split ravines and castellated,
+     cathedral-shadowed towns.
+
+     2. The hoary patriarch, wrinkled as an almond shell, bows painfully
+     upon his staff.  The beautiful young mother, ivory-pale, well-nigh
+     swoons beneath her burden; in her large enfolding arms nestles her
+     sleeping babe, round her knees flock her little ones with bruised
+     and bleeding feet.  "Mother, shall we soon be there?"
+
+     3. The youth with Christ-like countenance speaks comfortably to
+     father and brother, to maiden and wife.  In his breast, his own
+     heart is broken.
+
+     4. The halt, the blind, are amid the train.  Sturdy pack-horses
+     laboriously drag the tented wagons wherein lie the sick athirst
+     with fever.
+
+     5. The panting mules are urged forward with spur and goad; stuffed
+     are the heavy saddlebags with the wreckage of ruined homes.
+
+     6. Hark to the tinkling silver bells that adorn the tenderly-carried
+     silken scrolls.
+
+     7. In the fierce noon-glare a lad bears a kindled lamp; behind its
+     net-work of bronze the airs of heaven breathe not upon its faint
+     purple star.
+
+     8. Noble and abject, learned and simple, illustrious and obscure,
+     plod side by side, all brothers now, all merged in one routed army
+     of misfortune.
+
+     9. Woe to the straggler who falls by the wayside! no friend shall
+     close his eyes.
+
+     10. They leave behind, the grape, the olive, and the fig; the vines
+     they planted, the corn they sowed, the garden-cities of Andalusia
+     and Aragon, Estremadura and La Mancha, of Granada and Castile; the
+     altar, the hearth, and the grave of their fathers.
+
+     11. The townsman spits at their garments, the shepherd quits his
+     flock, the peasant his plow, to pelt with curses and stones; the
+     villager sets on their trail his yelping cur.
+
+     12. Oh the weary march, oh the uptorn roots of home, oh the
+     blankness of the receding goal!
+
+     13. Listen to their lamentation: They that ate dainty food are
+     desolate in the streets; they that were reared in scarlet embrace
+     dunghills.  They flee away and wander about.  Men say among the
+     nations, they shall no more sojourn there; our end is near, our
+     days are full, our doom is come.
+
+     14. Whither shall they turn? for the West hath cast them out, and
+     the East refuseth to receive.
+
+     15. O bird of the air, whisper to the despairing exiles, that
+     to-day, to-day, from the many-masted, gayly-bannered port of Palos,
+     sails the world-unveiling Genoese, to unlock the golden gates of
+     sunset and bequeath a Continent to Freedom!
+
+
+
+
+
+     II. TREASURES.
+
+
+     1. Through cycles of darkness the diamond sleeps in its coal-black
+     prison.
+
+     2. Purely incrusted in its scaly casket, the breath-tarnished pearl
+     slumbers in mud and ooze.
+
+     3. Buried in the bowels of earth, rugged and obscure, lies the
+     ingot of gold.
+
+     4. Long hast thou been buried, O Israel, in the bowels of earth;
+     long hast thou slumbered beneath the overwhelming waves; long hast
+     thou slept in the rayless house of darkness.
+
+     5. Rejoice and sing, for only thus couldst thou rightly guard the
+     golden knowledge, Truth, the delicate pearl and the adamantine
+     jewel of the Law.
+
+
+
+
+
+     III. THE SOWER.
+
+
+     1. Over a boundless plain went a man, carrying seed.
+
+     2. His face was blackened by sun and rugged from tempest, scarred
+     and distorted by pain.  Naked to the loins, his back was ridged with
+     furrows, his breast was plowed with stripes.
+
+     3. From his hand dropped the fecund seed.
+
+     4. And behold, instantly started from the prepared soil a blade, a
+     sheaf, a springing trunk, a myriad-branching, cloud-aspiring tree.
+     Its arms touched the ends of the horizon, the heavens were darkened
+     with its shadow.
+
+     5. It bare blossoms of gold and blossoms of blood, fruitage of
+     health and fruitage of poison; birds sang amid its foliage, and a
+     serpent was coiled about its stem.
+
+     6. Under its branches a divinely beautiful man, crowned with
+     thorns, was nailed to a cross.
+
+     7. And the tree put forth treacherous boughs to strangle the Sower;
+     his flesh was bruised and torn, but cunningly he disentangled the
+     murderous knot and passed to the eastward.
+
+     8. Again there dropped from his hand the fecund seed.
+
+     9. And behold, instantly started from the prepared soil a blade, a
+     sheaf, a springing trunk, a myriad-branching, cloud-aspiring tree.
+     Crescent shaped like little emerald moons were the leaves; it bare
+     blossoms of silver and blossoms of blood, fruitage of health and
+     fruitage of poison; birds sang amid its foliage and a serpent was
+     coiled about its stem.
+
+     10. Under its branches a turbaned mighty-limbed Prophet brandished
+     a drawn sword.
+
+     11. And behold, this tree likewise puts forth perfidious arms to
+     strangle the Sower; but cunningly he disentangles the murderous
+     knot and passes on.
+
+     12. Lo, his hands are not empty of grain, the strength of his arm
+     is not spent.
+
+     13. What germ hast thou saved for the future, O miraculous
+     Husbandman?  Tell me, thou Planter of Christhood and Islam;
+     tell me, thou seed-bearing Israel!
+
+
+
+
+
+     IV. THE TEST.
+
+
+     1. Daylong I brooded upon the Passion of Israel.
+
+     2. I saw him bound to the wheel, nailed to the cross, cut off by
+     the sword, burned at the stake, tossed into the seas.
+
+     3. And always the patient, resolute, martyr face arose in silent
+     rebuke and defiance.
+
+     4. A Prophet with four eyes; wide gazed the orbs of the spirit
+     above the sleeping eyelids of the senses.
+
+     5. A Poet, who plucked from his bosom the quivering heart and
+     fashioned it into a lyre.
+
+     6. A placid-browed Sage, uplifted from earth in celestial
+     meditation.
+
+     7. These I saw, with princes and people in their train; the
+     monumental dead and the standard-bearers of the future.
+
+     8. And suddenly I heard a burst of mocking laughter, and turning, I
+     beheld the shuffling gait, the ignominious features, the sordid mask
+     of the son of the Ghetto.
+
+
+
+
+                          V. CURRENTS.
+
+
+     1. Vast oceanic movements, the flux and reflux of immeasurable
+     tides, oversweep our continent.
+
+     2. From the far Caucasian steppes, from the squalid Ghettos of
+     Europe,
+
+     3. From Odessa and Bucharest, from Kief, and Ekaterinoslav,
+
+     4. Hark to the cry of the exiles of Babylon, the voice of Rachel
+     mourning for her children, of Israel lamenting for Zion.
+
+     5. And lo, like a turbid stream, the long-pent flood bursts the
+     dykes of oppression and rushes hitherward.
+
+     6. Unto her ample breast, the generous mother of nations welcomes
+     them.
+
+     7. The herdsman of Canaan and the seed of Jerusalem's royal
+     shepherd renew their youth amid the pastoral plains of Texas
+     and the golden valleys of the Sierras.
+
+
+
+
+
+     VI. THE PROPHET.
+
+
+     1. Moses Ben Maimon lifting his perpetual lamp over the path of the
+     perplexed;
+
+     2. Hallevi, the honey-tongued poet, wakening amid the silent ruins
+     of Zion the sleeping lyre of David;
+
+     3. Moses, the wise son of Mendel, who made the Ghetto illustrious;
+
+     4. Abarbanel, the counselor of kings; Alcharisi, the exquisite
+     singer; Ibn Ezra, the perfect old man; Gabirol, the tragic seer;
+
+     5. Heine, the enchanted magician, the heartbroken jester;
+
+     6. Yea, and the century-crowned patriarch whose bounty engirdles
+     the globe;--
+
+     7. These need no wreath and no trumpet; like perennial asphodel
+     blossoms, their fame, their glory resounds like the brazen-throated
+     cornet.
+
+     8. But thou--hast thou faith in the fortune of Israel?  Wouldst thou
+     lighten the anguish of Jacob?
+
+     9. Then shalt thou take the hand of yonder caftaned wretch with
+     flowing curls and gold-pierced ears;
+
+     10. Who crawls blinking forth from the loathsome recesses of the
+     Jewry;
+
+     11. Nerveless his fingers, puny his frame; haunted by the bat-like
+     phantoms of superstition is his brain.
+
+     12. Thou shalt say to the bigot, "My Brother," and to the creature
+     of darkness, "My Friend."
+
+     13. And thy heart shall spend itself in fountains of love upon the
+     ignorant, the coarse, and the abject.
+
+     14. Then in the obscurity thou shalt hear a rush of wings, thine
+     eyes shall be bitten with pungent smoke.
+
+     15. And close against thy quivering lips shall be pressed the live
+     coal wherewith the Seraphim brand the Prophets.
+
+
+
+
+
+     VII. CHRYSALIS.
+
+
+     1. Long, long has the Orient-Jew spun around his helplessness the
+     cunningly enmeshed web of Talmud and Kabbala.
+
+     2. Imprisoned in dark corners of misery and oppression, closely he
+     drew about him the dust-gray filaments, soft as silk and stubborn
+     as steel, until he lay death-stiffened in mummied seclusion.
+
+     3. And the world has named him an ugly worm, shunning the blessed
+     daylight.
+
+     4. But when the emancipating springtide breathes wholesome,
+     quickening airs, when the Sun of Love shines out with cordial
+     fires, lo, the Soul of Israel bursts her cobweb sheath, and flies
+     forth attired in the winged beauty of immortality.
+
+
+
+
+TO CARMEN SYLVA.
+
+
+     Oh, that the golden lyre divine
+     Whence David smote flame-tones were mine!
+     Oh, that the silent harp which hung
+                  Untuned, unstrung,
+     Upon the willows by the river,
+     Would throb beneath my touch and quiver
+     With the old song-enchanted spell
+                 Of Israel!
+
+
+     Oh, that the large prophetic Voice
+     Would make my reed-piped throat its choice!
+     All ears should prick, all hearts should spring,
+                 To hear me sing
+     The burden of the isles, the word
+     Assyria knew, Damascus heard,
+     When, like the wind, while cedars shake,
+                 Isaiah spake.
+
+
+     For I would frame a song to-day
+     Winged like a bird to cleave its way
+     O'er land and sea that spread between,
+                 To where a Queen
+     Sits with a triple coronet.
+     Genius and Sorrow both have set
+     Their diadems above the gold--
+                 A Queen three-fold!
+
+
+     To her the forest lent its lyre,
+     Hers are the sylvan dews, the fire
+     Of Orient suns, the mist-wreathed gleams
+     Of mountain streams.
+     She, the imperial Rhine's own child,
+     Takes to her heart the wood-nymph wild,
+     The gypsy Pelech, and the wide,
+                 White Danube's tide.
+
+
+     She who beside an infant's bier
+     Long since resigned all hope to hear
+     The sacred name of "Mother" bless
+                 Her childlessness,
+     Now from a people's sole acclaim
+     Receives the heart-vibrating name,
+     And "Mother, Mother, Mother!" fills
+                 The echoing hills.
+
+
+     Yet who is he who pines apart,
+     Estranged from that maternal heart,
+     Ungraced, unfriended, and forlorn,
+                 The butt of scorn?
+     An alien in his land of birth,
+     An outcast from his brethren's earth,
+     Albeit with theirs his blood mixed well
+                 When Plevna fell?
+
+
+     When all Roumania's chains were riven,
+     When unto all his sons was given
+     The hero's glorious reward,
+                 Reaped by the sword,--
+     Wherefore was this poor thrall, whose chains
+     Hung heaviest, within whose veins
+     The oldest blood of freedom streamed,
+                 Still unredeemed?
+
+
+     O Mother, Poet, Queen in one!
+     Pity and save--he is thy son.
+     For poet David's sake, the king
+                 Of all who sing;
+     For thine own people's sake who share
+     His law, his truth, his praise, his prayer;
+     For his sake who was sacrificed--
+                 His brother--Christ!
+
+
+
+
+THE DANCE TO DEATH;
+
+                    A Historical Tragedy in Five Acts.
+
+
+     This play is dedicated, in profound veneration and respect, to the
+     memory of George Eliot, the illustrious writer, who did most among
+     the artists of our day towards elevating and ennobling the spirit
+     of Jewish nationality.
+
+
+
+
+THE PERSONS.
+
+     FREDERICK THE GRAVE, Landgrave of Thuringia and Margrave of
+       Meissen, Protector and Patron of the Free City of Nordhausen.
+     PRINCE WILLIAM OF MEISSEN, his son.
+     SUSSKIND VON ORB, a Jew.
+     HENRY SCHNETZEN, Governor of Salza.
+     HENRY NORDMANN OF NORDMANNSTEIN, Knight of Treffurt.
+     REINHARD PEPPERCORN, Prior of Wartburg Monastery.
+     RABBI JACOB.
+     DIETRICH VON TETTENBORN, President of the Council.
+     REUBEN VON ORB, a boy, Susskind's son.
+     BARUCH and NAPHTALI,Jews.
+     RABBI CRESSELIN.
+     LAY-BROTHER.
+     PAGE.
+     PUBLIC SCRIVENER.
+
+     PRINCESS MATHILDIS, wife to Frederick.
+     LIEBHAID VON ORB.
+     CLAIRE CRESSELIN.
+
+     Jews, Jewesses, Burghers, Senators, Citizens, Citizen's Wife and
+     Boy, Flagellants, Servants, Guardsmen.
+
+
+     Scene--Partly in Nordhausen, partly in Eisenach. Time, May, 4th,
+     5th, 6th, 1349.
+
+
+
+
+ACT I.--In Nordhausen.
+
+     SCENE I.
+
+       A street in the Judengasse, outside the Synagogue.  During this
+       Scene Jews and Jewesses, singly and in groups, with prayer-books
+       in their hands, pass across the stage, and go into the Synagogue.
+       Among them, enter BARUCH and NAPHTALI.
+
+
+     NAPHTALI.
+     Hast seen him yet?
+
+
+     BARUCH.
+                     Nay; Rabbi Jacob's door
+     Swung to behind him, just as I puffed up
+     O'erblown with haste.  See how our years weigh, cousin.
+     Who'd judge me with this paunch a temperate man,
+     A man of modest means, a man withal
+     Scarce overpast his prime?  Well, God be praised,
+     If age bring no worse burden!  Who is this stranger?
+     Simon the Leech tells me he claims to bear
+     Some special message from the Lord--no doubt
+     To-morrow, fresh from rest, he'll publish it
+     Within the Synagogue.
+
+
+     NAPHTALI.
+                     To-morrow, man?
+     He will not hear of rest--he comes anon--
+     Shall we within?
+
+
+     BARUCH.
+                     Rather let's wait,
+     And scrutinize him as he mounts the street.
+     Since you denote him so remarkable,
+     You've whetted my desire.
+
+
+     NAPHTALI.
+                     A blind, old man,
+     Mayhap is all you'll find him--spent with travel,
+     His raiment fouled with dust, his sandaled feet
+     Road-bruised by stone and bramble.  But his face!--
+     Majestic with long fall of cloud-white beard,
+     And hoary wreath of hair--oh, it is one
+     Already kissed by angels.
+
+
+     BARUCH.
+                     Look, there limps
+     Little Manasseh, bloated as his purse,
+     And wrinkled as a frost-pinched fruit.  I hear
+     His last loan to the Syndic will result
+     In quadrupling his wealth.  Good Lord! what luck
+     Blesses some folk, while good men stint and sweat
+     And scrape, to merely fill the household larder.
+     What said you of this pilgrim, Naphtali?
+     These inequalities of fortune rub
+     My sense of justice so against the grain,
+     I lose my very name.  Whence does he come?
+     Is he alone?
+
+
+     NAPHTALI.
+                     He comes from Chinon, France.
+     Rabbi Cresselin he calls himself--alone
+     Save for his daughter who has led him hither.
+     A beautiful, pale girl with round black eyes.
+
+
+     BARUCH.
+     Bring they fresh tidings of the pestilence?
+
+
+     NAPHTALI.
+     I know not--but I learn from other source
+     It has burst forth at Erfurt.
+
+
+     BARUCH.
+                     God have mercy!
+     Have many of our tribe been stricken?
+
+
+     NAPHTALI.
+                     No.
+     They cleanse their homes and keep their bodies sweet,
+     Nor cease from prayer--and so does Jacob's God
+     Protect His chosen, still.  Yet even His favor
+     Our enemies would twist into a curse.
+     Beholding the destroying angel smite
+     The foal idolater and leave unscathed
+     The gates of Israel--the old cry they raise--
+     WE have begotten the Black Death--WE poison
+     The well-springs of the towns.
+
+
+     BARUCH.
+                     God pity us!
+     But truly are we blessed in Nordhausen.
+     Such terrors seem remote as Egypt's plagues.
+     I warrant you our Landgrave dare not harry
+     Such creditors as we.  See, here comes one,
+     The greatest and most liberal of them all--
+     Susskind von Orb.
+
+
+     SUSSKIND VON ORB, LIEBHAID, and REUBEN enter, all pass across
+       the stage, and disappear within the Synagogue.
+
+                     I'd barter my whole fortune,
+     And yours to boot, that's thrice the bulk of mine,
+     For half the bonds he holds in Frederick's name.
+     The richest merchant in Thuringia, he--
+     The poise of his head would tell it, knew we not.
+     How has his daughter leaped to womanhood!
+     I mind when she came toddling by his hand,
+     But yesterday--a flax-haired child--to-day
+     Her brow is level with his pompous chin.
+
+
+     NAPHTALI.
+     How fair she is!  Her hair has kept its gold
+     Untarnished still.  I trace not either parent
+     In her face, clean cut as a gem.
+
+
+     BARUCH.
+                     Her mother
+     Was far-off kin to me, and I might pass,
+     I'm told, unguessed in Christian garb.  I know
+     A pretty secret of that scornful face.
+     It lures high game to Nordhausen.
+
+
+     NAPHTALI.
+                     Baruch,
+     I marvel at your prompt credulity.
+     The Prince of Meissen and Liebhaid von Orb!
+     A jest for gossips and--Look, look, he comes!
+
+
+     BARUCH.
+     Who's that, the Prince?
+
+
+     NAPHTALI.
+                     Nay, dullard, the old man,
+     The Rabbi of Chinon.  Ah! his stout staff,
+     And that brave creature's strong young hand suffice
+     Scarcely to keep erect his tottering frame.
+     Emaciate-lipped, with cavernous black eyes
+     Whose inward visions do eclipse the day,
+     Seems he not one re-risen from the grave
+     To yield the secret?
+
+       Enter RABBI JACOB, and RABBI CRESSELIN led by CLAIRE.  They walk
+       across the stage, and disappear in the Synagogue.
+
+
+     BARUCH (exaltedly).
+                     Blessed art thou, O Lord,
+     King of the Universe, who teachest wisdom
+     To those who fear thee!
+
+
+     NAPHTALI.
+                     Haste we in.  The star
+     Of Sabbath dawns.
+
+
+     BARUCH.
+                     My flesh is still a-creep
+     From the strange gaze of those wide-rolling orbs.
+     Didst note, man, how they fixed me?  His lean cheeks,
+     As wan as wax, were bloodless; how his arms
+     Stretched far beyond the flowing sleeve and showed
+     Gaunt, palsied wrists, and hands blue-tipped with death!
+     Well, I have seen a sage of Israel.
+     [They enter the Synagogue.  Scene closes.]
+
+
+
+     SCENE II.
+
+       The Synagogue crowded with worshippers.  Among the women in the
+       Gallery are discovered LIEBHAID VON ORB and CLAIRE CRESSELIN.
+       Below, among the men, SUSSKIND VON ORB and REUBEN.  At the
+       Reader's Desk, RABBI JACOB.  Fronting the audience under the
+       Ark of the Covenant, stands a high desk, behind which is seen
+       the white head of an old man bowed in prayer.
+     BARUCH and NAPHTALI
+       enter and take their seats.
+
+
+     BARUCH.
+     Think you he speaks before the service?
+
+
+     NAPHTALI.
+                     Yea.
+     Lo, phantom-like the towering patriarch!
+     [RABBI CRESSELIN slowly rises beneath the Ark.]
+
+
+     RABBI CRESSELIN.
+     Woe unto Israel! woe unto all
+     Abiding 'mid strange peoples!  Ye shall be
+     Cut off from that land where ye made your home.
+     I, Cresselin of Chinon, have traveled far,
+     Thence where my fathers dwelt, to warn my race,
+     For whom the fire and stake have been prepared.
+     Our brethren of Verdun, all over France,
+     Are burned alive beneath the Goyim's torch.
+     What terrors have I witnessed, ere my sight
+     Was mercifully quenched!  In Gascony,
+     In Savoy, Piedmont, round the garden shores
+     Of tranquil Leman, down the beautiful Rhine,
+     At Lindau, Costnitz, Schaffhausen, St. Gallen,
+     Everywhere torture, smoking Synagogues,
+     Carnage, and burning flesh.  The lights shine out
+     Of Jewish virtue, Jewish truth, to star
+     The sanguine field with an immortal blazon.
+     The venerable Mar-Isaac in Cologne,
+     Sat in his house at prayer, nor lifted lid
+     From off the sacred text, while all around
+     The fanatics ran riot; him they seized,
+     Haled through the streets, with prod of stick and spike
+     Fretted his wrinkled flesh, plucked his white beard.
+     Dragged him with gibes into their Church, and held
+     A Crucifix before him.  "Know thy Lord!"
+     He spat thereon; he was pulled limb from limb.
+     I saw--God, that I might forget!--a man
+     Leap in the Loire, with his fair, stalwart son,
+     A-bloom with youth, and midst the stream unsheathe
+     A poniard, sheathing it in his boy's heart,
+     While he pronounced the blessing for the dead.
+     "Amen!" the lad responded as he sank,
+     And the white water darkened as with wine.
+     I saw--but no!  You are glutted, and my tongue,
+     Blistered, refuseth to narrate more woe.
+     I have known much sorrow.  When it pleased the Lord
+     To afflict us with the horde of Pastoureaux,
+     The rabble of armed herdsmen, peasants, slaves,
+     Men-beasts of burden--coarse as the earth they tilled,
+     Who like an inundation deluged France
+     To drown our race--my heart held firm, my faith
+     Shook not upon her rock until I saw,
+     Smit by God's beam, the big black cloud dissolve.
+     Then followed with their scythes, spades, clubs, and banners
+     Flaunting the Cross, the hosts of Armleder,
+     From whose fierce wounds we scarce are healed to-day.
+     Yet do I say the cup of bitterness
+     That Israel has drained is but a draught
+     Of cordial, to the cup that is prepared.
+     The Black Death and the Brothers of the Cross,
+     These are our foes--and these are everywhere.
+     I who am blind see ruin in their wake;
+     Ye who have eyes and limbs, arise and flee!
+     To-morrow the Flagellants will be here.
+     God's angel visited my sleep and spake:
+     "Thy Jewish kin in the Thuringian town
+     Of Nordhausen shall be swept off from earth,
+     Their elders and their babes--consumed with fire.
+     Go summon Israel to flight--take this
+     As sign that I, who call thee, am the Lord,
+     Thine eyes shalt be struck blind till thou hast spoken."
+     Then darkness fell upon my mortal sense,
+     But light broke o'er my soul, and all was clear,
+     And I have journeyed hither with my child
+     O'er mount and river, till I have announced
+     The message of the Everlasting God.
+     [Sensation in the Synagogue.]
+
+
+     RABBI JACOB.
+     Father, have mercy! when wilt thou have done
+     With rod and scourge?  Beneath thy children's feet
+     Earth splits, fire springs.  No rest, no rest! no rest,
+
+
+     A VOICE.
+     Look to the women!  Marianne swoons!
+
+
+     ANOTHER VOICE.
+     Woe unto us who sinned!
+
+
+     ANOTHER VOICE.
+                     We're all dead men.
+     Fly, fly ere dawn as our forefathers fled
+     From out the land of Egypt.
+
+
+     BARUCH.
+                     Are ye mad?
+     Shall we desert snug homes? forego the sum
+     Scraped through laborious years to smooth life's slope,
+     And die like dogs unkenneled and untombed,
+     At bidding of a sorrow-crazed old man?
+
+
+     A VOICE.
+     He flouts the Lord's anointed!  Cast him forth!
+
+
+     SUSSKIND VON ORB.
+     Peace, brethren, peace!  If I have ever served
+     Israel with purse, arm, brain, or heart--now hear me!
+     May God instruct my speech!  This wise old man,
+     Whose brow flames with the majesty of truth,
+     May be part-blinded through excess of light,
+     As one who eyes too long the naked sun,
+     Setting in rayless glory, turns and finds
+     Outlines confused, familiar colors changed,
+     All objects branded with one blood-bright spot.
+     Nor chafe at Baruch's homely sense; truth floats
+     Midway between the stars and the abyss.
+     We, by God's grace, have found a special nest
+     I' the dangerous rock, screened against wind and hawk;
+     Free burghers of a free town, blessed moreover
+     With the peculiar favor of the Prince,
+     Frederick the Grave, our patron and protector.
+     What shall we fear?  Rather, where shall we seek
+     Secure asylum, if here be not one?
+     Fly?  Our forefathers had the wilderness,
+     The sea their gateway, and the fire-cored cloud
+     Their divine guide.  Us, hedged by ambushed foes,
+     No frank, free, kindly desert shall receive.
+     Death crouches on all sides, prepared to leap
+     Tiger-like on our throats, when first we step
+     From this safe covert.  Everywhere the Plague!
+     As nigh as Erfurt it has crawled--the towns
+     Reek with miasma, the rank fields of spring,
+     Rain-saturated, are one beautiful--lie,
+     Smiling profuse life, and secreting death.
+     Strange how, unbidden, a trivial memory
+     Thrusts itself on my mind in this grave hour.
+     I saw a large white bull urged through the town
+     To slaughter by a stripling with a goad,
+     Whom but one sure stamp of that solid heel,
+     One toss of those mooned horns, one battering blow
+     Of that square marble forehead, would have crushed,
+     As we might crush a worm, yet on he trudged,
+     Patient, in powerful health to death.  At once,
+     As though o' the sudden stung, he roared aloud,
+
+     Beat with fierce hoofs the air, shook desperately
+     His formidable head, and heifer-swift,
+     Raced through scared, screaming streets.  Well, and the end?
+     He was the promptlier bound and killed and quartered.
+     The world belongs to man; dreams the poor brute
+     Some nook has been apportioned for brute life?
+     Where shall a man escape men's cruelty?
+     Where shall God's servant cower from his doom?
+     Let us bide, brethren--we are in His hand.
+
+
+     RABBI CRESSELIN (uttering a piercing shriek).
+                    Ah!
+     Woe unto Israel!  Lo, I see again,
+     As the Ineffable foretold.  I see
+     A flood of fire that streams towards the town.
+     Look, the destroying Angel with the sword,
+     Wherefrom the drops of gall are raining down,
+     Broad-winged, comes flying towards you.  Now he draws
+     His lightning-glittering blade!  With the keen edge
+     He smiteth Israel--ah!
+     [He falls back dead.  Confusion in the Synagogue.]
+
+
+     CLAIRE (from the gallery).
+                     Father! My father!
+     Let me go down to him!
+
+
+     LIEBHAID.
+                     Sweet girl, be patient.
+     This is the House of God, and He hath entered.
+     Bow we and pray.
+     [Meanwhile, some of the men surround and raise from the ground the
+     body of RABBI CRESSELIN.  Several voices speaking at once.]
+
+
+     1ST VOICE.
+             He's doomed.
+
+
+     2D VOICE.
+     Dead! Dead!
+
+
+     3D VOICE.
+                    A judgment!
+
+
+     4TH VOICE.
+     Make way there!  Air!  Carry him forth!  He's warm!
+
+     3D VOICE.
+     Nay, his heart's stopped--his breath has ceased--quite dead.
+
+
+     5TH VOICE.
+     Didst mark a diamond lance flash from the roof,
+     And strike him 'twixt the eyes?
+
+
+     1ST VOICE.
+                     Our days are numbered.
+     This is the token.
+
+
+     RABBI JACOB.
+                     Lift the corpse and pray.
+     Shall we neglect God's due observances,
+     While He is manifest in miracle?
+     I saw a blaze seven times more bright than fire,
+     Crest, halo-wise, the patriarch's white head.
+     The dazzle stung my burning lids--they closed,
+     One instant--when they oped, the great blank cloud
+     Had settled on his countenance forever.*
+     Departed brother, mayest thou find the gates
+     Of heaven open, see the city of peace,
+     And meet the ministering angels, glad,
+     Hastening towards thee!  May the High Priest stand
+     To greet and bless thee!  Go thou to the end!
+     Repose in peace and rise again to life.
+     No more thy sun sets, neither wanes thy moon.
+     The Lord shall be thy everlasting light,
+     Thy days of mourning shall be at an end.
+     For you, my flock, fear nothing; it is writ
+     As one his mother comforteth, so I
+     Will comfort you and in Jerusalem
+     Ye shall be comforted.  [Scene closes.]
+
+       *From this point to the end of the scene is a literal
+       translation of the Hebrew burial service.
+
+
+
+     SCENE III.
+
+       Evening.  A crooked byway in the Judengasse.  Enter PRINCE
+
+     WILLIAM.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+     Cursed be these twisted lanes!  I have missed the clue
+     Of the close labyrinth.  Nowhere in sight,
+     Just when I lack it, a stray gaberdine
+     To pick me up my thread.  Yet when I haste
+     Through these blind streets, unwishful to be spied,
+     Some dozen hawk-eyes peering o'er crook'd beaks
+     Leer recognition, and obsequious caps
+     Do kiss the stones to greet my princeship.  Bah!
+     Strange, 'midst such refuse sleeps so white a pearl.
+     At last, here shuffles one.
+
+       Enter a Jew.
+
+                     Give you good even!
+     Sir, can you help me to the nighest way
+     Unto the merchant's house, Susskind von Orb?
+
+
+     JEW.
+     Whence come you knowing not the high brick wall,
+     Without, blank as my palm, o' the inner side,
+     Muring a palace? But--do you wish him well?
+     He is my friend--we must be wary, wary,
+     We all have warning--Oh, the terror of it!
+     I have not yet my wits!
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+                     I am his friend.
+     Is he in peril?  What's the matter, man?
+
+
+     JEW.
+     Peril?  His peril is no worse than mine,
+     But the rich win compassion.  God is just,
+     And every man of us is doomed.  Alack!
+     HE said it--oh those wild, white eyes!
+
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+                     I pray you,
+     Tell me the way to Susskind's home.
+
+
+     JEW.
+
+                     Sweet master,
+     You look the perfect knight, what can you crave
+     Of us starved, wretched Jews?  Leave us in peace.
+     The Judengasse gates will shut anon,
+     Nor ope till morn again for Jew or Gentile.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+     Here's gold.  I am the Prince of Meissen--speak!
+
+
+     JEW.
+     Oh pardon!  Let me kiss your mantle's edge.
+     This way, great sir, I lead you there myself,
+     If you deign follow one so poor, so humble.
+     You must show mercy in the name of God,
+     For verily are we afflicted.  Come.
+     Hard by is Susskind's dwelling--as we walk
+     By your good leave I'll tell what I have seen.
+     [Exeunt.]
+
+
+
+     SCENE IV.
+
+       A luxuriously-furnished apartment in SUSSKIND VON ORB'S house.
+       Upon a richly-spread supper-table stands the seven-branched
+       silver candlestick of the Sabbath eve.  At the table are seated
+
+     SUSSKIND VON ORB, LIEBHAID, and REUBEN.
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+     Drink, children, drink! and lift your hearts to Him
+     Who gives us the vine's fruit.
+     [They drink.]
+                     How clear it glows;
+     Like gold within the golden bowl, like fire
+     Along our veins, after the work-day week
+     Rekindling Sabbath-fervor, Sabbath-strength.
+     Verily God prepares for me a table
+     In presence of mine enemies!  He anoints
+     My head with oil, my cup is overflowing.
+     Praise we His name!  Hast thou, my daughter, served
+     The needs o' the poor, suddenly-orphaned child?
+     Naught must she lack beneath my roof.
+
+
+     LIEBHAID.
+                     Yea, father.
+     She prays and weeps within: she had no heart
+     For Sabbath meal, but charged me with her thanks--
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+     Thou shalt be mother and sister in one to her.
+     Speak to her comfortably.
+
+
+     REUBEN.
+                     She has begged
+     A grace of me I happily can grant.
+     After our evening-prayer, to lead her back
+     Unto the Synagogue, where sleeps her father,
+     A light at head and foot, o'erwatched by strangers;
+     She would hold vigil.
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+                     'T is a pious wish,
+     Not to be crossed, befitting Israel's daughter.
+     Go, Reuben; heavily the moments hang,
+     While her heart yearns to break beside his corpse.
+     Receive my blessing.
+     [He places his hands upon his son's head in benediction.  Exit
+     Reuben.]
+                     Henceforth her home is here.
+     In the event to-night, God's finger points
+     Visibly out of heaven.  A thick cloud
+     Befogs the future.  But just here is light.
+
+       Enter a servant ushering in PRINCE WILLIAM.
+
+
+     SERVANT.
+     His highness Prince of Meissen.
+     [Exit.]
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+                     Welcome, Prince!
+     God bless thy going forth and coming in!
+     Sit at our table and accept the cup
+     Of welcome which my daughter fills.
+     [LIEBHAID offers him wine.]
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM (drinking).
+                     To thee!
+     [All take their seats at the table.]
+     I heard disquieting news as I came hither.
+     The apparition in the Synagogue,
+     The miracle of the message and the death.
+     Susskind von Orb, what think'st thou of these things?
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+     I think, sir, we are in the hand of God,
+     I trust the Prince--your father and my friend.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+     Trust no man! flee!  I have not come to-night
+     To little purpose.  Your arch enemy,
+     The Governor of Salza, Henry Schnetzen,
+     Has won my father's ear.  Since yester eve
+     He stops at Eisenach, begging of the Prince
+     The Jews' destruction.
+
+
+     SUSSKIND (calmly).
+                     Schnetzen is my foe,
+     I know it, but I know a talisman,
+     Which at a word transmutes his hate to love.
+     Liebhaid, my child, look cheerly.  What is this?
+     Harm dare not touch thee; the oppressor's curse,
+     Melts into blessing at thy sight.
+
+
+     LIEBHAID.
+                     Not fear
+     Plucks at my heart-strings, father, though the air
+     Thickens with portents; 't is the thought of flight,
+     But no--I follow thee.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+                     Thou shalt not miss
+     The value of a hair from thy home treasures.
+     All that thou lovest, Liebhaid, goes with thee.
+     Knowest thou, Susskind, Schnetzen's cause of hate?
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+     'T is rooted in an ancient error, born
+     During his feud with Landgrave Fritz the Bitten,
+     Your Highness' grandsire--ten years--twenty--back.
+     Misled to think I had betrayed his castle,
+     Who knew the secret tunnel to its courts,
+     He has nursed a baseless grudge, whereat I smile,
+     Sure to disarm him by the simple truth.
+     God grant me strength to utter it.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+                     You fancy
+     The rancor of a bad heart slow distilled
+     Through venomed years, so at a breath, dissolves.
+     O good old man, i' the world, not of the world!
+     Belike, himself forgets the doubtful core
+     Of this still-curdling, petrifying ooze.
+     Truth? why truth glances from the callous mass,
+     A spear against a rock.  He hugs his hate,
+     His bed-fellow, his daily, life-long comrade;
+     Think you he has slept, ate, drank with it this while,
+     Now to forego revenge on such slight cause
+     As the revealed truth?
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+                     You mistake my thought,
+     Great-hearted Prince, and justly--for I speak
+     In riddles, till God's time to make all clear.
+     When His day dawns, the blind shall see.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+                     Forgive me,
+     If I, in wit and virtue your disciple,
+     Seem to instruct my master.  Accident
+     Lifts me where I survey a broader field
+     Than wise men stationed lower.  I spy peril,
+     Fierce flame invisible from the lesser peaks.
+     God's time is now.  Delayed truth leaves a lie
+     Triumphant.  If you harbor any secret,
+     Potent to force an ear that's locked to mercy,
+     In God's name, now disbosom it.
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+                     Kind Heaven!
+     Would that my people's safety were assured
+     So is my child's!  Where shall we turn?  Where flee?
+     For all around us the Black Angel broods.
+     We step into the open jaws of death
+     If we go hence.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+                     Better to fall beneath
+     The hand of God, than be cut off by man.
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+     We are trapped, the springe is set.  Not ignorantly
+     I offered counsel in the Synagogue,
+     Quelled panic with authoritative calm,
+     But knowing, having weighed the opposing risks.
+     Our friends in Strasburg have been overmastered,
+     The imperial voice is drowned, the papal arm
+     Drops paralyzed--both, lifted for the truth;
+     We can but front with brave eyes, brow erect,
+     As is our wont, the fullness of our doom.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+     Then Meissen's sword champions your desperate cause.
+     I take my stand here where my heart is fixed.
+     I love your daughter--if her love consent,
+     I pray you, give me her to wife.
+
+
+     LIEBHAID.
+             Ah!
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+                     Prince,
+     Let not this Saxon skin, this hair's gold fleece,
+     These Rhine-blue eyes mislead thee--she is alien.
+     To the heart's core a Jewess--prop of my house,
+     Soul of my soul--and I? a despised Jew.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+     Thy propped house crumbles; let my arm sustain
+     Its tottering base--thy light is on the wane,
+     Let me relume it.  Give thy star to me,
+     Or ever pitch-black night engulf us all--
+     Lend me your voice, Liebhaid, entreat for me.
+     Shall this prayer be your first that he denies?
+
+
+     LIEBHAID.
+     Father, my heart's desire is one with his.
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+     Is this the will of God?  Amen!  My children,
+     Be patient with me, I am full of trouble.
+     For you, heroic Prince, could aught enhance
+     Your love's incomparable nobility,
+     'T were the foreboding horror of this hour,
+     Wherein you dare flash forth its lightning-sword.
+     You reckon not, in the hot, splendid moment
+     Of great resolve, the cold insidious breath
+     Wherewith the outer world shall blast and freeze--
+     But hark!  I own a mystic amulet,
+     Which you delivering to your gracious father,
+     Shall calm his rage withal, and change his scorn
+     Of the Jew's daughter into pure affection.
+     I will go fetch it--though I drain my heart
+     Of its red blood, to yield this sacrifice.
+     [Exit SUSSKIND.]
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+     Have you no smile to welcome love with, Liebhaid?
+     Why should you tremble?
+
+
+     LIEBHAID.
+                     Prince, I am afraid!
+     Afraid of my own heart, my unfathomed joy,
+     A blasphemy against my father's grief,
+     My people's agony.  I dare be happy--
+     So happy! in the instant's lull betwixt
+     The dazzle and the crash of doom.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+                     You read
+     The omen falsely; rather is your joy
+     The thrilling harbinger of general dawn.
+     Did you not tell me scarce a month agone,
+     When I chanced in on you at feast and prayer,
+     The holy time's bright legend? of the queen,
+     Strong, beautiful, resolute, who denied her race
+     To save her race, who cast upon the die
+     Of her divine and simple loveliness,
+     Her life, her soul,--and so redeemed her tribe.
+     You are my Esther--but I, no second tyrant,
+     Worship whom you adore, love whom you love!
+
+
+     LIEBHAID.
+     If I must die with morn, I thank my God,
+     And thee, my king, that I have lived this night.
+
+       Enter SUSSKIND, carrying a jewelled casket.
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+     Here is the chest, sealed with my signet-ring,
+     A mystery and a treasure lies within,
+     Whose worth is faintly symboled by these gems,
+     Starring the case.  Deliver it unopened,
+     Unto the Landgrave.  Now, sweet Prince, good night.
+     Else will the Judengasse gates be closed.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+     Thanks, father, thanks.  Liebhaid, my bride, good-night.
+     [He kisses her brow.
+     SUSSKIND places his hands on the heads of
+     LIEBHAID and PRINCE WILLIAM.]
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+     Blessed, O Lord, art thou, who bringest joy
+     To bride and bridegroom.  Let us thank the Lord.
+     [Curtain falls.]
+
+
+
+
+ACT II.--At Eisenach.
+
+     SCENE I.
+
+       A Room in the LANDGRAVE'S Palace.
+     FREDERICK THE GRAVE and
+
+     HENRY SCHNETZEN.
+
+
+     LANDGRAVE.
+     Who tells thee of my son's love for the Jewess?
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+     Who tells me?  Ask the Judengasse walls,
+     The garrulous stones publish Prince William's visits
+     To his fair mistress.
+
+
+     LANDGRAVE.
+               Mistress?  Ah, such sins
+     The Provost of St. George's will remit
+     For half a pound of coppers.
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+               Think it not!
+     No light amour this, leaving shield unflecked;
+     He wooes the Jewish damsel as a knight
+     The lady of his heart.
+
+
+     LANDGRAVE.
+               Impossible!
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+     Things more impossible have chanced.  Remember
+     Count Gleichen, doubly wived, who pined in Egypt,
+     There wed the Pasha's daughter Malachsala,
+     Nor blushed to bring his heathen paramour
+     Home to his noble wife Angelica,
+     Countess of Orlamund.  Yea, and the Pope
+     Sanctioned the filthy sin.
+
+
+     LANDGRAVE.
+               Himself shall say it.
+     Ho, Gunther! (Enter a Lackey.)
+     Bid the Prince of Meissen here.
+     [Exit Lackey.  The LANDGRAVE paces the stage in agitation.]
+
+       Enter PRINCE WILLIAM.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+     Father, you called me?
+
+
+     LANDGRAVE.
+               Ay, when were you last
+     In Nordhausen?
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+               This morning I rode hence.
+
+
+     LANDGRAVE.
+     Were you at Susskind's house?
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+               I was, my liege.
+
+
+     LANDGRAVE.
+     I hear you entertain unseemly love
+     For the Jew's daughter.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+               Who has told thee this?
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+     This I have told him.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+               Father, believe him not.
+     I swear by heaven 't is no unseemly love
+     Leads me to Susskind's house.
+
+
+     LANDGRAVE.
+                     With what high title
+     Please you to qualify it?
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+               True, I love
+     Liebhaid von Orb, but 't is the honest passion
+     Wherewith a knight leads home his equal wife.
+
+
+     LANDGRAVE.
+     Great God! and thou wilt brag thy shame!  Thou speakest
+     Of wife and Jewess in one breath!  Wilt make
+     Thy princely name a stench in German nostrils?
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+     Hold, father, hold!  You know her--yes, a Jewess
+     In her domestic piety, her soul
+     Large, simple, splendid like a star, her heart
+     Suffused with Syrian sunshine--but no more--
+     The aspect of a Princess of Thuringia,
+     Swan-necked, gold-haired, Madonna-eyed.  I love her!
+     If you will quench this passion, take my life!
+     [He falls at his father's feet.
+     FREDERICK, in a paroxysm of rage,
+     seizes his sword.]
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+     He is your son!
+
+
+     LANDGRAVE.
+               Oh that he ne'er were born!
+     Hola! Halberdiers! Yeomen of the Guard!
+
+       Enter Guardsmen.
+
+     Bear off this prisoner!  Let him sigh out
+     His blasphemous folly in the castle tower,
+     Until his hair be snow, his fingers claws.
+     [They seize and bear away PRINCE WILLIAM.]
+     Well, what's your counsel?
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+               Briefly this, my lord.
+     The Jews of Nordhausen have brewed the Prince
+     A love-elixir--let them perish all!
+     [Tumult without.  Singing of Hymns and Ringing of Church-bells.
+     The LANDGRAVE and SCHNETZEN go to the window.]
+
+
+     SONG* (without).
+
+          The cruel pestilence arrives,
+          Cuts off a myriad human lives.
+          See the Flagellants' naked skin!
+          They scourge themselves for grievous sin.
+          Trembles the earth beneath God's breath,
+          The Jews shall all be burned to death.
+
+       *A rhyme of the times.  See Graetz's "History of the Jews,"
+       page 374, vol. vii.
+
+
+     LANDGRAVE.
+     Look, foreign pilgrims!  What an endless file!
+     Naked waist-upward.  Blood is trickling down
+     Their lacerated flesh.  What do they carry?
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+     Their scourges--iron-pointed, leathern thongs,
+     Mark how they lash themselves--the strict Flagellants.
+     The Brothers of the Cross--hark to their cries!
+
+
+     VOICE FROM BELOW.
+     Atone, ye mighty!  God is wroth!  Expel
+     The enemies of heaven--raze their homes!
+     [Confused cries from below, which gradually die away in the
+     distance.]
+     Woe to God's enemies!  Death to the Jews!
+     They poison all our wells--they bring the plague.
+     Kill them who killed our Lord!  Their homes shall be
+     A wilderness--drown them in their own blood!
+     [The LANDGRAVE and SCHNETZEN withdraw from the window.]
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+     Do not the people ask the same as I?
+     Is not the people's voice the voice of God?
+
+
+     LANDGRAVE.
+     I will consider.
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+               Not too long, my liege.
+     The moment favors.  Later 't were hard to show
+     Due cause to his Imperial Majesty,
+     For slaughtering the vassals of the Crown.
+     Two mighty friends are theirs.  His holiness
+     Clement the Sixth and Kaiser Karl.
+
+
+     LANDGRAVE.
+               'T were rash
+     Contending with such odds.
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+               Courage, my lord.
+     These battle singly against death and fate.
+     Your allies are the sense and heart o' the world.
+     Priests warring for their Christ, nobles for gold,
+     And peoples for the very breath of life
+     Spoiled by the poison-mixers.  Kaiser Karl
+     Lifts his lone voice unheard, athwart the roar
+     Of such a flood; the papal bull is whirled
+     An unconsidered rag amidst the eddies.
+
+
+     LANDGRAVE.
+     What credence lend you to the general rumor
+     Of the river poison?
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+               Such as mine eyes avouch.
+     I have seen, yea touched the leathern wallet found
+     On the body of one from whom the truth was wrenched
+     By salutary torture.  He confessed,
+     Though but a famulus of the master-wizard,
+     The horrible old Moses of Mayence,
+     He had flung such pouches in the Rhine, the Elbe,
+     The Oder, Danube--in a hundred brooks,
+     Until the wholesome air reeked pestilence;
+     'T was an ell long, filled with a dry, fine dust
+     Of rusty black and red, deftly compounded
+     Of powdered flesh of basilisks, spiders, frogs,
+     And lizards, baked with sacramental dough
+     In Christian blood.
+
+
+     LANDGRAVE.
+               Such goblin-tales may curdle
+     The veins of priest-rid women, fools, and children.
+     They are not for the ears of sober men.
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+     Pardon me, Sire.  I am a simple soldier.
+     My God, my conscience, and my suzerain,
+     These are my guides--blindfold I follow them.
+     If your keen royal wit pierce the gross web
+     Of common superstition--be not wroth
+     At your poor vassal's loyal ignorance.
+     Remember, too, Susskind retains your bonds.
+     The old fox will not press you; he would bleed
+     Against the native instinct of the Jew,
+     Rather his last gold doit and so possess
+     Your ease of mind, nag, chafe, and toy with it;
+     Abide his natural death, and other Jews
+     Less devilish-cunning, franklier Hebrew-viced,
+     Will claim redemption of your pledge.
+
+
+     LANDGRAVE.
+               How know you
+     That Susskind holds my bonds?
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+               You think the Jews
+     Keep such things secret?  Not a Jew but knows
+     Your debt exact--the sum and date of interest,
+     And that you visit Susskind, not for love,
+     But for his shekels.
+
+
+     LANDGRAVE.
+               Well, the Jews shall die.
+     This is the will of God.  Whom shall I send
+     To bear my message to the council?
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+               I
+     Am ever at your 'hest.  To-morrow morn
+     Sees me in Nordhausen.
+
+
+     LANDGRAVE.
+               Come two hours hence.
+     I will deliver you the letter signed.
+     Make ready for your ride.
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN (kisses FREDERICK'S hand).
+               Farewell, my master.
+     (Aside.)
+     Ah, vengeance cometh late, Susskind von Orb,
+     But yet it comes!  My wife was burned through thee,
+     Thou and thy children are consumed by me!
+     [Exit.]
+
+
+
+     SCENE II.
+
+       A Room in the Wartburg Monastery.
+     PRINCESS MATHILDIS and
+
+     PRIOR PEPPERCORN.
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+     Be comforted, my daughter.  Your lord's wisdom
+     Goes hand in hand with his known piety
+     Thus dealing with your son.  To love a Jewess
+     Is flat contempt of Heaven--to ask in marriage,
+     Sheer spiritual suicide.  Let be;
+     Justice must take its course.
+
+
+     PRINCESS.
+               Justice is murdered;
+     Oh slander not her corpse.  For my son's fault,
+     A thousand innocents are doomed.  Is that
+     God's justice?
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+               Yea, our liege is but his servant.
+     Did not He purge with fiery hail those twain
+     Blotches of festering sin, Gomorrah, Sodom?
+     The Jews are never innocent,--when Christ
+     Agonized on the Cross, they cried--"His blood
+     Be on our children's heads and ours!"  I mark
+     A dangerous growing evil of these days,
+     Pity, misnamed--say, criminal indulgence
+     Of reprobates brow-branded by the Lord.
+     Shall we excel the Christ in charity?
+     Because his law is love, we tutor him
+     In mercy and reward his murderers?
+     Justice is blind and virtue is austere.
+     If the true passion brimmed our yearning hearts
+     The vision of the agony would loom
+     Fixed vividly between the day and us:--
+     Nailed on the gaunt black Cross the divine form,
+     Wax-white and dripping blood from ankles, wrists,
+     The sacred ichor that redeems the world,
+     And crowded in strange shadow of eclipse,
+     Reviling Jews, wagging their heads accursed,
+     Sputtering blasphemy--who then would shrink
+     From holy vengeance? who would offer less
+     Heroic wrath and filial zeal to God
+     Than to a murdered father?
+
+
+     PRINCESS.
+               But my son
+     Will die with her he loves.
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+               Better to perish
+     In time than in eternity.  No question
+     Pends here of individual life; our sight
+     Must broaden to embrace the scope sublime
+     Of this trans-earthly theme.  The Jew survives
+     Sword, plague, fire, cataclysm--and must, since Christ
+     Cursed him to live till doomsday, still to be
+     A scarecrow to the nations.  None the less
+     Are we beholden in Christ's name at whiles,
+     When maggot-wise Jews breed, infest, infect
+     Communities of Christians, to wash clean
+     The Church's vesture, shaking off the filth
+     That gathers round her skirts.  A perilous germ!
+     Know you not, all the wells, the very air
+     The Jews have poisoned?--Through their arts alone
+     The Black Death scourges Christendom.
+
+
+     PRINCESS.
+               I know
+     All heinousness imputed by their foes.
+     Father, mistake me not: I urge no plea
+     To shield this hell-spawn, loathed by all who love
+     The lamb and kiss the Cross.  I had not guessed
+     Such obscure creatures crawled upon my path,
+     Had not my son--I know not how misled--
+     Deigned to ennoble with his great regard,
+     A sparkle midst the dust motes.
+     SHE is sacred.
+     What is her tribe to me?  Her kith and kin
+     May rot or roast--the Jews of Nordhausen
+     May hang, drown, perish like the Jews of France,
+     But she shall live--Liebhaid von Orb, the Jewess,
+     The Prince, my son, elects to love.
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+               Amen!
+     Washed in baptismal waters she shall be
+     Led like the clean-fleeced yeanling to the fold.
+     Trust me, my daughter--for through me the Church
+     Which is the truth, which is the life, doth speak.
+     Yet first 't were best essay to cure the Prince
+     Of this moon-fostered madness, bred, no doubt,
+     By baneful potions which these cunning knaves
+     Are skilled to mix.
+
+
+     PRINCESS.
+               Go visit him, dear father,
+     Where in the high tower mewed, a wing-clipped eagle,
+     His spirit breaks in cage.  You are his master,
+     He is wont from childhood to hear wisdom fall
+     From your instructed lips.  Tell him his mother
+     Rises not from her knees, till he is freed.
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+     Madam, I go.  Our holy Church has healed
+     Far deadlier heart-wounds than a love-sick boy's.
+     Be of good cheer, the Prince shall live to bless
+     The father's rigor who kept pure of blot
+     A 'scutcheon more unsullied than the sun.
+
+
+     PRINCESS.
+     Thanks and farewell.
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+               Farewell.  God send thee peace!
+     [Exeunt.]
+
+
+
+     SCENE III.
+
+       A mean apartment in one of the Towers of the Landgrave's Palace.
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM discovered seated at the window.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+     The slow sun sets; with lingering, large embrace
+     He folds the enchanted hill; then like a god
+     Strides into heaven behind the purple peak.
+     Oh beautiful!  In the clear, rayless air,
+     I see the chequered vale mapped far below,
+     The sky-paved streams, the velvet pasture-slopes,
+     The grim, gray cloister whose deep vesper bell
+     Blends at this height with tinkling, homebound herds!
+     I see--but oh, how far!--the blessed town
+     Where Liebhaid dwells.  Oh that I were yon star
+     That pricks the West's unbroken foil of gold,
+     Bright as an eye, only to gaze on her!
+     How keen it sparkles o'er the Venusburg!
+     When brown night falls and mists begin to live,
+     Then will the phantom hunting-train emerge,
+     Hounds straining, black fire-eyeballed, breathless steeds,
+     Spurred by wild huntsmen, and unhallowed nymphs,
+     And at their head the foam-begotten witch,
+     Of soul-destroying beauty.  Saints of heaven!
+     Preserve mine eyes from such unholy sight!
+     How all unlike the base desire which leads
+     Misguided men to that infernal cave,
+     Is the pure passion that exalts my soul
+     Like a religion!  Yet Christ pardon me
+     If this be sin to thee!
+     [He takes his lute, and begins to sing.  Enter with a lamp Steward
+     of the Castle, followed by PRIOR PEPPERCORN.  Steward lays down the
+     lamp and exit.]
+     Good even, father!
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+               Benedicite!
+     Our bird makes merry his dull bars with song,
+     Yet would not penitential psalms accord
+     More fitly with your sin than minstrels' lays?
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+     I know no blot upon my life's fair record.
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+     What is it to wanton with a Christ-cursed Jewess,
+     Defy thy father and pollute thy name,
+     And fling to the ordures thine immortal soul?
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+     Forbear! thy cowl's a helmet, thy serge frock
+     Invulnerable as brass--yet I am human,
+     Thou, priest, art still a man.
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+               Pity him, Heaven!
+     To what a pass their draughts have brought the mildest,
+     Noblest of princes!  Softly, my son; be ruled
+     By me, thy spiritual friend and father.
+     Thou hast been drugged with sense-deranging potions,
+     Thy blood set boiling and thy brain askew;
+     When these thick fumes subside, thou shalt awake
+     To bless the friend who gave thy madness bounds.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+     Madness!  Yea, as the sane world goes, I am mad.
+     What else to help the helpless, to uplift
+     The low, to adore the good, the beautiful,
+     To live, battle, suffer, die for truth, for love!
+     But that is wide of the question.  Let me hear
+     What you are charged to impart--my father's will.
+
+     PRIOR.
+     Heart-cleft by his dear offspring's shame, he prays
+     Your reason be restored, your wayward sense
+     Renew its due allegiance.  For his son
+     He, the good parent, weeps--hot drops of gall,
+     Wrung from a spirit seldom eased by tears.
+     But for his honor pricked, the Landgrave takes
+     More just and general vengeance.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+               In the name of God,
+     What has he done to HER?
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+               Naught, naught,--as yet.
+     Sweet Prince, be calm; you leap like flax to flame.
+     You nest within your heart a cockatrice,
+     Pluck it from out your bosom and breathe pure
+     Of the filthy egg.  The Landgrave brooks no more
+     The abomination that infects his town.
+     The Jews of Nordhausen are doomed.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+               Alack!
+     Who and how many of that harmless tribe,
+     Those meek and pious men, have been elected
+     To glut with innocent blood the oppressor's wrath?
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+     Who should go free where equal guilt is shared?
+     Frederick is just--they perish all at once,
+     Generous moreover--for in their mode of death
+     He grants them choice.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+               My father had not lost
+     The human semblance when I saw him last.
+     Nor can he be divorced in this short space
+     From his shrewd wit.  How shall he make provision
+     For the vast widowed, orphaned host this deed
+     Burdens the state withal?
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+               Oh excellent!
+     This is the crown of folly, topping all!
+     Forgive me, Prince, when I gain breath to point
+     Your comic blunder, you will laugh with me.
+     Patience--I'll draw my chin as long as yours.
+     Well, 't was my fault--one should be accurate--
+     Jews, said I? when I meant Jews, Jewesses,
+     And Jewlings! all betwixt the age
+     Of twenty-four hours, and of five score years.
+     Of either sex, of every known degree,
+     All the contaminating vermin purged
+     With one clean, searching blast of wholesome fire.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+     O Christ, disgraced, insulted!  Horrible man,
+     Remembered be your laugh in lowest hell,
+     Dragging you to the nether pit!  Forgive me;
+     You are my friend--take me from here--unbolt
+     Those iron doors--I'll crawl upon my knees
+     Unto my father--I have much to tell him.
+     For but the freedom of one hour, sweet Prior,
+     I'll brim the vessels of the Church with gold.
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+     Boy! your bribes touch not, nor your curses shake
+     The minister of Christ.  Yet I will bear
+     Your message to the Landgrave.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+               Whet your tongue
+     Keen as the archangel's blade of truth--your voice
+     Be as God's thunder, and your heart one blaze--
+     Then can you speak my cause.  With me, it needs
+     No plausive gift; the smitten head, stopped throat,
+     Blind eyes and silent suppliance of sorrow
+     Persuade beyond all eloquence.  Great God!
+     Here while I rage and beat against my bars,
+     The infernal fagots may be stacked for her,
+     The hell-spark kindled.  Go to him, dear Prior,
+     Speak to him gently, be not too much moved,
+     'Neath its rude case you had ever a soft heart,
+     And he is stirred by mildness more than passion.
+     Recall to him her round, clear, ardent eyes,
+     The shower of sunshine that's her hair, the sheen
+     Of the cream-white flesh--shall these things serve as fuel?
+     Tell him that when she heard once he was wounded,
+     And how he bled and anguished; at the tale
+     She wept for pity.
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+               If her love be true
+     She will adore her lover's God, embrace
+     The faith that marries you in life and death.
+     This promise with the Landgrave would prevail
+     More than all sobs and pleadings.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+               Save her, save her!
+     If any promise, vow, or oath can serve.
+     Oh trusting, tranquil Susskind, who estopped
+     Your ears forewarned, bandaged your visioned eyes,
+     To woo destruction!  Stay! did he not speak
+     Of amulet or talisman?  These horrors
+     Have crowded out my wits.  Yea, the gold casket!
+     What fixed serenity beamed from his brow,
+     Laying the precious box within my hands!
+     [He brings from the shelf the casket, and hands it to the Prior.]
+     Deliver this unto the Prince my father,
+     Nor lose one vital moment.  What it holds,
+     I guess not--but my light heart whispers me
+     The jewel safety's locked beneath its lid.
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+     First I must foil such devil's tricks as lurk
+     In its gem-crusted cabinet.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+                Away!
+     Deliverance posts on your return.  I feel it.
+     For your much comfort thanks.  Good-night.
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+               Good-night.
+     [Exit.]
+
+
+
+
+ACT III.
+
+       A cell in the Wartburg Monastery.  Enter PRIOR PEPPERCORN with
+       the casket.
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+     So!  Glittering shell where doubtless shines concealed
+     An orient treasure fit to bribe a king,
+     Ransom a prince and buy him for a son.
+     I have baptized thee now before the altar,
+     Effaced the Jew's contaminating touch,
+     And I am free to claim the Church's tithe
+     From thy receptacle.
+     [He is about to unlock the casket, when enters Lay-Brother, and he
+     hastily conceals it.]
+
+
+     LAY-BROTHER.
+               Peace be thine, father!
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+     Amen! and thine.  What's new?
+
+
+     LAY-BROTHER.
+                A strange Flagellant
+     Fresh come to Wartburg craves a word with thee.
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+     Bid him within.
+     [Exit Lay-Brother.
+     PRIOR places the casket in a Cabinet.]
+               Patience!  No hour of the day
+     Brings freedom to the priest.
+
+       Reenter Lay-Brother ushering in NORDMANN, and exit.
+
+               Brother, all hail!
+     Blessed be thou who comest in God's name!
+
+
+     NORDMANN.
+     May the Lord grant thee thine own prayer fourfold!
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+     What is thine errand?
+
+
+     NORDMANN.
+               Look at me, my father.
+     Long since you called me friend.
+     [The PRIOR looks at him attentively, while an expression of wonder
+     and terror gradually overspreads his face.]
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+               Almighty God!
+     The grave gives up her dead.  Thou canst not be--
+
+
+     NORDMANN.
+     Nordmann of Nordmannstein, the Knight of Treffurt.
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+     He was beheaded years agone.
+
+
+     NORDMANN.
+               His death
+     Had been decreed, but in his stead a squire
+     Clad in his garb and masked, paid bloody forfeit.
+     A loyal wretch on whom the Prince wreaked vengeance,
+     Rather than publish the true bird had flown.
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+     Does Frederick know thou art in Eisenach?
+
+
+     NORDMANN.
+     Who would divine the Knight of Nordmannstein
+     In the Flagellants' weeds?  From land to land,
+     From town to town, we cry, "Death to the Jews!
+     Hep! hep! "Hierosolyma est perdita!"
+     They die like rats; in Gotha they are burned;
+     Two of the devil brutes in Chatelard,
+     Child-murderers, wizards, breeders of the Plague,
+     Had the truth squeezed from them with screws and racks,
+     All with explicit date, place, circumstance,
+     And written as it fell from dying lips
+     By scriveners of the law.  On their confession
+     The Jews of Savoy were destroyed.  To-morrow noon
+     The holy flames shall dance in Nordhausen.
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+     Your zeal bespeaks you fair.  In your deep eyes
+     A mystic fervor shines; yet your scarred flesh
+     And shrunken limbs denote exhausted nature,
+     Collapsing under discipline.
+
+
+     NORDMANN.
+               Speak not
+     Of the degrading body and its pangs.
+     I am all zeal, all energy, all spirit.
+     Jesus was wroth at me, at all the world,
+     For our indulgence of the flesh, our base
+     Compounding with his enemies the Jews.
+     But at Madonna Mary's intercession,
+     He charged an angel with this gracious word,
+     "Whoso will scourge himself for forty days,
+     And labor towards the clean extermination
+     Of earth's corrupting vermin, shall be saved."
+     Oh, what vast peace this message brought my soul!
+     I have learned to love the ecstasy of pain.
+     When the sweat stands upon my flesh, the blood
+     Throbs in my bursting veins, my twisted muscles
+     Are cramped with agony, I seem to crawl
+     Anigh his feet who suffered on the Cross.
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+     O all transforming Time!  Can this be he,
+     The iron warrior of a decade since,
+     The gallant youth of earlier years, whose pranks
+     And reckless buoyancy of temper flashed
+     Clear sunshine through my gloom?
+
+
+     NORDMANN.
+               I am unchanged
+     (Save that the spirit of grace has fallen on me).
+     Urged by one motive through these banished years,
+     Fed by one hope, awake to realize
+     One living dream--my long delayed revenge.
+     You saw the day when Henry Schnetzen's castle
+     Was razed with fire?
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+          I saw it.
+
+
+     NORDMANN.
+               Schnetzen's wife,
+     Three days a mother, perished.
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+               And his child?
+
+
+     NORDMANN.
+     His child was saved.
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+          By whom?
+
+
+     NORDMANN.
+               By the same Jew
+     Who had betrayed the Castle.
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+               Susskind von Orb?
+
+
+     NORDMANN.
+     Susskind von Orb! and Schnetzen's daughter lives
+     As the Jew's child within the Judengasse.
+
+
+     PRIOR (eagerly).
+     What proof hast thou of this?
+
+
+     NORDMANN.
+               Proof of these eyes!
+     I visited von Orb to ask a loan.
+     There saw I such a maiden as no Jew
+     Was ever blessed withal since Jesus died.
+     White as a dove, with hair like golden floss,
+     Eyes like an Alpine lake.  The haughty line
+     Of brow imperial, high bridged nose, fine chin,
+     Seemed like the shadow cast upon the wall,
+     Where Lady Schnetzen stood.
+
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+               Why hast thou ne'er
+     Discovered her to Schnetzen?
+
+
+     NORDMANN.
+               He was my friend.
+     I shared with him thirst, hunger, sword, and fire.
+     But he became a courtier.  When the Margrave
+     Sent me his second challenge to the field,
+     His messenger was Schnetzen!  'Mongst his knights,
+     The apple of his eye was Henry Schnetzen.
+     He was the hound that hunted me to death.
+     He stood by Frederick's side when I was led,
+     Bound, to the presence.  I denounced him coward,
+     He smote me on the cheek.  Christ! it stings yet.
+     He hissed--"My liege, let Henry Nordmann hang!
+     He is no knight, for he receives a blow,
+     Nor dare avenge it!"  My gyved wrists moved not,
+     No nerve twitched in my face, although I felt
+     Flame leap there from my heart, then flying back,
+     Leave it cold-bathed with deathly ooze--my soul
+     In silence took her supreme vow of hate.
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+     Praise be to God that thou hast come to-day.
+     To-morrow were too late.  Hast thou not heard
+     Frederick sends Schnetzen unto Nordhausen,
+     With fire and torture for the Jews?
+
+
+     NORDMANN.
+               So!  Henry Schnetzen
+     Shall be the Jews' destroyer?  Ah!
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+               One moment.
+     Mayhap this box which Susskind sends the Prince
+     Reveals more wonders.
+     [He brings forth the Casket from the Cabinet, opens it, and
+     discovers a golden cross and a parchment which he hastily
+     overlooks.]
+               Hark! your word's confirmed
+     Blessed be Christ, our Lord! (reads).
+
+     "I Susskind von Orb of Nordhausen, swear by the unutterable Name,
+     that on the day when the Castle of Salza was burned, I rescued the
+     infant daughter of Henry Schnetzen from the flames.  I purposed
+     restoring her to her father, but when I returned to Nordhausen, I
+     found my own child lying on her bier, and my wife in fevered frenzy
+     calling for her babe.  I sought the leech, who counselled me to
+     show the Christian child to the bereaved mother as her own.  The
+     pious trick prevailed; the fever broke, the mother was restored.
+     But never would she part with the child, even when she had learned
+     to whom it belonged, and until she was gathered with the dead--may
+     peace be with her soul!--she fostered in our Jewish home the
+     offspring of the Gentile knight.  Then again would I have yielded
+     the girl to her parent, but Schnetzen was my foe, and I feared the
+     haughty baron would disown the daughter who came from the hands of
+     the Jew.  Now however the maiden's temporal happiness demands that
+     she be acknowledged by her rightful father.  Let him see what I
+     have written.  As a token, behold this golden cross, bound by the
+     Lady Schnetzen round the infant's neck.  May the God of Abraham,
+     Isaac, and Jacob redeem and bless me as I have writ the truth."
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+     I thank the Saints that this has come betimes.
+     Thou shalt renounce thy hate.  Vengeance is mine,
+     The Lord hath said.
+
+
+     NORDMANN.
+               O all-transforming Time!
+     Is this meek, saintly-hypocrite, the firm,
+     Ambitious, resolute Reinhard Peppercorn,
+     Terror of Jews and beacon of the Church?
+     Look, you, I have won the special grace of Christ,
+     He knows through what fierce anguish!  Now he leans
+     Out of his heaven to whisper in mine ear,
+     And reach me my revenge.  He makes my cause
+     His own--and I shall fail upon these heights,
+     Sink from the level of a hate sublime,
+     To puerile pity!
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+               Be advised.  You hold
+     Your enemy's living heart within your hands.
+     This secret is far costlier than you dreamed,
+     For Frederick's son wooes Schnetzen's daughter.  See,
+     A hundred delicate springs your wit may move,
+     Your puppets are the Landgrave and the Prince,
+     The Governor of Salza and the Jews.
+     You may recover station, wealth, and honor,
+     Selling your secret shrewdly; while rash greed
+     Of clumsy vengeance may but drag you down
+     In the wild whirl of universal ruin.
+
+
+     NORDMANN.
+     Christ teach me whom to trust!  I would not spill
+     One drop from out this brimming glorious cup
+     For which my parched heart pants.  I will consider.
+
+
+     PRIOR.
+     Pardon me now, if I break off our talk.
+     Let all rest as it stands until the dawn.
+     I have many orisons before the light.
+
+
+     NORDMANN.
+     Good-night, true friend.  Devote a prayer to me.
+     (Aside.) I will outwit you, serpent, though you glide
+     Athwart the dark, noiseless and swift as fate.
+     [Exit].
+
+
+
+     SCENE II.
+
+       On the road to Nordhausen.  Moonlit, rocky landscape.  On the
+       right between high, white cliffs a narrow stream spanned by a
+       wooden bridge.  Thick bushes and trees.  Enter PRINCE WILLIAM
+       and PAGE.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+     Is this the place where we shall find fresh steeds?
+     Would I had not dismounted!
+
+
+     PAGE.
+               Nay, sir; beyond
+     The Werra bridge the horses wait for us.
+     These rotten planks would never bear their weight.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+     When I am Landgrave these things shall be cared for.
+     This is an ugly spot for travellers
+     To loiter in.  How swift the water runs,
+     Brawling above our voices.  Human cries
+     Would never reach Liborius' convent yonder,
+     Perched on the sheer, chalk cliff.  I think of peril,
+     From my excess of joy.  My spirit chafes,
+     She that would breast broad-winged the air, must halt
+     On stumbling mortal limbs.  Look, thither, boy,
+     How the black shadows of the tree-boles stripe
+     The moon-blanched bridge and meadow.
+
+
+     PAGE.
+               Sir, what's that?
+     Yon stir and glitter in the bush?
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+               The moon,
+     Pricking the dewdrops, plays fantastic tricks
+     With objects most familiar.  Look again,
+     And where thou sawst the steel-blue flicker glint,
+     Thou findst a black, wet leaf.
+
+
+     PAGE.
+               No, no! O God!
+     Your sword, sir!  Treason!
+     [Four armed masked men leap from out the bush, seize, bind, and
+     overmaster, after a brief but violent resistance, the Prince and
+     his servant.]
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+               Who are ye, villains? lying
+     In murderous ambush for the Prince of Meissen?
+     If you be knights, speak honorably your names,
+     And I will combat you in knightly wise.
+     If ye be robbers, name forthwith your ransom.
+     Let me but speed upon my journey now.
+     By Christ's blood!  I beseech you, let me go!
+     Ho! treason! murder! help!
+     [He is dragged off struggling.  Exeunt omnes.]
+
+
+
+     SCENE III.
+
+       Nordhausen.  A room in SUSSKIND's house.
+     LIEBHAID and CLAIRE.
+
+
+     LIEBHAID.
+     Say on, poor girl, if but to speak these horrors
+     Revive not too intense a pang.
+
+
+     CLAIRE.
+               Not so.
+     For all my woes seem here to merge their flood
+     Into a sea of infinite repose.
+     Through France our journey led, as I have told,
+     From desolation unto desolation.
+     Naught stayed my father's course--sword, storm, flame, plague,
+     Exhaustion of the eighty year old frame,
+     O'ertaxed beyond endurance.  Once, once only,
+     His divine force succumbed.  'T was at day's close,
+     And all the air was one discouragement
+     Of April snow-flakes.  I was drenched, cold, sick,
+     With weariness and hunger light of head,
+     And on the open road, suddenly turned
+     The whole world like the spinning flakes of snow.
+     My numb hand slipped from his, and all was blank.
+     His beard, his breath upon my brow, his tears
+     Scalding my cheek hugged close against his breast,
+     And in my ear deep groans awoke me.  "God!"
+     I heard him cry, "try me not past my strength.
+     No prophet I, a blind, old dying man!"
+     Gently I drew his face to mine, and kissed,
+     Whispering courage--then his spirit broke
+     Utterly; shattered were his wits, I feared.
+     But past is past; he is at peace, and I
+     Find shelter from the tempest.  Tell me rather
+     Of your serene life.
+
+
+     LIEBHAID.
+               Happiness is mute.
+     What record speaks of placid, golden days,
+     Matched each with each as twins?  Till yester eve
+     My life was simple as a song.  At whiles
+     Dark tales have reached us of our people's wrongs,
+     Strange, far-off anguish, furrowing with fresh care
+     My father's brow, draping our home with gloom.
+     We were still blessed; the Landgrave is his friend--
+     The Prince--my Prince--dear Claire, ask me no more!
+     My adored enemy, my angel-fiend,
+     Splitting my heart against my heart!  O God,
+     How shall I pray for strength to love him less
+     Than mine own soul?
+
+
+     CLAIRE.
+               What mean these contrary words?
+     These passionate tears?
+
+
+     LIEBHAID.
+               Brave girl, who art inured
+     To difficult privation and rude pain,
+     What good shall come forswearing kith and God,
+     To follow the allurements of the heart?
+
+
+     CLAIRE.
+     Duty wears one face, but a thousand masks.
+     Thy feet she leads to glittering peaks, while mine
+     She guides midst brambled roadways.  Not the first
+     Art thou of Israel's women, chosen of God,
+     To rule o'er rulers.  I remember me
+     A verse my father often would repeat
+     Out of our sacred Talmud: "Every time
+     The sun, moon, stars begin again their course,
+     They hesitate, trembling and filled with shame,
+     Blush at the blasphemous worship offered them,
+     And each time God's voice thunders, crying out,
+     On with your duty!"
+
+       Enter REUBEN.
+
+
+     REUBEN.
+               Sister, we are lost!
+     The streets are thronged with panic-stricken folk.
+     Wild rumors fill the air.  Two of our tribe,
+     Young Mordecai, as I hear, and old Baruch,
+     Seized by the mob, were dragged towards Eisenach,
+     Cruelly used, left to bleed out their lives,
+     In the wayside ditch at night.  This morn, betimes,
+     The iron-hearted Governor of Salza
+     Rides furious into Nordhausen; his horse,
+     Spurred past endurance, drops before the gate.
+     The Council has been called to hear him read
+     The Landgrave's message,--all men say, 'tis death
+     Unto our race.
+
+
+     LIEBHAID.
+               Where is our father, Reuben?
+
+
+     REUBEN.
+     With Rabbi Jacob.  Through the streets they walk,
+     Striving to quell the terror.  Ah, too late!
+     Had he but heeded the prophetic voice,
+     This warning angel led to us in vain!
+
+
+     LIEBHAID.
+     Brother, be calm.  Man your young heart to front
+     Whatever ills the Lord afflicts us with.
+     What does Prince William?  Hastes he not to aid?
+
+
+     REUBEN.
+     None know his whereabouts.  Some say he's held
+     Imprisoned by the Landgrave.  Others tell
+     While he was posting with deliverance
+     To Nordhausen, in bloody Schnetzen's wake,
+     He was set upon by ruffians--kidnapped--killed.
+     What do I know--hid till our ruin's wrought.
+     [LIEBHAID swoons.]
+
+
+     CLAIRE.
+     Hush, foolish boy.  See how your rude words hurt.
+     Look up, sweet girl; take comfort.
+
+
+     REUBEN.
+               Pluck up heart:
+     Dear sister, pardon me; he lives, he lives!
+
+
+     LIEBHAID.
+     God help me!  Shall my heart crack for love's loss
+     That meekly bears my people's martyrdom?
+     He lives--I feel it--to live or die with me.
+     I love him as my soul--no more of that.
+     I am all Israel's now--till this cloud pass,
+     I have no thought, no passion, no desire,
+     Save for my people.
+
+       Enter SUSSKIND.
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+               Blessed art thou, my child!
+     This is the darkest hour before the dawn.
+     Thou art the morning-star of Israel.
+     How dear thou art to me--heart of my heart,
+     Mine, mine, all mine to-day! the pious thought,
+     The orient spirit mine, the Jewish soul.
+     The glowing veins that sucked life-nourishment
+     From Hebrew mother's milk.  Look at me, Liebhaid,
+     Tell me you love me.  Pity me, my God!
+     No fiercer pang than this did Jephthah know.
+
+
+     LIEBHAID.
+     Father, what wild and wandering words are these?
+     Is all hope lost?
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+               Nay, God is good to us.
+     I am so well assured the town is safe,
+     That I can weep my private loss--of thee.
+     An ugly dream I had, quits not my sense,
+     That you, made Princess of Thuringia,
+     Forsook your father, and forswore your race.
+     Forgive me, Liebhaid, I am calm again,
+     We must be brave--I who besought my tribe
+     To bide their fate in Nordhausen, and you
+     Whom God elects for a peculiar lot.
+     With many have I talked; some crouched at home,
+     Some wringing hands about the public ways.
+     I gave all comfort.  I am very weary.
+     My children, we had best go in and pray,
+     Solace and safety dwell but in the Lord.
+     [Exeunt.]
+
+
+
+
+ACT IV.
+
+     SCENE I.
+
+       The City Hall at Nordhausen.  Deputies and Burghers assembling.
+       To the right, at a table near the President's chair, is seated
+       the Public Scrivener.  Enter DIETRICH VON TETTENBORN, and HENRY
+
+     SCHNETZEN with an open letter in his hand.
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+     Didst hear the fellow's words who handed it?
+     I asked from whom it came, he spoke by rote,
+     "The pepper bites, the corn is ripe for harvest,
+     I come from Eisenach."  'T is some tedious jest.
+
+
+     TETTENBORN.
+     Doubtless your shrewd friend Prior Peppercorn
+     Masks here some warning.  Ask the scrivener
+     To help us to its contents.
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN (to the clerk).
+               Read me these.
+
+
+     SCRIVENER (reads).
+
+     "Beware, Lord Henry Schnetzen, of Susskind's lying tongue!  He will
+     thrust a cuckoo's egg into your nest.
+                                  [Signed]
+     ONE WHO KNOWS."
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+     A cuckoo's egg! that riddle puzzles me;
+     But this I know.  Schnetzen is no man's dupe,
+     Much less a Jew's.
+     [SCHNETZEN and VON TETTENBORN take their seats side by side.]
+
+
+     TETTENBORN.
+     Knights, counsellors and burghers!
+     Sir Henry Schnetzen, Governor of Salza,
+     Comes on grave mission from His Highness Frederick,
+     Margrave of Meissen, Landgrave of Thuringia,
+     Our town's imperial Patron and Protector.
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+     Gentles, I greet you in the Landgrave's name,
+     The honored bearer of his princely script,
+     Sealed with his signet.  Read, good Master Clerk.
+     [He hands a parchment to the Scrivener, who reads aloud]:
+
+       Lord President and Deputies of the town of Nordhausen!  Know that
+     we, Frederick Margrave of Meissen, and Landgrave of Thuringia,
+     command to be burned all the Jews within our territories as far
+     as our lands extend, on account of the great crime they have
+     committed against Christendom in throwing poison into the wells,
+     of the truth of which indictment we have absolute knowledge.
+     Therefore we admonish you to have the Jews killed in honor of
+     God, so that Christendom be not enfeebled by them.  Whatever
+     responsibility you incur, we will assume with our Lord the Emperor,
+     and with all other lords.  Know also that we send to you Henry
+     Schnetzen, our Governor of Salza, who shall publicly accuse your
+     Jews of the above-mentioned crime.  Therefore we beseech you to
+     help him to do justice upon them, and we will singularly reward
+     your good will.*
+
+       Given at Eisenach, the Thursday after St. Walpurgis, under our
+     secret seal.
+
+       *This is an authentic document.
+
+
+     A COUNSELLOR (DIETHER VON WERTHER).
+     Fit silence welcomes this unheard-of wrong!
+     So!  Ye are men--free, upright, honest men,
+     Not hired assassins?  I half doubted it,
+     Seeing you lend these infamous words your ears.
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+     Consider, gentlemen of Nordhausen,
+     Ere ye give heed to the rash partisan.
+     Ye cross the Landgrave--well? he crosses you.
+     It may be I shall ride to Nordhausen,
+     Not with a harmless script, but with a sword,
+     And so denounce the town for perjured vow.
+     What was the Strasburg citizens' reward
+     Who championed these lost wretches, in the face
+     Of King and Kaiser--three against the world,
+     Conrad von Winterthur the Burgomaster,
+     Deputy Gosse Sturm, and Peter Schwarber,
+     Master Mechanic?  These leagued fools essayed
+     To stand between the people's sacred wrath,
+     And its doomed object.  Well, the Jews, no less,
+     Were rooted from the city neck and crop,
+     And their three friends degraded from their rank
+     I' the city council, glad to save their skins.
+     The Jews are foes to God.  Our Holy Father
+     Thunders his ban from Rome against all such
+     As aid the poisoners.  Your oath to God,
+     And to the Prince enjoins--Death to the Jews.
+
+
+     A BURGHER (REINHARD ROLAPP).
+     Why all this vain debate?  The Landgrave's brief
+     Affirms the Jews fling poison in the wells.
+     Shall we stand by and leave them unmolested,
+     Till they have made our town a wilderness?
+     I say, Death to the Jews!
+
+
+     A BURGHER (HUGO SCHULTZ).
+               My lord and brethren,
+     I have scant gift of speech, ye are all my elders.
+     Yet hear me for truth's sake, and liberty's.
+     The Landgrave of Thuringia is our patron,
+     True--and our town's imperial Governor,
+     But are we not free burghers?  Shall we not
+     Debate and act in freedom?  If Lord Schnetzen
+     Will force our council with the sword--enough!
+     We are not frightened schoolboys crouched beneath
+     The master's rod, but men who bear the sword
+     As brave as he.  By this grim messenger,
+     Send back this devilish missive.  Say to Frederick
+     Nordhausen never was enfeoffed to him.
+     Prithee, Lord President, bid Henry Schnetzen
+     Withdraw awhile, that we may all take counsel,
+     According to the hour's necessity,
+     As free men, whom nor fear nor favor swerves.
+
+
+     TETTENBORN.
+     Bold youth, you err.  True, Nordhausen is free,
+     And God be witness, we for fear or favor,
+     Would never shed the blood of innocence.
+     But here the Prince condemns the Jews to death
+     For capital crime.  Who sees a snake must kill,
+     Ere it spit fatal venom.  I, too, say
+     Death to the Jews
+
+
+     ALL.
+               Death to the Jews!  God wills it!
+
+
+     TETTENBORN.
+     Give me your voices in the urn.
+     (The votes are taken.)     One voice
+     For mercy, all the rest for death.  (To an Usher.)
+               Go thou
+     To the Jews' quarter; bid Susskind von Orb,
+     And Rabbi Jacob hither to the Senate,
+     To hear the Landgrave's and the town's decree.
+     [Exit Usher.]
+     (To Schnetzen.)  What learn you of this evil through the State?
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+     It swells to monstrous bulk.  In many towns,
+     Folk build high ramparts round the wells and springs.
+     In some they shun the treacherous sparkling brooks,
+     To drink dull rain-water, or melted snow,
+     In mountain districts.  Frederick has been patient,
+     And too long clement, duped by fleece-cloaked wolves.
+     But now his subjects' clamor rouses him
+     To front the general peril.  As I hear,
+     A fiendish and far-reaching plot involves
+     All Christian thrones and peoples.  These vile vermin,
+     Burrowing underneath society,
+     Have leagued with Moors in Spain, with heretics
+     Too plentiful--Christ knows! in every land,
+     And planned a subterraneous, sinuous scheme,
+     To overthrow all Christendom.  But see,
+     Where with audacious brows, and steadfast mien,
+     They enter, bold as innocence.  Now listen,
+     For we shall hear brave falsehoods.
+
+       Enter SUSSKIND VON ORB and RABBI JACOB.
+
+
+     TETTENBORN.
+               Rabbi Jacob,
+     And thou, Susskind von Orb, bow down, and learn
+     The Council's pleasure.  You the least despised
+     By true believers, and most reverenced
+     By your own tribe, we grace with our free leave
+     To enter, yea, to lift your voices here,
+     Amid these wise and honorable men,
+     If ye find aught to plead, that mitigates
+     The just severity of your doom.  Our prince,
+     Frederick the Grave, Patron of Nordhausen,
+     Ordains that all the Jews within his lands,
+     For the foul crime of poisoning the wells,
+     Bringing the Black Death upon Christendom,
+     Shall be consumed with flame.
+
+
+     RABBI JACOB (springing forward and clasping his hands).
+               I' the name of God,
+     Your God and ours, have mercy!
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+               Noble lords,
+     Burghers, and artisans of Nordhausen,
+     Wise, honorable, just, God-fearing men,
+     Shall ye condemn or ever ye have heard?
+     Sure, one at least owns here the close, kind name
+     Of Brother--unto him I turn.  At least
+     Some sit among you who have wedded wives,
+     Bear the dear title and the precious charge
+     Of Husband--unto these I speak.  Some here,
+     Are crowned, it may be, with the sacred name
+     Of Father--unto these I pray.  All, all
+     Are sons--all have been children, all have known
+     The love of parents--unto these I cry:
+     Have mercy on us, we are innocent,
+     Who are brothers, husbands, fathers, sons as ye!
+     Look you, we have dwelt among you many years,
+     Led thrifty, peaceable, well-ordered lives.
+     Who can attest, who prove we ever wrought
+     Or ever did devise the smallest harm,
+     Far less this fiendish crime against the State?
+     Rather let those arise who owe the Jews
+     Some debt of unpaid kindness, profuse alms,
+     The Hebrew leech's serviceable skill,
+     Who know our patience under injury,
+     And ye would see, if all stood bravely forth,
+     A motley host, led by the Landgrave's self,
+     Recruited from all ranks, and in the rear,
+     The humblest, veriest wretch in Nordhausen.
+     We know the Black Death is a scourge of God.
+     Is not our flesh as capable of pain,
+     Our blood as quick envenomed as your own?
+     Has the Destroying Angel passed the posts
+     Of Jewish doors--to visit Christian homes?
+     We all are slaves of one tremendous Hour.
+     We drink the waters which our enemies say
+     We spoil with poison,--we must breathe, as ye,
+     The universal air,--we droop, faint, sicken,
+     From the same causes to the selfsame end.
+     Ye are not strangers to me, though ye wear
+     Grim masks to-day--lords, knights and citizens,
+     Few do I see whose hand has pressed not mine,
+     In cordial greeting.  Dietrich von Tettenborn,
+     If at my death my wealth be confiscate
+     Unto the State, bethink you, lest she prove
+     A harsher creditor than I have been.
+     Stout Meister Rolapp, may you never again
+     Languish so nigh to death that Simon's art
+     Be needed to restore your lusty limbs.
+     Good Hugo Schultz--ah! be those blessed tears
+     Remembered unto you in Paradise!
+     Look there, my lords, one of your council weeps,
+     If you be men, why, then an angel sits
+     On yonder bench.  You have good cause to weep,
+     You who are Christian, and disgraced in that
+     Whereof you made your boast.  I have no tears.
+     A fiery wrath has scorched their source, a voice
+     Shrills through my brain--"Not upon us, on them
+     Fall everlasting woe, if this thing be!"
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+     My lords of Nordhausen, shall ye be stunned
+     With sounding words?  Behold the serpent's skin,
+     Sleek-shining, clear as sunlight; yet his tooth
+     Holds deadly poison.  Even as the Jews
+     Did nail the Lord of heaven on the Cross,
+     So will they murder all his followers,
+     When once they have the might.  Beware, beware!
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+     So YOU are the accuser, my lord Schnetzen?
+     Now I confess, before you I am guilty.
+     You are in all this presence, the one man
+     Whom any Jew hath wronged--and I that Jew.
+     Oh, my offence is grievous; punish me
+     With the utmost rigor of the law, for theft
+     And violence, whom ye deemed an honest man,
+     But leave my tribe unharmed!  I yield my hands
+     Unto your chains, my body to your fires;
+     Let one life serve for all.
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+               You hear, my lords,
+     How the prevaricating villain shrinks
+     From the absolute truth, yet dares not front his Maker
+     With the full damnable lie hot on his lips.
+     Not thou alone, my private foe, shalt die,
+     But all thy race.  Thee had my vengeance reached,
+     Without appeal to Prince or citizen.
+     Silence! my heart is cuirassed as my breast.
+
+
+     RABBI JACOB.
+     Bear with us, gracious lords!  My friend is stunned.
+     He is an honest man.  Even I, as 't were,
+     Am stupefied by this surprising news.
+     Yet, let me think--it seems it is not new,
+     This is an ancient, well-remembered pain.
+     What, brother, came not one who prophesied
+     This should betide exactly as it doth?
+     That was a shrewd old man!  Your pardon, lords,
+     I think you know not just what you would do.
+     You say the Jews shall burn--shall burn you say;
+     Why, good my lords, the Jews are not a flock
+     Of gallows-birds, they are a colony
+     Of kindly, virtuous folk.  Come home with me;
+     I'll show you happy hearths, glad roofs, pure lives.
+     Why, some of them are little quick-eyed boys,
+     Some, pretty, ungrown maidens--children's children
+     Of those who called me to the pastorate.
+     And some are beautiful tall girls, some, youths
+     Of marvellous promise, some are old and sick,
+     Amongst them there be mothers, infants, brides,
+     Just like your Christian people, for all the world.
+     Know ye what burning is?  Hath one of you
+     Scorched ever his soft flesh, or singed his beard,
+     His hair, his eyebrows--felt the keen, fierce nip
+     Of the pungent flame--and raises not his voice
+     To stop this holocaust?  God! 't is too horrible!
+     Wake me, my friends, from this terrific dream.
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+     Courage, my brother.  On our firmness hangs
+     The dignity of Israel.  Sir Governor,
+     I have a secret word to speak with you.
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+     Ye shall enjoy with me the jest.  These knaves
+     Are apt to quick invention as in crime.
+     Speak out--I have no secrets from my peers.
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+     My lord, what answer would you give your Christ
+     If peradventure, in this general doom
+     You sacrifice a Christian?  Some strayed dove
+     Lost from your cote, among our vultures caged?
+     Beware, for midst our virgins there is one
+     Owes kinship nor allegiance to our tribe.
+     For her dear sake be pitiful, my lords,
+     Have mercy on our women!  Spare at least
+     My daughter Liebhaid, she is none of mine!
+     She is a Christian!
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+               Just as I foretold!
+     The wretches will forswear the sacred'st ties,
+     Cringing for life.  Serpents, ye all shall die.
+     So wills the Landgrave; so the court affirms.
+     Your daughter shall be first, whose wanton arts
+     Have brought destruction on a princely house.
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+     My lord, be moved.  You kill your flesh and blood.
+     By Adonai I swear, your dying wife
+     Entrusted to these arms her child.  'T was I
+     Carried your infant from your burning home.
+     Lord Schnetzen, will you murder your own child?
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+     Ha, excellent!  I was awaiting this.
+     Thou wilt inoculate our knightly veins
+     With thy corrupted Jewish blood.  Thou 'lt foist
+     This adder on my bosom.  Henry Schnetzen
+     Is no weak dupe, whom every lie may start.
+     Make ready, Jew, for death--and warn thy tribe.
+
+
+     SUSSKIND (kneeling).
+     Is there a God in heaven?  I who ne'er knelt
+     Until this hour to any man on earth,
+     Tyrant, before thee I abase myself.
+     If one red drop of human blood still flow
+     In thy congealed veins, if thou e'er have known
+     Touch of affection, the blind natural instinct
+     Of common kindred, even beasts partake,
+     Thou man of frozen stone, thou hollow statue,
+     Grant me one prayer, that thou wilt look on her.
+     Then shall the eyes of thy dead wife gaze back
+     From out the maiden's orbs, then shall a voice
+     Within thine entrails, cry--This is my child.
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+     Enough!  I pray you, my lord President,
+     End this unseemly scene.  This wretched Jew
+     Would thrust a cuckoo's egg within my nest.
+     I have had timely warning.  Send the twain
+     Back to their people, that the court's decree
+     Be published unto all.
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+               Lord Tettenborn!
+     Citizens! will you see this nameless crime
+     Brand the clean earth, blacken the crystal heaven?
+     Why, no man stirs!  God! with what thick strange fumes
+     Hast thou, o' the sudden, brutalized their sense?
+     Or am I mad?  Is this already hell?
+     Worshipful fiends, I have good store of gold,
+     Packed in my coffers, or loaned out to--Christians;
+     I give it you as free as night bestows
+     Her copious dews--my life shall seal the bond,
+     Have mercy on my race!
+
+
+     TETTENBORN.
+               No more, no more!
+     Go, bid your tribe make ready for their death
+     At sunset.
+
+
+     RABBI JACOB.
+          Oh!
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+               At set of sun to-day?
+     Why, if you travelled to the nighest town,
+     Summoned to stand before a mortal Prince
+     You would need longer grace to put in order
+     Household effects, to bid farewell to friends,
+     And make yourself right worthy.  But our way
+     Is long, our journey difficult, our judge
+     Of awful majesty.  Must we set forth,
+     Haste-flushed and unprepared?  One brief day more,
+     And all my wealth is yours!
+
+
+     TETTENBORN.
+               We have heard enough.
+     Begone, and bear our message.
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+               Courage, brother,
+     Our fate is sealed.  These tigers are athirst.
+     Return we to our people to proclaim
+     The gracious sentence of the noble court.
+     Let us go thank the Lord who made us those
+     To suffer, not to do, this deed.  Be strong.
+     So! lean on me--we have little time to lose.
+     [Exeunt.]
+
+
+
+
+ACT V.
+
+     SCENE I.
+
+       A Room in Susskind's House.
+     LIEBHAID, CLAIRE, REUBEN.
+
+
+     LIEBHAID.
+     The air hangs sultry as in mid-July.
+     Look forth, Claire; moves not some big thundercloud
+     Athwart the sky?  My heart is sick.
+
+
+     CLAIRE.
+               Nay, Liebhaid.
+     The clear May sun is shining, and the air
+     Blows fresh and cordial from the budding hills.
+
+
+     LIEBHAID.
+     Reuben, what is 't o'clock.  Our father stays.
+     The midday meal was cold an hour agone.
+
+
+     REUBEN.
+     'T is two full hours past noon; he should be here.
+     Ah see, he comes.  Great God! what woe has chanced?
+     He totters on his staff; he has grown old
+     Since he went forth this morn.
+
+       Enter SUSSKIND.
+
+
+     LIEBHAID.
+               Father, what news?
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+     The Lord have mercy!  Vain is the help of man.
+     Children, is all in order?  We must start
+     At set of sun on a long pilgrimage.
+     So wills the Landgrave, so the court decrees.
+
+
+     LIEBHAID.
+     What is it, father?  Exile?
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+               Yea, just that.
+     We are banished from our vexed, uncertain homes,
+     'Midst foes and strangers, to a land of peace,
+     Where joy abides, where only comfort is.
+     Banished from care, fear, trouble, life--to death.
+
+
+     REUBEN.
+     Oh horror! horror!  Father, I will not die.
+     Come, let us flee--we yet have time for flight.
+     I'll bribe the sentinel--he will ope the gates.
+     Liebhaid, Claire, Father! let us flee!  Away
+     To some safe land where we may nurse revenge.
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+     Courage, my son, and peace.  We may not flee.
+     Didst thou not see the spies who dogged my steps?
+     The gates are thronged with citizens and guards.
+     We must not flee--God wills that we should die.
+
+
+     LIEBHAID.
+     Said you at sunset?
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+               So they have decreed.
+
+
+     CLAIRE.
+     Oh why not now?  Why spare the time to warn?
+     Why came they not with thee to massacre,
+     Leaving no agony betwixt the sentence
+     And instant execution?  That were mercy!
+     Oh, my prophetic father!
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+               They allow
+     Full five hours' grace to shrive our souls with prayer.
+     We shall assemble in the Synagogue,
+     As on Atonement Day, confess our sins,
+     Recite the Kaddish for the Dead, and chant
+     Our Shibboleth, the Unity of God,
+     Until the supreme hour when we shall stand
+     Before the mercy-seat.
+
+
+     LIEBHAID.
+               In what dread shape
+     Approaches death?
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+               Nerve your young hearts, my children.
+     We shall go down as God's three servants went
+     Into the fiery furnace.  Not again
+     Shall the flames spare the true-believers' flesh.
+     The anguish shall be fierce and strong, yet brief.
+     Our spirits shall not know the touch of pain,
+     Pure as refined gold they shall issue safe
+     From the hot crucible; a pleasing sight
+     Unto the Lord.  Oh, 't is a rosy bed
+     Where we shall couch, compared with that whereon
+     They lie who kindle this accursed blaze.
+     Ye shrink? ye would avert your martyred brows
+     From the immortal crowns the angels offer?
+     What! are we Jews and are afraid of death?
+     God's chosen people, shall we stand a-tremble
+     Before our Father, as the Gentiles use?
+
+
+     REUBEN.
+     Shall the smoke choke us, father? or the flame
+     Consume our flesh?
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+               I know not, boy.  Be sure
+     The Lord will temper the shrewd pain for those
+     Who trust in Him.
+
+
+     REUBEN.
+               May I stand by thy side,
+     And hold my hand in thine until the end?
+
+
+     SUSSKIND (Aside).
+     What solace hast thou, God, in all thy heavens
+     For such an hour as this?  Yea, hand in hand
+     We walk, my son, through fire, to meet the Lord.
+     Yet there is one among us shall not burn.
+     A secret shaft long rankling in my heart,
+     Now I withdraw, and die.  Our general doom,
+     Liebhaid, is not for thee.  Thou art no Jewess.
+     Thy father is the man who wills our death;
+     Lord Henry Schnetzen.
+
+
+     LIEBHAID.
+               Look at me! your eyes
+     Are sane, correcting your distracted words.
+     This is Love's trick, to rescue me from death.
+     My love is firm as thine, and dies with thee.
+
+
+     CLAIRE.
+     Oh, Liebhaid, live.  Hast thou forgot the Prince?
+     Think of the happy summer blooms for thee
+     When we are in our graves.
+
+
+     LIEBHAID.
+               And I shall smile,
+     Live and rejoice in love, when ye are dead?
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+     My child, my child!  By the Ineffable Name,
+     The Adonai, I swear, thou must believe,
+     Albeit thy father scoffed, gave me the lie.
+     Go kneel to him--for if he see thy face,
+     Or hear thy voice, he shall not doubt, but save.
+
+
+     LIEBHAID.
+     Never!  If I be offspring to that kite,
+     I here deny my race, forsake my father,--
+     So does thy dream fall true.  Let him save thee,
+     Whose hand has guided mine, whose lips have blessed,
+     Whose bread has nourished me.  Thy God is mine,
+     Thy people are my people.
+
+
+     VOICES (without).
+               Susskind von Orb!
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+     I come, my friends.
+
+       Enter boisterously certain Jews.
+
+
+     1ST JEW.
+               Come to the house of God!
+
+
+     2D JEW.
+     Wilt thou desert us for whose sake we perish?
+
+
+     3D JEW.
+     The awful hour draws nigh.  Come forth with us
+     Unto the Synagogue.
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+               Bear with me, neighbors.
+     Here we may weep, here for the last time know
+     The luxury of sorrow, the soft touch
+     Of natural tenderness; here our hearts may break;
+     Yonder no tears, no faltering!  Eyes serene
+     Lifted to heaven, and defiant brows
+     To those who have usurped the name of men,
+     Must prove our faith and valor limitless
+     As is their cruelty.  One more embrace,
+     My daughter, thrice my daughter!  Thine affection
+     Outshines the hellish flames of hate; farewell,
+     But for a while; beyond the river of fire
+     I'll fold thee in mine arms, immortal angel!
+     For thee, poor orphan, soon to greet again
+     The blessed brows of parents, I dreamed not
+     The grave was all the home I had to give.
+     Go thou with Liebhaid, and array yourselves
+     As for a bridal.  Come, little son, with me.
+     Friends, I am ready.  O my God, my God,
+     Forsake us not in our extremity!
+     [Exeunt SUSSKIND and JEWS.]
+
+
+
+     SCENE II.
+
+       A Street in the Judengasse.  Several Jews pass across the stage,
+       running and with gestures of distress.
+
+
+     JEWS.
+     Woe, woe! the curse has fallen!
+     [Exeunt.]
+
+       Enter other Jews.
+
+
+     1ST JEW.
+               We are doomed.
+     The fury of the Lord has smitten us.
+     Oh that mine head were waters and mine eyes
+     Fountains of tears!  God has forsaken us.
+     [They knock at the doors of the houses.]
+
+
+     2D JEW.
+     What, Benjamin!  Open the door to death!
+     We all shall die at sunset!  Menachem!
+     Come forth!  Come forth!  Manasseh!  Daniel!  Ezra!
+     [Jews appear at the windows.]
+
+
+     ONE CALLING FROM ABOVE.
+     Neighbors, what wild alarm is this?
+
+
+     1ST JEW.
+               Descend!
+     Descend!  Come with us to the house of prayer.
+     Save himself whoso can! we all shall burn.
+     [Men and women appear at the doors of the houses.]
+
+
+     ONE OF THE MEN AT THE DOOR.
+     Beseech you brethren, calmly.  Tell us all!
+     Mine aged father lies at point of death
+     Gasping within.  Ye'll thrust him in his grave
+     With boisterous clamor.
+
+
+     1ST JEW.
+               Blessed is the man
+     Whom the Lord calls unto Himself in peace!
+     Susskind von Orb and Rabbi Jacob come
+     From the tribunal where the vote is--Death
+     To all our race.
+
+
+     SEVERAL VOICES.
+               Woe! woe!  God pity us!
+
+
+     1ST JEW.
+     Hie ye within, and take a last farewell
+     Of home, love, life--put on your festal robes.
+     So wills the Rabbi, and come forth at once
+     To pray till sunset in the Synagogue.
+
+
+     AN OLD MAN.
+     O God!  Is this the portion of mine age?
+     Were my white hairs, my old bones spared for this?
+     Oh cruel, cruel!
+
+
+     A YOUNG GIRL.
+               I am too young to die.
+     Save me, my father!  To-morrow should have been
+     The feast at Rachel's house.  I longed for that,
+     Counted the days, dreaded some trivial chance
+     Might cross my pleasure--Lo, this horror comes!
+
+
+     A BRIDE.
+     Oh love! oh thou just-tasted cup of joy
+     Snatched from my lips!  Shall we twain lie with death,
+     Dark, silent, cold--whose every sense was tuned
+     To happiness!  Life was too beautiful--
+     That was the dream--how soon we are awake!
+     Ah, we have that within our hearts defies
+     Their fiercest flames.  No end, no end, no end!
+
+
+     JEW.
+     God with a mighty hand, a stretched-out arm,
+     And poured-out fury, ruleth over us.
+     The sword is furbished, sharp i' the slayer's hand.
+     Cry out and howl, thou son of Israel!
+     Thou shalt be fuel to the fire; thy blood
+     Shall overflow the land, and thou no more
+     Shalt be remembered--so the Lord hath spoken.
+     [Exeunt omnes.]
+
+
+
+     SCENE III.
+
+       Within the Synagogue.  Above in the gallery, women sumptuously
+       attired; some with children by the hand or infants in their arms.
+       Below the men and boys with silken scarfs about their shoulders.
+
+
+     RABBI JACOB.
+     The Lord is nigh unto the broken heart.
+     Out of the depths we cry to thee, oh God!
+     Show us the path of everlasting life;
+     For in thy presence is the plenitude
+     Of joy, and in thy right hand endless bliss.
+
+       Enter SUSSKIND, REUBEN, etc.
+
+
+     SEVERAL VOICES.
+     Woe unto us who perish!
+
+
+     A JEW.
+               Susskind von Orb,
+     Thou hast brought down this doom.  Would we had heard
+     The prophet's voice!
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+               Brethren, my cup is full!
+     Oh let us die as warriors of the Lord.
+     The Lord is great in Zion.  Let our death
+     Bring no reproach to Jacob, no rebuke
+     To Israel.  Hark ye! let us crave one boon
+     At our assassins' hands; beseech them build
+     Within God's acre where our fathers sleep,
+     A dancing-floor to hide the fagots stacked.
+     Then let the minstrels strike the harp and lute,
+     And we will dance and sing above the pile,
+     Fearless of death, until the flames engulf,
+     Even as David danced before the Lord,
+     As Miriam danced and sang beside the sea.
+     Great is our Lord!  His name is glorious
+     In Judah, and extolled in Israel!
+     In Salem is his tent, his dwelling place
+     In Zion; let us chant the praise of God!
+
+
+     A JEW.
+     Susskind, thou speakest well!  We will meet death
+     With dance and song.  Embrace him as a bride.
+     So that the Lord receive us in His tent.
+
+
+     SEVERAL VOICES.
+     Amen! amen! amen! we dance to death!
+
+
+     RABBI JACOB.
+     Susskind, go forth and beg this grace of them.
+     [Exit Susskind.]
+     Punish us not in wrath, chastise us not
+     In anger, oh our God!  Our sins o'erwhelm
+     Our smitten heads, they are a grievous load;
+     We look on our iniquities, we tremble,
+     Knowing our trespasses.  Forsake us not.
+     Be thou not far from us.  Haste to our aid,
+     Oh God, who art our Saviour and our Rock!
+
+       Reenter SUSSKIND.
+
+
+     SUSSKIND.
+     Brethren, our prayer, being the last, is granted.
+     The hour approaches.  Let our thoughts ascend
+     From mortal anguish to the ecstasy
+     Of martyrdom, the blessed death of those
+     Who perish in the Lord.  I see, I see
+     How Israel's ever-crescent glory makes
+     These flames that would eclipse it, dark as blots
+     Of candle-light against the blazing sun.
+     We die a thousand deaths,--drown, bleed, and burn;
+     Our ashes are dispersed unto the winds.
+     Yet the wild winds cherish the sacred seed,
+     The waters guard it in their crystal heart,
+     The fire refuseth to consume.  It springs,
+     A tree immortal, shadowing many lands,
+     Unvisited, unnamed, undreamed as yet.
+     Rather a vine, full-flowered, golden-branched,
+     Ambrosial-fruited, creeping on the earth,
+     Trod by the passer's foot, yet chosen to deck
+     Tables of princes.  Israel now has fallen
+     Into the depths, he shall be great in time.*
+     Even as we die in honor, from our death
+     Shall bloom a myriad heroic lives,
+     Brave through our bright example, virtuous
+     Lest our great memory fall in disrepute.
+     Is one among us brothers, would exchange
+     His doom against our tyrants,--lot for lot?
+     Let him go forth and live--he is no Jew.
+     Is one who would not die in Israel
+     Rather than live in Christ,--their Christ who smiles
+     On such a deed as this?  Let him go forth--
+     He may die full of years upon his bed.
+     Ye who nurse rancor haply in your hearts,
+     Fear ye we perish unavenged?  Not so!
+     To-day, no! nor to-morrow! but in God's time,
+     Our witnesses arise.  Ours is the truth,
+     Ours is the power, the gift of Heaven.  We hold
+     His Law, His lamp, His covenant, His pledge.
+     Wherever in the ages shall arise
+     Jew-priest, Jew-poet, Jew-singer, or Jew-saint--
+     And everywhere I see them star the gloom--
+     In each of these the martyrs are avenged!
+
+       *The vine creeps on the earth, trodden by the passer's foot,
+       but its fruit goes upon the table of princes.  Israel now has
+       fallen in the depths, but he shall be great in the fullness
+       of time.--TALMUD
+
+
+     RABBI JACOB.
+     Bring from the Ark the bell-fringed, silken-bound
+     Scrolls of the Law.  Gather the silver vessels,
+     Dismantle the rich curtains of the doors,
+     Bring the Perpetual Lamp; all these shall burn,
+     For Israel's light is darkened, Israel's Law
+     Profaned by strangers.  Thus the Lord hath said:*
+     "The weapon formed against thee shall not prosper,
+     The tongue that shall contend with thee in judgment,
+     Thou shalt condemn.  This is the heritage
+     Of the Lord's servants and their righteousness.
+     For thou shalt come to peoples yet unborn,
+     Declaring that which He hath done.  Amen!"
+
+       *Conclusion of service for Day of Atonement.
+
+     [The doors of the Synagogue are burst open with tumultuous noise.
+     Citizens and officers rush in.]
+
+
+     CITIZENS.
+     Come forth! the sun sets.   Come, the Council waits!
+     What! will ye teach your betters patience?  Out!
+     The Governor is ready.  Forth with you,
+     Curs! serpents! Judases!  The bonfire burns!
+     [Exeunt.]
+
+
+
+     SCENE IV.
+
+       A Public Place.  Crowds of Citizens assembled.  On a platform
+       are seated DIETRICH VON TETTENBORN and HENRY SCHNETZEN with
+       other Members of the Council.
+
+
+     1ST CITIZEN.
+     Here's such a throng!  Neighbor, your elbow makes
+     An ill prod for my ribs.
+
+
+     2D CITIZEN.
+               I am pushed and squeezed.
+     My limbs are not mine own.
+
+
+     3D CITIZEN.
+               Look this way, wife.
+     They will come hence,--a pack of just-whipped curs.
+     I warrant you the stiff-necked brutes repent
+     To-day if ne'er before.
+
+
+     WIFE.
+               I am all a-quiver.
+     I have seen monstrous sights,--an uncaged wolf,
+     The corpse of one sucked by a vampyre,
+     The widow Kupfen's malformed child--but never
+     Until this hour, a Jew.
+
+
+     3D CITIZEN.
+               D' ye call me Jew?
+     Where do you spy one now?
+
+
+     WIFE.
+               You'll have your jest
+     Now or anon, what matters it?
+
+
+     4TH CITIZEN.
+               Well, I
+     Have seen a Jew, and seen one burn at that;
+     Hard by in Wartburg; he had killed a child.
+     Zounds! how the serpent wriggled!  I smell now
+     The roasting, stinking flesh!
+
+
+     BOY.
+               Father, be these
+     The folk who murdered Jesus?
+
+
+     4TH CITIZEN.
+               Ay, my boy.
+     Remember that, and when you hear them come,
+     I'll lift you on my shoulders.  You can fling
+     Your pebbles with the rest.
+     [Trumpets sound.]
+
+
+     CITIZENS.
+               The Jews! the Jews!
+
+
+     BOY.
+     Quick, father! lift me!  I see nothing here
+     But hose and skirts.
+     [Music of a march approaching.]
+
+
+     CITIZENS.
+              What mummery is this?
+     The sorcerers brew new mischief.
+
+
+     ANOTHER CITIZEN.
+              Why, they come
+     Pranked for a holiday; not veiled for death.
+
+
+     ANOTHER CITIZEN.
+     Insolent braggarts!  They defy the Christ!
+
+       Enter, in procession to music, the Jews.  First, RABBI JACOB--
+       after him, sick people, carried on litters--then old men and
+       women, followed promiscuously by men, women, and children of
+       all ages.  Some of the men carry gold and silver vessels, some
+       the Rolls of the Law.  One bears the Perpetual Lamp, another
+       the Seven-branched silver Candlestick of the Synagogue.  The
+       mothers have their children by the hand or in their arms.  All
+       richly attired.
+
+
+     CITIZENS.
+     The misers! they will take their gems and gold
+     Down to the grave!
+
+
+     CITIZEN'S WIFE.
+               So these be Jews!  Christ save us!
+     To think the devils look like human folk!
+
+
+     CITIZENS.
+     Cursed be the poison-mixers!  Let them burn!
+
+
+     CITIZENS.
+     Burn! burn!
+
+       Enter SUSSKIND VON ORB, LIEBHAID, REUBEN, and CLAIRE.
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+               Good God! what maid is that?
+
+
+     TETTENBORN.
+     Liebhaid von Orb.
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+               The devil's trick!
+     He has bewitched mine eyes.
+
+
+     SUSSKIND (as he passes the platform).
+               Woe to the father
+     Who murders his own child!
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+               I am avenged,
+     Susskind von Orb!  Blood for blood, fire for fire,
+     And death for death!
+     [Exeunt SUSSKIND, LIEBHAID, etc.]
+
+       Enter Jewish youths and maidens.
+
+
+     YOUTHS (in chorus).
+     Let us rejoice, for it is promised us
+     That we shall enter in God's tabernacle!
+
+
+     MAIDENS.
+     Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Zion,
+     Within thy portals, O Jerusalem!
+     [Exeunt.]
+
+
+     CITIZEN'S WIFE.
+     I can see naught from here.  Let's follow, Hans.
+
+
+     CITIZEN.
+     Be satisfied.  There is no inch of space
+     For foot to rest on yonder.  Look! look there!
+     How the flames rise!
+
+
+     BOY.
+               O father, I can see!
+     They all are dancing in the crimson blaze.
+     Look how their garments wave, their jewels shine,
+     When the smoke parts a bit.  The tall flames dart.
+     Is not the fire real fire?  They fear it not.
+
+
+     VOICES WITHOUT.
+     Arise, oh house of Jacob.  Let us walk
+     Within the light of the Almighty Lord!
+
+       Enter in furious haste PRINCE WILLIAM and NORDMANN.
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+     Respite!  You kill your daughter, Henry Schnetzen!
+
+
+     NORDMANN.
+     Liebhaid von Orb is your own flesh and blood.
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+     Spectre! do dead men rise?
+
+
+     NORDMANN.
+               Yea, for revenge!
+     I swear, Lord Schnetzen, by my knightly honor,
+     She who is dancing yonder to her death,
+     Is thy wife's child!
+     [SCHNETZEN and PRINCE WILLIAM make a rush forward towards the
+     flames.  Music ceases; a sound of crashing boards is heard and
+     a great cry--HALLELUJAH!]
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM and SCHNETZEN.
+          Too late! too late!
+
+
+     CITIZENS.
+               All's done!
+
+
+     PRINCE WILLIAM.
+     The fire! the fire!  Liebhaid, I come to thee.
+     [He is about to spring forward, but is held back by guards.]
+
+
+     SCHNETZEN.
+     Oh cruel Christ!  Is there no bolt in heaven
+     For the child murderer?  Kill me, my friends! my breast
+     Is bare to all your swords.
+     [He tears open his jerkin, and falls unconscious.]
+
+                                             [Curtain falls.]
+
+
+
+
+     THE END.
+
+
+     Note:
+
+     The plot and incidents of this Tragedy are taken from a little
+     narrative entitled "Der Tanz zum Tode; ein Nachtstuck aus dem
+     vierzehnten Jahrhundert," (The Dance to Death--a Night-piece of
+     the fourteenth century).  By Richard Reinhard.  Compiled from
+     authentic documents communicated by Professor Franz Delitzsch.
+
+     The original narrative thus disposes, in conclusion, of the
+     principal characters:--
+
+     "The Knight Henry Schnetzen ended his curse-stricken life in a
+     cloister of the strictest order.
+
+     "Herr Nordmann was placed in close confinement, and during the
+     same year his head fell under the sword of the executioner.
+
+     "Prince William returned, broken down with sorrow, to Eisenach.
+     His princely father's heart found no comfort during the remainder
+     of his days.  He died soon after the murder of the Jews--his last
+     words were, 'woe! the fire!'
+
+     "William reached an advanced age, but his life was joyless.  He
+     never married, and at his death Meissen was inherited by his nephew.
+
+     "The Jewish cemetery in Nordhausen, the scene of this martyrdom,
+     lay for a long time waste.  Nobody would build upon it.  Now it
+     is a bleaching meadow, and where once the flames sprang up, to-day
+     rests peaceful sunshine."
+
+
+
+
+
+     TRANSLATIONS.
+
+
+
+
+TRANSLATIONS FROM THE HEBREW POETS OF MEDAEVAL SPAIN.
+
+
+
+
+     SOLOMON BEN JUDAH GABIROL (Died Between 1070-80.)
+
+
+         "Am I sipping the honey of the lips?
+         Am I drunk with the wine of a kiss?
+         Have I culled the flowers of the cheek,
+         Have I sucked the fresh fragrance of the breath?
+         Nay, it is the Song of Gabirol that has revived me,
+         The perfume of his youthful, spring-tide breeze."
+         --MOSES BEN ESRA.
+
+         "I will engrave my songs indelibly upon the heart of
+         the world, so that no one can efface them."
+         --GABIROL.
+
+
+
+
+     NIGHT-PIECE.
+
+
+     Night, and the heavens beam serene with peace,
+     Like a pure heart benignly smiles the moon.
+     Oh, guard thy blessed beauty from mischance,
+     This I beseech thee in all tender love.
+     See where the Storm his cloudy mantle spreads,
+     An ashy curtain covereth the moon.
+     As if the tempest thirsted for the rain,
+     The clouds he presses, till they burst in streams.
+     Heaven wears a dusky raiment, and the moon
+     Appeareth dead--her tomb is yonder cloud,
+     And weeping shades come after, like the people
+     Who mourn with tearful grief a noble queen.
+     But look! the thunder pierced night's close-linked mail,
+     His keen-tipped lance of lightning brandishing;
+     He hovers like a seraph-conqueror.--
+     Dazed by the flaming splendor of his wings,
+     In rapid flight as in a whirling dance,
+     The black cloud-ravens hurry scared away.
+     So, though the powers of darkness chain my soul,
+     My heart, a hero, chafes and breaks its bonds.
+
+
+
+
+
+     NIGHT-THOUGHTS.
+
+
+     Will night already spread her wings and weave
+     Her dusky robe about the day's bright form,
+     Boldly the sun's fair countenance displacing,
+     And swathe it with her shadow in broad day?
+     So a green wreath of mist enrings the moon,
+     Till envious clouds do quite encompass her.
+     No wind! and yet the slender stem is stirred,
+     With faint, slight motion as from inward tremor.
+     Mine eyes are full of grief--who sees me, asks,
+     "Oh wherefore dost thou cling unto the ground?"
+     My friends discourse with sweet and soothing words;
+     They all are vain, they glide above my head.
+     I fain would check my tears; would fain enlarge
+     Unto infinity, my heart--in vain!
+     Grief presses hard my breast, therefore my tears
+     Have scarcely dried, ere they again spring forth.
+     For these are streams no furnace heat may quench,
+     Nebuchadnezzar's flames may dry them not.
+     What is the pleasure of the day for me,
+     If, in its crucible, I must renew
+     Incessantly the pangs of purifying?
+     Up, challenge, wrestle, and o'ercome!  Be strong!
+     The late grapes cover all the vine with fruit.
+     I am not glad, though even the lion's pride
+     Content itself upon the field's poor grass.
+     My spirit sinks beneath the tide, soars not
+     With fluttering seamews on the moist, soft strand.
+     I follow Fortune not, where'er she lead.
+     Lord o'er myself, I banish her, compel,
+     And though her clouds should rain no blessed dew,
+     Though she withhold the crown, the heart's desire,
+     Though all deceive, though honey change to gall,
+     Still am I lord, and will in freedom strive.
+
+
+
+
+
+     MEDITATIONS.
+
+
+     Forget thine anguish,
+       Vexed heart, again.
+     Why shouldst thou languish,
+       With earthly pain?
+     The husk shall slumber,
+       Bedded in clay
+     Silent and sombre,
+       Oblivion's prey!
+     But, Spirit immortal,
+     Thou at Death's portal,
+       Tremblest with fear.
+       If he caress thee,
+       Curse thee or bless thee,
+       Thou must draw near,
+     From him the worth of thy works to hear.
+
+
+       Why full of terror,
+       Compassed with error,
+       Trouble thy heart,
+       For thy mortal part?
+       The soul flies home--
+       The corpse is dumb.
+       Of all thou didst have,
+     Follows naught to the grave.
+       Thou fliest thy nest,
+     Swift as a bird to thy place of rest.
+
+
+       What avail grief and fasting,
+       Where nothing is lasting?
+       Pomp, domination,
+       Become tribulation.
+       In a health-giving draught,
+       A death-dealing shaft.
+       Wealth--an illusion,
+       Power--a lie,
+       Over all, dissolution
+       Creeps silent and sly.
+       Unto others remain
+       The goods thou didst gain
+       With infinite pain.
+
+
+     Life is a vine-branch;
+       A vintager, Death.
+     He threatens and lowers
+       More near with each breath.
+     Then hasten, arise!
+       Seek God, O my soul!
+     For time quickly flies,
+       Still far is the goal.
+     Vain heart praying dumbly,
+       Learn to prize humbly,
+       The meanest of fare.
+     Forget all thy sorrow,
+       Behold, Death is there!
+
+
+       Dove-like lamenting,
+       Be full of repenting,
+     Lift vision supernal
+     To raptures eternal.
+       On ev'ry occasion
+       Seek lasting salvation.
+     Pour thy heart out in weeping,
+     While others are sleeping.
+       Pray to Him when all's still,
+       Performing his will.
+     And so shall the angel of peace be thy warden,
+     And guide thee at last to the heavenly garden.
+
+
+
+
+
+     HYMN.
+
+
+     Almighty! what is man?
+       But flesh and blood.
+     Like shadows flee his days,
+     He marks not how they vanish from his gaze,
+       Suddenly, he must die--
+     He droppeth, stunned, into nonentity.
+
+
+       Almighty! what is man?
+       A body frail and weak,
+         Full of deceit and lies,
+         Of vile hypocrisies.
+     Now like a flower blowing,
+     Now scorched by sunbeams glowing.
+     And wilt thou of his trespasses inquire?
+       How may he ever bear
+     Thine anger just, thy vengeance dire?
+       Punish him not, but spare,
+     For he is void of power and strength!
+
+
+     Almighty! what is man?
+       By filthy lust possessed,
+     Whirled in a round of lies,
+       Fond frenzy swells his breast.
+     The pure man sinks in mire and slime,
+     The noble shrinketh not from crime,
+     Wilt thou resent on him the charms of sin?
+       Like fading grass,
+       So shall he pass.
+       Like chaff that blows
+       Where the wind goes.
+     Then spare him, be thou merciful, O King,
+     Upon the dreaded day of reckoning!
+
+
+       Almighty! what is man?
+         The haughty son of time
+       Drinks deep of sin,
+         And feeds on crime
+     Seething like waves that roll,
+     Hot as a glowing coal.
+     And wilt thou punish him for sins inborn?
+       Lost and forlorn,
+     Then like the weakling he must fall,
+     Who some great hero strives withal.
+     Oh, spare him, therefore! let him win
+       Grace for his sin!
+
+
+       Almighty! what is man?
+         Spotted in guilty wise,
+       A stranger unto faith,
+         Whose tongue is stained with lies,
+     And shalt thou count his sins--so is he lost,
+           Uprooted by thy breath.
+     Like to a stream by tempest tossed,
+     His life falls from him like a cloak,
+       He passes into nothingness, like smoke.
+       Then spare him, punish not, be kind, I pray,
+     To him who dwelleth in the dust, an image wrought in clay!
+
+
+       Almighty! what is man?
+          A withered bough!
+     When he is awe-struck by approaching doom,
+     Like a dried blade of grass, so weak, so low
+     The pleasure of his life is changed to gloom.
+     He crumbles like a garment spoiled with moth;
+     According to his sins wilt thou be wroth?
+     He melts like wax before the candle's breath,
+     Yea, like thin water, so he vanisheth,
+     Oh, spare him therefore, for thy gracious name,
+     And be not too severe upon his shame!
+
+
+       Almighty! what is man?
+          A faded leaf!
+     If thou dost weigh him in the balance--lo!
+     He disappears--a breath that thou dost blow.
+       His heart is ever filled
+       With lust of lies unstilled.
+       Wilt thou bear in mind his crime
+       Unto all time?
+     He fades away like clouds sun-kissed,
+       Dissolves like mist.
+     Then spare him! let him love and mercy win,
+     According to thy grace, and not according to his sin!
+
+
+
+
+TO A DETRACTOR.
+
+
+     The Autumn promised, and he keeps
+     His word unto the meadow-rose.
+     The pure, bright lightnings herald Spring,
+     Serene and glad the fresh earth shows.
+     The rain has quenched her children's thirst,
+     Her cheeks, but now so cold and dry,
+     Are soft and fair, a laughing face;
+     With clouds of purple shines the sky,
+     Though filled with light, yet veiled with haze.
+     Hark! hark! the turtle's mocking note
+     Outsings the valley-pigeon's lays.
+     Her wings are gemmed, and from her throat,
+     When the clear sun gleams back again,
+     It seems to me as though she wore
+     About her neck a jewelled chain.
+     Say, wilt thou darken such a light,
+     Wilt drag the clouds from heaven's height?
+     Although thy heart with anger swell,
+     Yet firm as marble mine doth dwell.
+     Therein no fear thy wrath begets.
+     It is not shaken by thy threats.
+     Yea, hurl thy darts, thy weapons wield,
+     The strength of youth is still my shield.
+     My winged steed toward the heights doth bound,
+     The dust whiffs upward from the ground;
+     My song is scanty, dost thou deem
+     Thine eloquence a mighty stream?
+     Only the blameless offering.
+     Not the profusion man may bring,
+     Prevaileth with our Lord and King.
+     The long days out of minutes grow,
+     And out of months the years arise,
+     Wilt thou be master of the wise,
+     Then learn the hidden stream to know,
+     That from the inmost heart doth flow.
+
+
+
+
+FRAGMENT.
+
+
+     My friend spoke with insinuating tongue:
+       "Drink wine, and thy flesh shall be made whole.  Look how
+        it hisses in the leathern bottle like a captured serpent."
+     Oh fool! can the sun be forged into a cask stopped with
+       earthly bungs.  I know not that the power of wine has ever
+       overmastered my sorrows; for these mighty giants I have found
+       as yet no resting-place.
+
+
+
+
+STANZAS.
+
+
+     "With tears thy grief thou dost bemoan,
+     Tears that would melt the hardest stone,
+     Oh, wherefore sing'st thou not the vine?
+     Why chant'st thou not the praise of wine?
+     It chases pain with cunning art,
+     The craven slinks from out thy heart."
+
+
+     But I: Poor fools the wine may cheat,
+     Lull them with lying visions sweet.
+     Upon the wings of storms may bear
+     The heavy burden of their care.
+     The father's heart may harden so,
+     He feeleth not his own child's woe.
+
+
+     No ocean is the cup, no sea,
+     To drown my broad, deep misery.
+     It grows so rank, you cut it all,
+     The aftermath springs just as tall.
+     My heart and flesh are worn away,
+     Mine eyes are darkened from the day.
+
+
+     The lovely morning-red behold
+     Wave to the breeze her flag of gold.
+     The hosts of stars above the world,
+     Like banners vanishing are furled.
+     The dew shines bright; I bide forlorn,
+     And shudder with the chill of morn.
+
+
+
+
+WINE AND GRIEF.
+
+
+     With heavy groans did I approach my friends,
+     Heavy as though the mountains I would move.
+     The flagon they were murdering; they poured
+     Into the cup, wild-eyed, the grape's red blood.
+     No, they killed not, they breathed new life therein.
+     Then, too, in fiery rapture, burned my veins,
+     But soon the fumes had fled.  In vain, in vain!
+     Ye cannot fill the breach of the rent heart.
+     Ye crave a sensuous joy; ye strive in vain
+     To cheat with flames of passion, my despair.
+     So when the sinking sun draws near to night,
+     The sky's bright cheeks fade 'neath those tresses black.
+     Ye laugh--but silently the soul weeps on;
+     Ye cannot stifle her sincere lament.
+
+
+
+
+
+     DEFIANCE.
+
+
+     "Conquer the gloomy night of thy sorrow, for the morning greets
+          thee with laughter.
+     Rise and clothe thyself with noble pride,
+     Break loose from the tyranny of grief.
+     Thou standest alone among men,
+     Thy song is like a pearl in beauty."
+
+
+     So spake my friend.  'T is well!
+     The billows of the stormy sea which overwhelmed my soul,--
+     These I subdue; I quake not
+     Before the bow and arrow of destiny.
+     I endured with patience when he deceitfully lied to me
+     With his treacherous smile.
+
+
+     Yea, boldly I defy Fate,
+     I cringe not to envious Fortune.
+     I mock the towering floods.
+     My brave heart does not shrink--
+     This heart of mine, that, albeit young in years,
+     Is none the less rich in deep, keen-eyed experience.
+
+
+
+
+              A DEGENERATE AGE.
+
+
+     Where is the man who has been tried and found strong and sound?
+     Where is the friend of reason and of knowledge?
+     I see only sceptics and weaklings.
+     I see only prisoners in the durance of the senses,
+     And every fool and every spendthrift
+     Thinks himself as great a master as Aristotle.
+     Think'st thou that they have written poems?
+     Call'st thou that a Song?
+     I call it the cackling of ravens.
+     The zeal of the prophet must free poesy
+     From the embrace of wanton youths.
+     My song I have inscribed on the forehead of Time,
+     They know and hate it--for it is lofty.
+
+
+
+
+
+     ABUL HASSAN JUDAH BEN HA-LEVI. (Born Between 1080-90.)
+
+
+
+             A LETTER TO HIS FRIEND ISAAC.
+
+
+     But yesterday the earth drank like a child
+       With eager thirst the autumn rain.
+     Or like a wistful bride who waits the hour
+       Of love's mysterious bliss and pain.
+     And now the Spring is here with yearning eyes;
+       Midst shimmering golden flower-beds,
+     On meadows carpeted with varied hues,
+       In richest raiment clad, she treads.
+     She weaves a tapestry of bloom o'er all,
+       And myriad eyed young plants upspring,
+     White, green, or red like lips that to the mouth
+       Of the beloved one sweetly cling.
+     Whence come these radiant tints, these blended beams?
+       Here's such a dazzle, such a blaze,
+     As though each stole the splendor of the stars,
+       Fain to eclipse them with her rays.
+     Come! go we to the garden with our wine,
+       Which scatters sparks of hot desire,
+     Within our hand 't is cold, but in our veins
+       It flashes clear, it glows like fire.
+     It bubbles sunnily in earthen jugs.
+     We catch it in the crystal glass,
+       Then wander through cool, shadowy lanes and breathe
+       The spicy freshness of the grass.
+     Whilst we with happy hearts our circuit keep,
+       The gladness of the Earth is shown.
+     She smileth, though the trickling raindrops weep
+       Silently o'er her, one by one.
+     She loves to feel the tears upon her cheek,
+       Like a rich veil, with pearls inwove.
+     Joyous she listens when the swallows chirp,
+       And warbles to her mate, the dove.
+     Blithe as a maiden midst the young green leaves,
+       A wreath she'll wind, a fragrant treasure;
+     All living things in graceful motion leap,
+       As dancing to some merry measure.
+     The morning breezes rustle cordially,
+       Love's thirst is sated with the balm they send.
+     Sweet breathes the myrtle in the frolic wind,
+       As though remembering a distant friend.
+     The myrtle branch now proudly lifted high,
+       Now whispering to itself drops low again.
+     The topmost palm-leaves rapturously stir,
+       For all at once they hear the birds' soft strain.
+     So stirs, so yearns all nature, gayly decked,
+       To honor ISAAC with her best array.
+     Hear'st thou the word?  She cries--I beam with joy,
+     Because with Isaac I am wed to-day.
+
+
+
+
+
+     ADMONITION.
+
+
+     Long in the lap of childhood didst thou sleep,
+     Think how thy youth like chaff did disappear;
+     Shall life's sweet Spring forever last?  Look up,
+     Old age approaches ominously near.
+     Oh shake thou off the world, even as the bird
+     Shakes off the midnight dew that clogged his wings.
+     Soar upward, seek redemption from thy guilt
+     And from the earthly dross that round thee clings.
+     Draw near to God, His holy angels know,
+     For whom His bounteous streams of mercy flow.
+
+
+
+
+
+     LOVE-SONG.
+
+
+     "See'st thou o'er my shoulders falling,
+       Snake-like ringlets waving free?
+     Have no fear, for they are twisted
+       To allure thee unto me."
+
+
+     Thus she spake, the gentle dove,
+       Listen to thy plighted love:--
+     "Ah, how long I wait, until
+       Sweetheart cometh back (she said)
+     Laying his caressing hand
+       Underneath my burning head."
+
+
+
+
+
+     SEPARATION.
+
+
+     And so we twain must part!  Oh linger yet,
+       Let me still feed my glance upon thine eyes.
+     Forget not, love, the days of our delight,
+       And I our nights of bliss shall ever prize.
+     In dreams thy shadowy image I shall see,
+       Oh even in my dream be kind to me!
+
+
+     Though I were dead, I none the less would hear
+       Thy step, thy garment rustling on the sand.
+     And if thou waft me greetings from the grave,
+       I shall drink deep the breath of that cold land.
+     Take thou my days, command this life of mine,
+       If it can lengthen out the space of thine.
+
+
+     No voice I hear from lips death-pale and chill,
+       Yet deep within my heart it echoes still.
+     My frame remains--my soul to thee yearns forth.
+       A shadow I must tarry still on earth.
+     Back to the body dwelling here in pain,
+       Return, my soul, make haste and come again!
+
+
+
+
+
+     LONGING FOR JERUSALEM.
+
+
+     O city of the world, with sacred splendor blest,
+     My spirit yearns to thee from out the far-off West,
+     A stream of love wells forth when I recall thy day,
+     Now is thy temple waste, thy glory passed away.
+     Had I an eagle's wings, straight would I fly to thee,
+     Moisten thy holy dust with wet cheeks streaming free.
+     Oh, how I long for thee! albeit thy King has gone,
+     Albeit where balm once flowed, the serpent dwells alone.
+     Could I but kiss thy dust, so would I fain expire,
+     As sweet as honey then, my passion, my desire!
+
+
+
+
+
+     ON THE VOYAGE TO JERUSALEM.
+
+
+                        I.
+
+
+     My two-score years and ten are over,
+           Never again shall youth be mine.
+     The years are ready-winged for flying,
+           What crav'st thou still of feast and wine?
+     Wilt thou still court man's acclamation,
+           Forgetting what the Lord hath said?
+     And forfeiting thy weal eternal,
+           By thine own guilty heart misled?
+     Shalt thou have never done with folly,
+           Still fresh and new must it arise?
+     Oh heed it not, heed not the senses,
+           But follow God, be meek and wise;
+     Yea, profit by thy days remaining,
+           They hurry swiftly to the goal.
+     Be zealous in the Lord's high service,
+           And banish falsehood from thy soul.
+     Use all thy strength, use all thy fervor,
+           Defy thine own desires, awaken!
+     Be not afraid when seas are foaming,
+           And earth to her foundations shaken.
+     Benumbed the hand then of the sailor,
+           The captain's skill and power are lamed.
+     Gayly they sailed with colors flying,
+           And now turn home again ashamed.
+     The ocean is our only refuge,
+           The sandbank is our only goal,
+     The masts are swaying as with terror,
+           And quivering does the vessel roll.
+     The mad wind frolics with the billows,
+           Now smooths them low, now lashes high.
+     Now they are storming up like lions,
+           And now like serpents sleek they lie;
+     And wave on wave is ever pressing,
+           They hiss, they whisper, soft of tone.
+     Alack! was that the vessel splitting?
+           Are sail and mast and rudder gone?
+     Here, screams of fright, there, silent weeping,
+           The bravest feels his courage fail.
+     What stead our prudence or our wisdom?
+           The soul itself can naught avail.
+     And each one to his God is crying,
+           Soar up, my soul, to Him aspire,
+     Who wrought a miracle for Jordan,
+           Extol Him, oh angelic choir!
+     Remember Him who stays the tempest,
+           The stormy billows doth control,
+     Who quickeneth the lifeless body,
+           And fills the empty frame with soul.
+     Behold! once more appears a wonder,
+           The angry waves erst raging wild,
+     Like quiet flocks of sheep reposing,
+           So soft, so still, so gently mild.
+     The sun descends, and high in heaven,
+           The golden-circled moon doth stand.
+     Within the sea the stars are straying,
+           Like wanderers in an unknown land.
+     The lights celestial in the waters
+           Are flaming clearly as above,
+     As though the very heavens descended,
+           To seal a covenant of love.
+     Perchance both sea and sky, twin oceans,
+           From the same source of grace are sprung.
+     'Twixt these my heart, a third sea, surges,
+           With songs resounding, clearly sung.
+
+
+
+
+
+     II.
+
+
+     A watery waste the sinful world has grown,
+     With no dry spot whereon the eye can rest,
+     No man, no beast, no bird to gaze upon,
+     Can all be dead, with silent sleep possessed?
+     Oh, how I long the hills and vales to see,
+     To find myself on barren steppes were bliss.
+     I peer about, but nothing greeteth me,
+     Naught save the ship, the clouds, the waves' abyss,
+     The crocodile which rushes from the deeps;
+     The flood foams gray; the whirling waters reel,
+     Now like its prey whereon at last it sweeps,
+     The ocean swallows up the vessel's keel.
+     The billows rage--exult, oh soul of mine,
+     Soon shalt thou enter the Lord's sacred shrine!
+
+
+
+
+
+     III.
+
+
+     TO THE WEST WIND.
+
+
+     O West, how fragrant breathes thy gentle air,
+     Spikenard and aloes on thy pinions glide.
+     Thou blow'st from spicy chambers, not from there
+     Where angry winds and tempests fierce abide.
+     As on a bird's wings thou dost waft me home,
+     Sweet as a bundle of rich myrrh to me.
+     And after thee yearn all the throngs that roam
+     And furrow with light keel the rolling sea.
+     Desert her not--our ship--bide with her oft,
+     When the day sinks and in the morning light.
+     Smooth thou the deeps and make the billows soft,
+     Nor rest save at our goal, the sacred height.
+     Chide thou the East that chafes the raging flood,
+     And swells the towering surges wild and rude.
+     What can I do, the elements' poor slave?
+     Now do they hold me fast, now leave me free;
+     Cling to the Lord, my soul, for He will save,
+     Who caused the mountains and the winds to be.
+
+
+
+
+MOSES BEN ESRA (About 1100).
+
+
+
+     EXTRACTS FROM THE BOOK OF TARSHISH,
+
+     OR "NECKLACE OF PEARLS."
+
+
+
+                           I.
+
+
+     The shadow of the houses leave behind,
+     In the cool boscage of the grove reclined,
+     The wine of friendship from love's goblet drink,
+     And entertain with cheerful speech the mind.
+
+
+     Drink, friend! behold, the dreary winter's gone,
+     The mantle of old age has time withdrawn.
+     The sunbeam glitters in the morning dew,
+     O'er hill and vale youth's bloom is surging on.
+
+
+     Cup-bearer! quench with snow the goblet's fire,
+     Even as the wise man cools and stills his ire.
+     Look, when the jar is drained, upon the brim
+     The light foam melteth with the heart's desire.
+
+
+     Cup-bearer! bring anear the silver bowl,
+     And with the glowing gold fulfil the whole,
+     Unto the weak new vigor it imparts,
+     And without lance subdues the hero's soul.
+
+
+     My love sways, dancing, like the myrtle-tree,
+     The masses of her curls disheveled, see!
+     She kills me with her darts, intoxicates
+     My burning blood, and will not set me free.
+
+
+     Within the aromatic garden come,
+     And slowly in its shadows let us roam,
+     The foliage be the turban for our brows,
+     And the green branches o'er our heads a dome.
+
+
+     All pain thou with the goblet shalt assuage,
+     The wine-cup heals the sharpest pangs that rage,
+     Let others crave inheritance of wealth,
+     Joy be our portion and our heritage.
+
+
+     Drink in the garden, friend, anigh the rose,
+     Richer than spice's breath the soft air blows.
+     If it should cease a little traitor then,
+     A zephyr light its secret would disclose.
+
+
+
+
+
+     II.
+
+
+     Thou who art clothed in silk, who drawest on
+     Proudly thy raiment of fine linen spun,
+     Bethink thee of the day when thou alone
+     Shall dwell at last beneath the marble stone.
+
+
+     Anigh the nests of adders thine abode,
+     With the earth-crawling serpent and the toad.
+     Trust in the Lord, He will sustain thee there,
+     And without fear thy soul shall rest with God.
+
+
+     If the world flatter thee with soft-voiced art,
+     Know 't is a cunning witch who charms thy heart,
+     Whose habit is to wed man's soul with grief,
+     And those who are close-bound in love to part.
+
+
+     He who bestows his wealth upon the poor,
+     Has only lent it to the Lord, be sure--
+     Of what avail to clasp it with clenched hand?
+     It goes not with us to the grave obscure.
+
+
+     The voice of those who dwell within the tomb,
+     Who in corruption's house have made their home;
+     "O ye who wander o'er us still to-day,
+     When will ye come to share with us the gloom?"
+
+
+     How can'st thou ever of the world complain,
+     And murmuring, burden it with all thy pain?
+     Silence! thou art a traveller at an inn,
+     A guest, who may but over night remain.
+
+
+     Be thou not wroth against the proud, but show
+     How he who yesterday great joy did know,
+     To-day is begging for his very bread,
+     And painfully upon a crutch must go.
+
+
+     How foolish they whose faith is fixed upon
+     The treasures of their worldly wealth alone,
+     Far wiser were it to obey the Lord,
+     And only say, "The will of God be done!"
+
+
+     Has Fortune smiled on thee?  Oh do not trust
+     Her reckless joy, she still deceives and must.
+     Perpetual snares she spreads about thy feet,
+     Thou shalt not rest till thou art mixed with dust.
+
+
+     Man is a weaver on the earth, 't is said,
+     Who weaves and weaves--his own days are the thread,
+     And when the length allotted he hath spun,
+     All life is over, and all hope is dead.
+
+
+
+
+IN THE NIGHT.
+
+
+     Unto the house of prayer my spirit yearns,
+     Unto the sources of her being turns,
+     To where the sacred light of heaven burns,
+     She struggles thitherward by day and night.
+
+
+     The splendor of God's glory blinds her eyes,
+     Up without wings she soareth to the skies,
+     With silent aspiration seeks to rise,
+     In dusky evening and in darksome night.
+
+
+     To her the wonders of God's works appear,
+     She longs with fervor Him to draw anear,
+     The tidings of His glory reach her ear,
+     From morn to even, and from night to night.
+
+
+     The banner of thy grace did o'er me rest,
+     Yet was thy worship banished from my breast.
+     Almighty, thou didst seek me out and test
+     To try and to instruct me in the night.
+
+
+     I dare not idly on my pillow lie,
+     With winged feet to the shrine I fain would fly,
+     When chained by leaden slumbers heavily,
+     Men rest in imaged shadows, dreams of night.
+
+
+     Infatuate I trifled youth away,
+     In nothingness dreamed through my manhood's day.
+     Therefore my streaming tears I may not stay,
+     They are my meat and drink by day and night.
+
+
+     In flesh imprisoned is the son of light,
+     This life is but a bridge when seen aright.
+     Rise in the silent hour and pray with might,
+     Awake and call upon thy God by night!
+
+
+     Hasten to cleanse thyself of sin, arise!
+     Follow Truth's path that leads unto the skies,
+     As swift as yesterday existence flies,
+     Brief even as a watch within the night.
+
+
+     Man enters life for trouble; all he has,
+     And all that he beholds, is pain, alas!
+     Like to a flower does he bloom and pass,
+     He fadeth like a vision of the night.
+
+
+     The surging floods of life around him roar,
+     Death feeds upon him, pity is no more,
+     To others all his riches he gives o'er,
+     And dieth in the middle hour of night.
+
+
+     Crushed by the burden of my sins I pray,
+     Oh, wherefore shunned I not the evil way?
+     Deep are my sighs, I weep the livelong day,
+     And wet my couch with tears night after night.
+
+
+     My spirit stirs, my streaming tears still run,
+     Like to the wild birds' notes my sorrows' tone,
+     In the hushed silence loud resounds my groan,
+     My soul arises moaning in the night.
+
+
+     Within her narrow cell oppressed with dread,
+     Bare of adornment and with grief-bowed head
+     Lamenting, many a tear her sad eyes shed,
+     She weeps with anguish in the gloomy night.
+
+
+     For tears my burden seem to lighten best,
+     Could I but weep my heart's blood, I might rest.
+     My spirit bows with mighty grief oppressed,
+     I utter forth my prayer within the night.
+
+
+     Youth's charm has like a fleeting shadow gone,
+     With eagle wings the hours of life have flown.
+     Alas! the time when pleasure I have known,
+     I may not now recall by day or night.
+
+
+     The haughty scorn pursues me of my foe,
+     Evil his thought, yet soft his speech and low.
+     Forget it not, but bear his purpose so
+     Forever in thy mind by day and night.
+
+
+     Observe a pious fast, be whole again,
+     Hasten to purge thy heart of every stain.
+     No more from prayer and penitence refrain,
+     But turn unto thy God by day and night.
+
+
+     HE SPEAKS: "My son, yea, I will send thee aid,
+     Bend thou thy steps to me, be not afraid.
+     No nearer friend than I am, hast thou made,
+     Possess thy soul in patience one more night."
+
+
+
+
+FROM THE "DIVAN."
+
+
+     My thoughts impelled me to the resting-place
+     Where sleep my parents, many a friend and brother.
+     I asked them (no one heard and none replied):
+     "Do ye forsake me, too, oh father, mother?"
+     Then from the grave, without a tongue, these cried,
+     And showed my own place waiting by their side.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE SONG OF ALCHARISI.
+
+
+                                   I.
+
+
+     The long-closed door, oh open it again, send me back once more my
+          fawn that had fled.
+     On the day of our reunion, thou shalt rest by my side, there wilt
+          thou shed over me the streams of thy delicious perfume.
+     Oh beautiful bride, what is the form of thy friend, that thou say
+          to me, Release him, send him away?
+     He is the beautiful-eyed one of ruddy glorious aspect--that is my
+          friend, him do thou detain.
+
+
+
+
+     II.
+
+
+     Hail to thee, Son of my friend, the ruddy, the bright-colored one!
+          Hail to thee whose temples are like a pomegranate.
+     Hasten to the refuge of thy sister, and protect the son of Isaiah
+          against the troops of the Ammonites.
+     What art thou, O Beauty, that thou shouldst inspire love? that thy
+          voice should ring like the voices of the bells upon the priestly
+          garments?
+     The hour wherein thou desireth my love, I shall hasten to meet thee.
+          Softly will I drop beside thee like the dew upon Hermon.
+
+
+
+
+NACHUM.
+
+
+
+     SPRING SONGS.
+
+
+                     I.
+
+
+     Now the dreary winter's over,
+       Fled with him are grief and pain,
+     When the trees their bloom recover,
+       Then the soul is born again.
+     Spikenard blossoms shaking,
+       Perfume all the air,
+     And in bud and flower breaking,
+       Stands my garden fair.
+     While with swelling gladness blest,
+     Heaves my friend's rejoicing breast.
+     Oh, come home, lost friend of mine,
+     Scared from out my tent and land.
+       Drink from me the spicy wine,
+       Milk and must from out my hand.
+
+
+     Cares which hovered round my brow,
+     Vanish, while the garden now
+     Girds itself with myrtle hedges,
+               Bright-hued edges
+               Round it lie.
+                 Suddenly
+     All my sorrows die.
+     See the breathing myrrh-trees blow,
+       Aromatic airs enfold me.
+     While the splendor and the glow
+       Of the walnut-branches hold me.
+
+
+     And a balsam-breath is flowing,
+       Through the leafy shadows green,
+     On the left the cassia's growing,
+       On the right the aloe's seen.
+     Lo, the clear cup crystalline,
+       In itself a gem of art,
+     Ruby-red foams up with wine,
+     Sparkling rich with froth and bubble.
+     I forget the want and trouble,
+               Buried deep within my heart.
+
+
+       Where is he who lingered here,
+         But a little while agone?
+       From my homestead he has flown,
+       From the city sped alone,
+       Dwelling in the forest drear.
+     Oh come again, to those who wait thee long,
+     And who will greet thee with a choral song!
+               Beloved, kindle bright
+       Once more thine everlasting light.
+     Through thee, oh cherub with protecting wings,
+     My glory out of darkness springs.
+
+
+
+
+
+     II.
+
+
+     Crocus and spikenard blossom on my lawn,
+     The brier fades, the thistle is withdrawn.
+     Behold, where glass-clear brooks are flowing,
+     The splendor of the myrtle blowing!
+     The garden-tree has doffed her widow's veil,
+     And shines in festal garb, in verdure pale.
+          The turtle-dove is cooing, hark!
+          Is that the warble of the lark!
+     Unto their perches they return again.
+     Oh brothers, carol forth your joyous strain,
+     Pour out full-throated ecstasy of mirth,
+     Proclaiming the Lord's glory to the earth.
+          One with a low, sweet song,
+          One echoing loud and long,
+     Chanting the music of a spirit strong.
+     In varied tints the landscape glows.
+
+
+     In rich array appears the rose.
+     While the pomegranate's wreath of green,
+     The gauzy red and snow-white blossoms screen.
+     Who loves it, now rejoices for its sake,
+     And those are glad who sleep, and those who wake.
+     When cool-breathed evening visiteth the world,
+     In flower and leaf the beaded dew is pearled,
+          Reviving all that droops at length,
+          And to the languid giving strength.
+
+
+     Now in the east the shining light behold!
+     The sun has oped a lustrous path of gold.
+     Within my narrow garden's greenery,
+     Shot forth a branch, sprang to a splendid tree,
+     Then in mine ear the joyous words did ring,
+     "From Jesse's root a verdant branch shall spring."
+     My Friend has cast His eyes upon my grief,
+     According to His mercy, sends relief.
+     Hark! the redemption hour's resounding stroke,
+     For him who bore with patient heart the yoke!
+
+
+
+
+A TRANSLATION AND TWO IMITATIONS.
+
+
+
+                       I.
+
+
+     DONNA CLARA.
+
+           (From the German of Heine)
+
+
+     In the evening through her garden
+       Wanders the Alcalde's daughter,
+     Festal sounds of drum and trumpet
+       Ring out hither from the Castle.
+
+
+     "I am weary of the dances,
+       Honeyed words of adulation
+     From the knights who still compare me
+       To the sun with dainty phrases.
+
+
+     "Yes, of all things I am weary,
+       Since I first beheld by moonlight
+     Him, my cavalier, whose zither
+       Nightly draws me to my casement.
+
+
+     "As he stands so slim and daring,
+       With his flaming eyes that sparkle,
+     And with nobly pallid features,
+       Truly, he St. George resembles."
+
+
+     Thus went Donna Clara dreaming,
+       On the ground her eyes were fastened.
+     When she raised them, lo! before her
+       Stood the handsome knightly stranger.
+
+
+     Pressing hands and whispering passion,
+       These twain wander in the moonlight,
+     Gently doth the breeze caress them,
+       The enchanted roses greet them.
+
+
+     The enchanted roses greet them,
+       And they glow like Love's own heralds.
+     "Tell me, tell me, my beloved,
+       Wherefore all at once thou blushest?"
+
+
+     "Gnats were stinging me, my darling,
+       And I hate these gnats in summer
+     E'en as though they were a rabble
+       Of vile Jews with long, hooked noses."
+
+
+     "Heed not gnats nor Jews, beloved,"
+       Spake the knight with fond endearments.
+     From the almond-trees dropped downward
+       Myriad snowy flakes of blossoms.
+
+
+     Myriad snowy flakes of blossoms
+       Shed around them fragrant odors.
+     "Tell me, tell me, my beloved,
+       Looks thy heart on me with favor?"
+
+
+     "Yes, I love thee, O my darling,
+       And I swear it by our Saviour,
+     Whom the accursed Jews did murder,
+       Long ago with wicked malice."
+
+
+     "Heed thou neither Jews nor Saviour,"
+       Spake the knight with fond endearments.
+     Far off waved, as in a vision,
+       Gleaming lilies bathed in moonlight.
+
+
+     Gleaming lilies bathed in moonlight
+       Seemed to watch the stars above them.
+     "Tell me, tell me, my beloved,
+       Didst thou not erewhile swear falsely?"
+
+
+     "Naught is false in me, my darling,
+       E'en as in my veins there floweth
+     Not a drop of blood that's Moorish,
+       Neither of foul Jewish current."
+
+
+     "Heed not Moors nor Jews, beloved,"
+       Spake the knight with fond endearments.
+     Then towards a grove of myrtles
+
+       Leads he the Alcalde's daughter.
+
+
+     And with Love's slight subtile meshes,
+       He has trapped her and entangled.
+     Brief their words, but long their kisses,
+       For their hearts are overflowing.
+
+
+     What a melting bridal carol
+       Sings the nightingale, the pure one.
+     How the fire-flies in the grasses
+       Trip their sparkling torchlight dances!
+
+
+     In the grove the silence deepens,
+       Naught is heard save furtive rustling
+     Of the swaying myrtle branches,
+       And the breathing of the flowers.
+
+
+     But the sound of drum and trumpet
+       Burst forth sudden from the castle.
+     Rudely they awaken Clara,
+       Pillowed on her lover's bosom.
+
+
+     "Hark! they summon me, my darling!
+       But before we part, oh tell me,
+     Tell me what thy precious name is,
+       Which so closely thou hast hidden."
+
+
+     Then the knight with gentle laughter,
+       Kissed the fingers of his Donna,
+     Kissed her lips and kissed her forehead,
+       And at last these words he uttered:
+
+
+     "I, Senora, your beloved,
+       Am the son of the respected,
+     Worthy, erudite Grand Rabbi,
+         Israel of Saragossa."
+
+
+
+
+"The ensemble of the romance is a scene of my own life--only the Park of
+Berlin has become the Alcalde's garden, the Baroness a Senora, and
+myself a St. George, or even an Apollo.  This was only to be the first
+part of a trilogy, the second of which shows the hero jeered at by his
+own child, who does not know him, whilst the third discovers this child,
+who has become a Dominican, and is torturing to the death his Jewish
+brethren.  The refrain of these two pieces corresponds with that of the
+first.  Indeed this little poem was not intended to excite laughter,
+still less to denote a mocking spirit.  I merely wished, without any
+definite purpose, to render with epic impartiality in this poem an
+individual circumstance, and, at the same time, something general and
+universal--a moment in the world's history which was distinctly
+reflected in my experience, and I had conceived the whole idea in a
+spirit which was anything rather than smiling but serious and painful,
+so much so, that it was to form the first part of a tragic trilogy."--
+Heine's Correspondence.
+
+Guided by these hints, I have endeavored to carry out in the two
+following original Ballads the Poet's first conception.
+
+Emma Lazarus.
+
+
+
+
+     II.
+
+
+     DON PEDRILLO.
+
+
+     Not a lad in Saragossa
+       Nobler-featured, haughtier-tempered,
+     Than the Alcalde's youthful grandson,
+       Donna Clara's boy Pedrillo.
+
+
+     Handsome as the Prince of Evil,
+       And devout as St. Ignatius.
+     Deft at fence, unmatched with zither,
+       Miniature of knightly virtues.
+
+
+     Truly an unfailing blessing
+       To his pious, widowed mother,
+     To the beautiful, lone matron
+       Who forswore the world to rear him.
+
+
+     For her beauty hath but ripened
+       In such wise as the pomegranate
+     Putteth by her crown of blossoms,
+       For her richer crown of fruitage.
+
+
+     Still her hand is claimed and courted,
+       Still she spurns her proudest suitors,
+     Doting on a phantom passion,
+       And upon her boy Pedrillo.
+
+
+     Like a saint lives Donna Clara,
+       First at matins, last at vespers,
+     Half her fortune she expendeth
+       Buying masses for the needy.
+
+
+     Visiting the poor afflicted,
+       Infinite is her compassion,
+     Scorning not the Moorish beggar,
+       Nor the wretched Jew despising.
+
+
+     And--a scandal to the faithful,
+       E'en she hath been known to welcome
+     To her castle the young Rabbi,
+       Offering to his tribe her bounty.
+
+
+     Rarely hath he crossed the threshold,
+       Yet the thought that he hath crossed it,
+     Burns like poison in the marrow
+       Of the zealous youth Pedrillo.
+
+
+     By the blessed Saint Iago,
+       He hath vowed immortal hatred
+     To these circumcised intruders
+       Who pollute the soil of Spaniards.
+
+
+     Seated in his mother's garden,
+       At high noon the boy Pedrillo
+     Playeth with his favorite parrot,
+       Golden-green with streaks of scarlet.
+
+
+     "Pretty Dodo, speak thy lesson,"
+       Coaxed Pedrillo--"thief and traitor"--
+     "Thief and traitor"--croaked the parrot,
+       "Is the yellow-skirted Rabbi."
+
+
+     And the boy with peals of laughter,
+       Stroked his favorite's head of emerald,
+     Raised his eyes, and lo! before him
+       Stood the yellow-skirted Rabbi.
+
+
+     In his dark eyes gleamed no anger,
+       No hot flush o'erspread his features.
+     'Neath his beard his pale lips quivered,
+       And a shadow crossed his forehead.
+
+
+     Very gentle was his aspect,
+       And his voice was mild and friendly,
+     "Evil words, my son, thou speakest,
+       Teaching to the fowls of heaven.
+
+
+     "In our Talmud it stands written,
+       Thrice curst is the tongue of slander,
+     Poisoning also with its victim,
+       Him who speaks and him who listens."
+
+
+     But no whit abashed, Pedrillo,
+       "What care I for curse of Talmud?
+     'T is no slander to speak evil
+       Of the murderers of our Saviour.
+
+
+     "To your beard I will repeat it,
+       That I only bide my manhood,
+     To wreak all my lawful hatred,
+       On thyself and on thy people."
+
+
+     Very gently spoke the Rabbi,
+       "Have a care, my son Pedrillo,
+     Thou art orphaned, and who knoweth
+       But thy father loved this people?"
+
+
+     "Think you words like these will touch me?
+       Such I laugh to scorn, sir Rabbi,
+     From high heaven, my sainted father
+       On my deeds will smile in blessing.
+
+
+     "Loyal knight was he and noble,
+       And my mother oft assures me,
+     Ne'er she saw so pure a Christian,
+       'T is from him my zeal deriveth."
+
+
+     "What if he were such another
+       As myself who stand before thee?"
+     "I should curse the hour that bore me,
+       I should die of shame and horror."
+
+
+     "Harsher is thy creed than ours;
+       For had I a son as comely
+     As Pedrillo, I would love him,
+       Love him were he thrice a Christian.
+
+
+     "In his youth my youth renewing
+       Pamper, fondle, die to serve him,
+     Only breathing through his spirit--
+       Couldst thou not love such a father?"
+
+
+     Faltering spoke the deep-voiced Rabbi,
+       With white lips and twitching fingers,
+     Then in clear, young, steady treble,
+       Answered him the boy Pedrillo:
+
+
+     "At the thought my heart revolteth,
+       All your tribe offend my senses,
+     They're an eyesore to my vision,
+       And a stench unto my nostrils.
+
+
+     "When I meet these unbelievers,
+       With thick lips and eagle noses,
+     Thus I scorn them, thus revile them,
+       Thus I spit upon their garment."
+
+
+     And the haughty youth passed onward,
+       Bearing on his wrist his parrot,
+     And the yellow-skirted Rabbi
+       With bowed head sought Donna Clara.
+
+
+
+
+
+     III.
+
+
+     FRA PEDRO.
+
+
+     Golden lights and lengthening shadows,
+       Flings the splendid sun declining,
+     O'er the monastery garden
+       Rich in flower, fruit and foliage.
+
+
+     Through the avenue of nut trees,
+       Pace two grave and ghostly friars,
+     Snowy white their gowns and girdles,
+       Black as night their cowls and mantles.
+
+
+     Lithe and ferret-eyed the younger,
+       Black his scapular denoting
+     A lay brother; his companion
+       Large, imperious, towers above him.
+
+
+     'T is the abbot, great Fra Pedro,
+       Famous through all Saragossa
+     For his quenchless zeal in crushing
+       Heresy amidst his townfolk.
+
+
+     Handsome still with hood and tonsure,
+       E'en as when the boy Pedrillo,
+     Insolent with youth and beauty,
+       Who reviled the gentle Rabbi.
+
+
+     Lo, the level sun strikes sparkles
+       From his dark eyes brightly flashing.
+     Stern his voice: "These too shall perish.
+       I have vowed extermination.
+
+
+     "Tell not me of skill or virtue,
+       Filial love or woman's beauty--
+     Jews are Jews, as serpents serpents,
+       In themselves abomination."
+
+
+     Earnestly the other pleaded,
+       "If my zeal, thrice reverend master,
+     E'er afforded thee assistance,
+       Serving thee as flesh serves spirit,
+
+
+     "Hounding, scourging, flaying, burning,
+       Casting into chains or exile,
+     At thy bidding these vile wretches,
+       Hear and heed me now, my master.
+
+
+     "These be nowise like their brethren,
+       Ben Jehudah is accounted
+     Saragossa's first physician,
+       Loved by colleague as by patient.
+
+
+     "And his daughter Donna Zara
+       Is our city's pearl of beauty,
+     Like the clusters of the vineyard
+       Droop the ringlets o'er her temples.
+
+
+     "Like the moon in starry heavens
+       Shines her face among her people,
+     And her form hath all the languor,
+       Grace and glamour of the palm-tree.
+
+
+     "Well thou knowest, thrice reverend master,
+       This is not their first affliction,
+     Was it not our Holy Office
+       Whose bribed menials fired their dwelling?
+
+
+     "Ere dawn broke, the smoke ascended,
+       Choked the stairways, filled the chambers,
+     Waked the household to the terror
+       Of the flaming death that threatened.
+
+
+     "Then the poor bed-ridden mother
+       Knew her hour had come; two daughters,
+     Twinned in form, and mind, and spirit,
+       And their father--who would save them?
+
+
+     "Towards her door sprang Ben Jehudah,
+       Donna Zara flew behind him
+     Round his neck her white arms wreathing,
+       Drew him from the burning chamber.
+
+
+     "There within, her sister Zillah
+       Stirred no limb to shun her torture,
+     Held her mother's hand and kissed her,
+       Saying, 'We will go together.'
+
+
+     "This the outer throng could witness,
+       As the flames enwound the dwelling,
+     Like a glory they illumined
+       Awfully the martyred daughter.
+
+
+     "Closer, fiercer, round they gathered,
+       Not a natural cry escaped her,
+     Helpless clung to her her mother,
+       Hand in hand they went together.
+
+
+     "Since that 'Act of Faith' three winters
+       Have rolled by, yet on the forehead
+     Of Jehudah is imprinted
+       Still the horror of that morning.
+
+     "Saragossa hath respected
+       His false creed; a man of sorrows,
+     He hath walked secure among us,
+       And his art repays our sufferance."
+
+
+     Thus he spoke and ceased.  The Abbot
+       Lent him an impatient hearing,
+     Then outbroke with angry accent,
+       "We have borne three years, thou sayest?
+
+
+     "'T is enough; my vow is sacred.
+       These shall perish with their brethren.
+     Hark ye!  In my veins' pure current
+       Were a single drop found Jewish,
+
+
+     "I would shrink not from outpouring
+       All my life blood, but to purge it.
+     Shall I gentler prove to others?
+       Mercy would be sacrilegious.
+
+
+     "Ne'er again at thy soul's peril,
+       Speak to me of Jewish beauty,
+     Jewish skill, or Jewish virtue.
+       I have said.  Do thou remember."
+
+
+     Down behind the purple hillside
+       Dropped the sun; above the garden
+     Rang the Angelus' clear cadence
+       Summoning the monks to vespers.
+
+
+
+
+TRANSLATIONS FROM PETRARCH.
+
+
+
+
+     IN VITA. LXVII.
+
+
+     Since thou and I have proven many a time
+     That all our hope betrays us and deceives,
+     To that consummate good which never grieves
+     Uplift thy heart, towards a happier clime.
+     This life is like a field of flowering thyme,
+     Amidst the herbs and grass the serpent lives;
+     If aught unto the sight brief pleasure gives,
+     'T is but to snare the soul with treacherous lime.
+     So, wouldst thou keep thy spirit free from cloud,
+     A tranquil habit to thy latest day,
+     Follow the few, and not the vulgar crowd.
+     Yet mayest thou urge, "Brother, the very way
+     Thou showest us, wherefrom thy footsteps proud
+     (And never more than now) so oft did stray."
+
+
+
+
+     IN VITA. LXXVI.
+
+
+     Sennuccio, I would have thee know the shame
+     That's dealt to me, and what a life is mine.
+     Even as of yore, I struggle, burn and pine.
+     Laura transports me, I am still the same.
+     All meekness here, all pride she there became,
+     Now harsh, now kind, now cruel, now benign;
+     Here honor clothed her, there a grace divine;
+     Now gentle, now disdainful of my flame.
+     Here sweetly did she sing; there sat awhile;
+     There she turned back, she lingered in this spot.
+     Here with her splendid eyes my heart she clove.
+     She uttered there a word, and here did smile.
+     Here she changed color.  Ah, in such fond thought,
+     Holds me by day and night, our master Love.
+
+
+
+
+
+     IN VITA. CV.
+
+
+     I saw on earth angelic graces beam,
+       Celestial beauty in our world below,
+     Whose mere remembrance thrills with grief and woe;
+     All I see now seems shadow, smoke and dream.
+       I saw in those twin-lights the tear-drops gleam,
+     Those lights that made the sun with envy glow,
+     And from those lips such sighs and words did flow,
+     As made revolve the hills, stand still the stream.
+     Love, courage, wit, pity and pain in one,
+       Wept in more dulcet and harmonious strain,
+     Than any other that the world has known.
+       So rapt was heaven in the dear refrain,
+     That not a leaf upon the branch was blown,
+       Such utter sweetness filled the aerial plain.
+
+
+
+
+
+     IN VITA. CIX.
+
+
+     The God of Love and I in wonder stared,
+     (Ne'er having gazed on miracles ere now,)
+     Upon my lady's smiling lips and brow,
+     Who only with herself may be compared.
+     Neath the calm beauty of her forehead bared,
+     Those twin stars of my love did burn and flow,
+     No lesser lamps again the path might show
+     To the proud lover who by these had fared.
+     Oh miracle, when on the grass at rest,
+     Herself a flower, she would clasp and hold
+     A leafy branch against her snow-white breast.
+     What joy to see her, in the autumn cold,
+     Wander alone, with maiden thoughts possess'd,
+     Weaving a garland of dry, crispy gold!
+
+
+
+
+IN MORTE. II. ON THE DEATH OF CARDINAL
+
+     COLONNA AND LAURA.
+
+
+     The noble Column, the green Laurel-tree
+     Are fall'n, that shaded once my weary mind.
+     Now I have lost what I shall never find,
+     From North to South, from Red to Indian Sea.
+     My double treasure Death has filched from me,
+     Which made me proud and happy midst my kind.
+     Nor may all empires of the world combined,
+     Nor Orient gems, nor gold restore the key.
+     But if this be according to Fate's will,
+     What may I do, but wander heavy-souled,
+     With ever downcast head, eyes weeping still?
+     O life of ours, so lovely to behold,
+     In one brief morn how easily dost thou spill
+     That which we toiled for years to gain and hold!
+
+
+
+
+
+     IN MORTE. XLIII.
+
+
+     Yon nightingale who mourns so plaintively
+     Perchance his fledglings or his darling mate,
+     Fills sky and earth with sweetness, warbling late,
+     Prophetic notes of melting melody.
+     All night, he, as it were, companions me,
+     Reminding me of my so cruel fate,
+     Mourning no other grief save mine own state,
+     Who knew not Death reigned o'er divinity.
+     How easy 't is to dupe the soul secure!
+     Those two fair lamps, even than the sun more bright,
+     Who ever dreamed to see turn clay obscure?
+     But Fortune has ordained, I now am sure,
+     That I, midst lifelong tears, should learn aright,
+     Naught here can make us happy, or endure.
+
+
+
+
+
+     IN VITA. CANZONE XI.
+
+
+     O waters fresh and sweet and clear,
+       Where bathed her lovely frame,
+         Who seems the only lady unto me;
+     O gentle branch and dear,
+       (Sighing I speak thy name,)
+         Thou column for her shapely thighs, her supple knee;
+     O grass, O flowers, which she
+       Swept with her gown that veiled
+     The angelic breast unseen;
+       O sacred air serene,
+     Whence the divine-eyed Love my heart assailed,
+       By all of ye be heard
+     This my supreme lament, my dying word.
+
+
+           Oh, if it be my fate
+           (As Heaven shall so decree)
+     That Love shall close for me my weeping eyes,
+           Some courteous friend I supplicate
+           Midst these to bury me,
+     Whilst my enfranchised spirit homeward flies;
+           Less dreadful death shall rise,
+     If I may bear this hope
+           To that mysterious goal.
+     For ne'er did weary soul
+     Find a more restful spot in all Earth's scope,
+     Nor in a grave more tranquil could win free
+     From outworn flesh and weary limbs to flee.
+
+
+           Perchance the time shall be
+           When to my place of rest,
+     With milder grace my wild fawn shall return
+           Here where she looked on me
+           Upon that day thrice blest:
+     Then she shall bend her radiant eyes that yearn
+     In search of me, and (piteous sight!) shall learn
+     That I, amidst the stones, am clay.
+     May love inspire her in such wise,
+     With gentlest breath of sighs,
+     That I, a stony corpse, shall hear her pray,
+          And force the very skies,
+     That I may wipe the tears from her dear eyes.
+
+
+     From the fair boughs descended
+          (Thrice precious memory!)
+     Upon her lap a shower of fragrant bloom
+          Amidst that glory splendid,
+          Humbly reposed she,
+     Attired as with an aureole's golden gloom.
+     Some blossoms edged her skirt, and some
+          Fell on her yellow curls,
+     Like burnished gold and pearls,
+          Even so they looked to me upon that day.
+     Some on the ground, some on the river lay,
+          Some lightly fluttering above,
+     Encircling her, seemed whispering: "Here reigns Love."
+
+
+             How many times I cried,
+          As holy fear o'ercame,
+     "Surely this creature sprang from Paradise,"
+       Forgetting all beside
+          Her goddess mien, her frame,
+     Her face, her words, her lovely smile, her eyes.
+          All these did so devise
+     To win me from the truth, alas!
+          That I did say and sigh,
+     "How came I hither, when and why?"
+     Deeming myself in heaven, not where I was.
+          Henceforth this grassy spot
+     I love so much, peace elsewhere find I not.
+          My Song, wert thou adorned to thy desire,
+          Thou couldst go boldly forth
+     And wander from my lips o'er all the earth.
+
+
+
+
+
+     FRAGMENT. CANZONE XII. 5.
+
+
+     I never see, after nocturnal rain,
+     The wandering stars move through the air serene,
+     And flame forth 'twixt the dew-fall and the rime,
+     But I behold her radiant eyes wherein
+     My weary spirit findeth rest from pain;
+     As dimmed by her rich veil, I saw her the first time;
+     The very heaven beamed with the light sublime
+     Of their celestial beauty; dewy-wet
+     Still do they shine, and I am burning yet.
+     Now if the rising sun I see,
+     I feel the light that hath enamored me.
+     Or if he sets, I follow him, when he
+     Bears elsewhere his eternal light,
+     Leaving behind the shadowy waves of night.
+
+
+
+
+
+     FRAGMENT. TRIONFO D' AMORE.
+
+
+     I know how well Love shoots, how swift his flight,
+     How now by force and now by stealth he steals,
+     How he will threaten now, anon will smite,
+     And how unstable are his chariot wheels.
+     How doubtful are his hopes, how sure his pain,
+     And how his faithful promise he repeals.
+     How in one's marrow, in one's vital vein,
+     His smouldering fire quickens a hidden wound,
+     Where death is manifest, destruction plain.
+     In sum, how erring, fickle and unsound,
+     How timid and how bold are lovers' days,
+     Where with scant sweetness bitter draughts abound.
+     I know their songs, their sighs, their usual ways,
+     Their broken speech, their sudden silences.
+     Their passing laughter and their grief that stays,
+     I know how mixed with gall their honey is.
+
+
+
+
+
+     FRAGMENT.
+     TRIONFO DELLA MORTE.
+
+
+     Now since nor grief nor fear was longer there,
+     Each thought on her fair face was clear to see,
+     Composed into the calmness of despair--
+     Not like a flame extinguished violently,
+     But one consuming of its proper light.
+     Even so, in peace, serene of soul, passed she.
+     Even as a lamp, so lucid, softly-bright,
+     Whose sustenance doth fail by slow degrees,
+     Wearing unto the end, its wonted plight.
+     Not pale, but whiter than the snow one sees
+     Flaking a hillside through the windless air.
+     Like one o'erwearied, she reposed in peace
+     As 't were a sweet sleep filled each lovely eye,
+     The soul already having fled from there.
+     And this is what dull fools have named to die.
+     Upon her fair face death itself seemed fair.
+
+
+
+
+TRANSLATIONS FROM ALFRED DE MUSSET.
+
+
+     THE MAY NIGHT.
+
+
+     MUSE.
+     Give me a kiss, my poet, take thy lyre;
+     The buds are bursting on the wild sweet-briar.
+     To-night the Spring is born--the breeze takes fire.
+     Expectant of the dawn behold the thrush,
+     Perched on the fresh branch of the first green bush;
+     Give me a kiss, my poet, take thy lyre.
+
+
+     POET.
+          How black it looks within the vale!
+          I thought a muffled form did sail
+          Above the tree-tops, through the air.
+          It seemed from yonder field to pass,
+          Its foot just grazed the tender grass;
+          A vision strange and fair it was.
+          It melts and is no longer there.
+
+
+     MUSE.
+     My poet, take thy lyre; upon the lawn
+     Night rocks the zephyr on her veiled, soft breast.
+     The rose, still virgin, holds herself withdrawn
+     From the winged, irised wasp with love possessed.
+     Hark, all is hushed.  Now of thy sweetheart dream;
+     To-day the sunset, with a lingering beam,
+     Caressed the dusky-foliaged linden-grove.
+     All things shall bloom to-night; great Nature thrills,
+     Her couch with perfume, passion, sighs, she fills,
+     Like to the nuptial bed of youthful love.
+
+
+     POET.
+          Why throbs my heart so fast, so low?
+          What sets my seething blood aglow,
+          And fills my sense with vague affright?
+          Who raps upon my chamber-door?
+          My lamp's spent ray upon the floor,
+          Why does it dazzle me with light?
+          Great God! my limbs sink under me!
+          Who enters? who is calling? none!
+          The clock strikes--I am all alone--
+     ÊÊÊÊÊO solitude!  O poverty!
+
+
+     MUSE.
+     My poet, take thy lyre.  Youth's living wine
+     Ferments to-night within the veins divine.
+     My breast is troubled, stifling with desire,
+     The panting breeze has set my lips afire;
+     O listless child, behold me, I am fair!
+     Our first embrace dost thou so soon forget?
+     How pale thou wast, when my wing grazed thy hair.
+     Into mine arms thou fell'st, with eyelids wet!
+     Oh, in thy bitter grief, I solaced thee,
+     Dying of love, thy youthful strength outworn.
+     Now I shall die of hope--oh comfort me!
+     I need thy prayers to live until the morn.
+
+
+     POET.
+          Is it thy voice my spirit knows,
+          O darling Muse!  And canst thou be
+          My own immortal one? my rose,
+          Sole pure and faithful heart where glows
+          A lingering spark of love for me?
+          Yes, it is thou, with tresses bright,
+          'T is thou, my sister and my bride.
+          I feel amidst the shadowy night,
+          From thy gold gown the rays of light
+          Within my heart's recesses glide.
+
+
+     MUSE.
+     My poet, take thy lyre.  'T is I, undying,
+     Who seeing thee to-night so sad and dumb,
+     Like to the mother-bird whose brood is crying,
+     From utmost heaven to weep with thee have come.
+     My friend, thou sufferest; a secret woe
+     Gnaws at thy life, thou sighest in the night.
+     Love visits thee, such love as mortals know,
+     Shadow of gladness, semblance of delight.
+     Rise, sing to God the thoughts that fill thy brain,
+     Thy buried pleasures and thy long-past pain.
+     Come, with a kiss, where unknown regions gleam,
+     Awake the mingling echoes of thy days,
+     Sing of thy folly, glory, joy and praise,
+     Be all an unpremeditated dream!
+     Let us invent a realm where one forgets,
+     Come, we are all alone, the world is ours.
+     Green Scotland tawny Italy offsets;
+     Lo, Greece my mother, with her honeyed flowers,
+     Argos and Pteleon with its shrines and groves,
+     Celestial Messa populous with doves;
+     And Pelion with his shaggy, changing brow,
+     Blue Titaresus, and the gulf of steel,
+     Whose waves that glass the floating swan, reveal
+     Snowy Camyre to Oloossone's snow.
+     Tell me what golden dreams shall charm our sleep,
+     Whence shall be drawn the tears that we shall weep?
+     This morning when thy lids were touched with light,
+     What pensive seraph, bending kindly near,
+     Dropped lilacs from his airy robe of white,
+     And whispered beams of love within thine ear?
+     Say, shall we sing of sadness, joy or hope?
+     Or bathe in blood the settled, steel-clad ranks?
+     See lovers mount the ladder's silken rope?
+     Or fleck the wind with coursers' foaming flanks?
+     Or shall we tell whose hand the lamps above,
+     In the celestial mansions, year by year,
+     Kindles with sacred oil of life and love?
+     With Tarquin shall we cry, "Come, night is here!"
+     Or shall we dive for pearls beneath the seas,
+     Or find the wild goats by the alpine trees?
+     Bid melancholy gaze upon the skies?
+     Follow the huntsman on the upland lawns?
+     The roe uplifts her tearful, suppliant eyes,
+     Her heath awaits her, and her suckling fawns;
+     He stoops, he slaughters her, he flings her heart
+     Still warm amidst his panting hounds apart.
+     Or shall we paint a maid with vermeil cheek,
+     Who, with her page behind, to vespers fares,
+     Beside her mother, dreamy-eyed and meek,
+     And on her half-oped lips forgets her prayers,
+     Trembles midst echoing columns, hearkening
+     To hear her bold knight's clanging spurs outring.
+     Or shall we bid the heroes of old France
+     Scale full equipped the battlemented wall,
+     And so revive the simple-strained romance
+     Their fame inspired our troubadours withal?
+     Or shall we clothe soft elegies in white?
+     Or bid the man of Waterloo recite
+     His story, and the crop mown by his art,
+     Or ere the herald of eternal night
+     On his green mound with fatal wing did smite
+     And cross his hands above his iron heart?
+     Or shall we gibbet on some satire here
+     The name thrice-bought of some pale pamphleteer,
+     Who, hunger-goaded, from his haunts obscure,
+     Dared, quivering with impotence and spite,
+     Insult the hope on Genius' brow of light,
+     And gnaw the wreath his breath had made impure?
+     The lyre! the lyre!  I can be still no more.
+     Upon the breath of spring my pinions fly.
+     The air supports me--from the earth I soar,
+     Thou weepest--God has heard--the hour is nigh!
+
+
+     POET.
+          Dear sister, if thou ask but this,
+          From friendly lips a gentle kiss,
+          Or one soft tear from kindly eyes,
+          These will I gladly give to thee.
+          Our love remember tenderly,
+          If thou remountest to the skies.
+          No longer I of hope shall sing,
+          Of fame or joy, of love or art,
+          Alas, not even of suffering,
+          My lips are locked--I lean and cling,
+          To hear the whisper of my heart.
+
+
+     MUSE.
+     What! am I like the autumn breeze for you,
+     Which feeds on tears even to the very grave,
+     For whom all grief is but a drop of dew?
+     O poet, but one kiss--'t was I who gave.
+     The weed I fain would root from out this sod
+     Is thine own sloth--thy grief belongs to God.
+     Whatever sorrow thy young heart have found,
+     Open it well, this ever-sacred wound
+     Dealt by dark angels--give thy soul relief.
+     Naught makes us nobler than a noble grief.
+     Yet deem not, poet, though this pain have come,
+     That therefore, here below, thou mayst be dumb.
+     Best are the songs most desperate in their woe--
+     Immortal ones, which are pure sobs I know.
+     When the wave-weary pelican once more,
+     Midst evening-vapors, gains his nest of reeds,
+     His famished brood run forward on the shore
+     To see where high above the surge he speeds.
+     As though even now their prey they could destroy,
+     They hasten to their sire with screams of joy,
+     On swollen necks wagging their beaks, they cry;
+     He slowly wins at last a lofty rock,
+     Shelters beneath his drooping wing his flock,
+     And, a sad fisher, gazes on the sky.
+     Adown his open breast the blood flows there;
+     Vainly he searched the ocean's deepest part,
+     The sea was empty and the shore was bare,
+     And for all nourishment he brings his heart.
+     Sad, silent, on the stone, he gives his brood
+     His father-entrails and his father-blood,
+     Lulls with his love sublime his cruel pain,
+     And, watching on his breast the ruddy stain,
+     Swoons at the fatal banquet from excess
+     Of horror and voluptuous tenderness.
+     Sudden amidst the sacrifice divine,
+     Outworn with such protracted suffering,
+     He fears his flock may let him live and pine;
+     Then up he starts, expands his mighty wing,
+     Beating his heart, and with a savage cry
+     Bids a farewell of such funereal tone
+     That the scared seabirds from their rock-nests fly,
+     And the late traveller on the beach alone
+     Commends his soul to God--for death floats by.
+     Even such, O poet, is the poet's fate.
+     His life sustains the creatures of a day.
+     The banquets served upon his feasts of state
+     Are like the pelican's--sublime as they.
+     And when he tells the world of hopes betrayed,
+     Forgetfulness and grief, of love and hate,
+     His music does not make the heart dilate,
+     His eloquence is as an unsheathed blade,
+     Tracing a glittering circle in mid-air,
+     While blood drips from the edges keen and bare.
+
+
+     POET.
+       O Muse, insatiate soul, demand
+         No more than lies in human power.
+       Man writes no word upon the sand
+         Even at the furious whirlwind's hour.
+       There was a time when joyous youth
+         Forever fluttered at my mouth,
+       A merry, singing bird, just freed.
+         Strange martyrdom has since been mine,
+       Should I revive its slightest sign,
+         At the first note, my lyre and thine
+       Would snap asunder like a reed.
+
+
+
+
+
+     THE OCTOBER NIGHT.
+
+
+     POET.
+     My haunting grief has vanished like a dream,
+       Its floating fading memory seems one
+     With those frail mists born of the dawn's first beam,
+       Dissolving as the dew melts in the sun.
+
+
+     MUSE.
+          What ailed thee then, O poet mine;
+          What secret misery was thine,
+          Which set a bar 'twixt thee and me?
+          Alas, I suffer from it still;
+          What was this grief, this unknown ill,
+          Which I have wept so bitterly?
+
+
+     POET.
+     'T was but a common grief, well known of men.
+       But, look you, when our heavy heart is sore,
+     Fond wretches that we are! we fancy then
+       That sorrow never has been felt before.
+
+
+     MUSE.
+          There cannot be a common grief,
+            Save that of common souls; my friend,
+          Speak out, and give thy heart relief,
+            Of this grim secret make an end.
+          Confide in me, and have no fear.
+          The God of silence, pale, austere,
+            Is younger brother unto death.
+          Even as we mourn we're comforted,
+          And oft a single word is said
+          Which from remorse delivereth.
+
+
+     POET.
+     If I were bound this day to tell my woe,
+       I know not by what name to call my pain,
+     Love, folly, pride, experience--neither know
+       If one in all the world might thereby gain.
+     Yet ne'ertheless I'll voice the tale to thee,
+     Alone here by the hearth.  But do thou take
+     This lyre--come nearer--so; my memory
+     Shall gently with the harmonies awake.
+
+
+     MUSE.
+          But first, or ere thy grief thou say,
+            My poet, art thou healed thereof?
+          Bethink thee, thou must speak to-day,
+            As free from hatred as from love.
+          For man has given the holy name
+              Of consolation unto me.
+          Make me no partner of thy shame,
+          In passions that have ruined thee.
+
+
+     POET.
+     Of my old wounds I am so sound and whole,
+       Almost I doubt they were, nor find their trace;
+     And in the passes where I risked my soul,
+       In mine own stead I see a stranger's face.
+     Muse, have no fear, we both may yield awhile
+       To this first inspiration of regret.
+     Oh, it is good to weep, 't is good to smile,
+       Remembering sorrows we might else forget.
+
+
+     MUSE.
+          As the watchful mother stoops
+            O'er her infant's cradled rest,
+          So my trembling spirit droops
+            O'er this long-closed, silent breast.
+          Speak!  I touch the lyre's sweet strings,
+            Feebly, plaintively it sings,
+          With thy voice set free at last.
+            While athwart a radiant beam,
+          Like a light, enchanted dream,
+            Float the shadows of the past.
+
+
+     POET.
+     My days of work! sole days whereon I lived!
+         O thrice-beloved solitude!
+     Now God be praised, once more I have arrived
+         In this old study bare and rude.
+     These oft-deserted walls, this shabby den,
+         My faithful lamp, my dusty chair,
+     My palace, my small world I greet again,
+         My Muse, immortal, young and fair.
+     Thank God! we twain may sing here side by side,
+         I will reveal to thee my thought.
+     Thou shalt know all, to thee I will confide
+         The evil by a woman wrought.
+     A woman, yes! (mayhap, poor friends, ye guess,
+         Or ever I have said the word!)
+     To such a one my soul was bound, no less
+         Than is the vassal to his lord.
+     Detested yoke! within me to destroy
+         The vigor and the bloom of youth!
+     Yet only through my love I caught, in sooth,
+         A fleeting glimpse of joy.
+     When by the brook, beneath the evening-star,
+         On silver sands we twain would stray,
+     The white wraith of the aspen tree afar
+         Pointed for us the dusky way.
+     Once more within the moonlight do I see
+         That fair form sink upon my breast;
+     No more of that!  Alas, I never guessed
+         Whither my fate was leading me.
+     The angry gods some victim craved, I fear,
+         At that ill-omened time,
+     Since they have punished me as for a crime,
+         For trying to be happy here!
+
+
+     MUSE.
+          A vision of remembered joy
+            Reveals itself to thee once more;
+          Why fearest thou to live it o'er,
+            Retracing it without annoy?
+          Wouldst thou confide the truth to me,
+            And yet those golden days disprove?
+          If fate has been unkind to thee,
+            Do thou no less, my friend, than she,
+          And smile upon thine early love.
+
+
+     POET.
+     Rather I dare to smile upon my woe.
+       Muse, I have said it, I would fain review
+     My crosses, visions, frenzy,--calmly show
+       The hour, place, circumstance, in order due.
+     'T was an autumnal evening, I recall,
+       Chill, gloomy; this one brings it back again.
+     The murmuring wind's monotonous rise and fall
+       Lulled sombre care within my weary brain.
+     I waited at the casement for my love,
+       And listening in the darkness black as death,
+     Such melancholy did my spirit move
+       That all at once I doubted of her faith.
+     The street wherein I dwelt was lonely, poor,
+       Lantern in hand, at times, a shade passed by,
+     When the gale whistled through the half-oped door.
+       One seemed to hear afar a human sigh.
+     I know not to what omen, sooth to say,
+       My superstitious spirit fell a prey.
+     Vainly I summoned courage--coward-like
+       I shuddered when the clock began to strike.
+     She did not come!  Alone, with downcast head,
+       I stared at street and walls like one possessed.
+     How may I tell the insensate passion bred
+       By that inconstant woman in my breast!
+     I loved but her in all the world.  One day
+       Apart from her seemed worse than death to me.
+     Yet I remember how I did essay
+       That cruel night to snap my chain, go free.
+     I named her traitress, serpent, o'er and o'er,
+       Recalled the anguish suffered for her sake,
+     Alas! her fatal beauty rose once more,
+       What grief, what torture in my heart to wake!
+     At last morn broke; with waiting vain outworn,
+       I fell asleep against the casement there.
+     I oped my lids upon the day new born,
+       My dazzled glance swam in the radiant air.
+     Then on the outer staircase, suddenly,
+       I heard soft steps ascend the narrow flight.
+     Save me, Great God!  I see her--it is she!
+       Whence com'st thou? speak, where hast thou been this night?
+     What dost thou seek? who brings thee here thus late?
+       Where has this lovely form reclined till day,
+     While I alone must watch and weep and wait?
+       Where, and on whom hast thou been smiling, say!
+     Out, insolent traitress! canst thou come accurst,
+       And offer to my kiss thy lips' ripe charms?
+     What cravest thou?  By what unhallowed thirst
+       Darest thou allure me to thy jaded arms?
+     Avaunt, begone! ghost of my mistress dead,
+       Back to thy grave! avoid the morning's beam!
+     Be my lost youth no more remembered!
+      And when I think of thee, I'll know it was a dream!
+
+
+     MUSE.
+          Be calm!  I beg thee, I implore!
+            I shudder, hearing of thy pain.
+          O dearest friend, thy wound once more
+            Is opening to bleed again.
+          Is it so very deep, alas!
+          How slowly do the traces pass
+          Of this world's troubles!  Thou, my son,
+          Forget her! let thy memory shun
+          Even to this woman's very name,
+          My pitying lips refuse to frame.
+
+
+     POET.
+          Shame upon her, who first
+            Treason and falsehood taught!
+          With grief and wrath accurst,
+            Who set my brain distraught.
+          Shame, woman baleful-eyed,
+            Whose fatal love entombed
+          In shadows of thy pride
+            My April ere it bloomed.
+          It was thy voice, thy smile,
+            Thy poisoned glances bright,
+          Which taught me to revile
+            The semblance of delight.
+          Thy grace of girlish years
+            Murdered my peace, my sleep.
+          If I lose faith in tears,
+            'T is that I saw thee weep.
+          I yielded to thy power
+            A child's simplicity.
+          As to the dawn the flower,
+            So oped my heart to thee.
+          Doubtless this helpless heart
+            Was thine without defence.
+          Were 't not the better part
+            To spare its innocence?
+          Shame! thou who didst beget
+            My earliest, youngest woe.
+          The tears are streaming yet
+            Which first thou madest flow.
+          Quenchless this source is found
+            Which thou hast first unsealed.
+          It issues from a wound
+            That never may be healed.
+          But in the bitter wave
+            I shall be clean restored,
+          And from my soul shall lave
+            Thy memory abhorred!
+
+
+     MUSE.
+     Poet, enough!  Though but one single day
+       Lasted thy dream of her who faithless proved,
+     That day insult not; whatsoe'er thou say,
+       Respect thy love, if thou would be beloved.
+     If human weakness find the task too great
+       Of pardoning the wrongs by others done,
+     At least the torture spare thyself of hate,
+       In place of pardon seek oblivion.
+     The dead lie peaceful in the earth asleep,
+       So our extinguished passions too, should rest.
+     Dust are those relics also; let us keep
+       Our hands from violence to their ashes blest.
+     Why, in this story of keen pain, my friend,
+       Wilt thou refuse naught but a dream to see?
+     Does Nature causeless act, to no wise end?
+       Think'st thou a heedless God afflicted thee?
+     Mayhap the blow thou weepest was to save.
+       Child, it has oped thy heart to seek relief;
+     Sorrow is lord to man, and man a slave,
+       None knows himself till he has walked with grief,--
+     A cruel law, but none the less supreme,
+       Old as the world, yea, old as destiny.
+     Sorrow baptizes us, a fatal scheme;
+       All things at this sad price we still must buy.
+     The harvest needs the dew to make it ripe,
+       And man to live, to feel, has need of tears.
+     Joy chooses a bruised plant to be her type,
+       That, drenched with rain, still many a blossom bears.
+     Didst thou not say this folly long had slept?
+       Art thou not happy, young, a welcome guest?
+     And those light pleasures that give life its zest,
+       How wouldst thou value if thou hadst not wept?
+     When, lying in the sunlight on the grass,
+       Freely thou drink'st with some old friend--confess,
+     Wouldst thou so cordially uplift thy glass,
+       Hadst thou not weighed the worth of cheerfulness?
+     Would flowers be so dear unto thy heart,
+       The verse of Petrarch, warblings of the bird,
+     Shakespeare and Nature, Angelo and Art,
+       But that thine ancient sobs therein thou heard?
+     Couldst thou conceive the ineffable peace of heaven,
+       Night's silence, murmurs of the wave that flows,
+     If sleeplessness and fever had not driven
+       Thy thought to yearn for infinite repose?
+     By a fair woman's love art thou not blest?
+       When thou dost hold and clasp her hand in thine,
+     Does not the thought of woes that once possessed,
+       Make all the sweeter now her smile divine?
+     Wander ye not together, thou and she,
+       Midst blooming woods, on sands like silver bright?
+     Does not the white wraith of the aspen-tree
+       In that green palace, mark the path at night?
+     And seest thou not, within the moon's pale ray,
+       Her lovely form sink on thy breast again?
+     If thou shouldst meet with Fortune on thy way,
+       Wouldst thou not follow singing, in her train?
+     What hast thou to regret?  Immortal Hope
+       Is shaped anew in thee by Sorrow's hand.
+     Why hate experience that enlarged thy scope?
+       Why curse the pain that made thy soul expand?
+     Oh pity her! so false, so fair to see,
+       Who from thine eyes such bitter tears did press,
+     She was a woman.  God revealed to thee,
+       Through her, the secret of all happiness.
+     Her task was hard; she loved thee, it may be,
+       Yet must she break thy heart, so fate decreed.
+     She knew the world, she taught it unto thee,
+       Another reaps the fruit of her misdeed.
+     Pity her! dreamlike did her love disperse,
+       She saw thy wound--nor could thy pain remove.
+     All was not falsehood in those tears of hers--
+       Pity her, though it were,--for thou canst love!
+
+
+     POET.
+          True!  Hate is blasphemy.
+            With horror's thrill, I start,
+          This sleeping snake to see,
+            Uncoil within my heart.
+          Oh Goddess, hear my cries,
+            My vow to thee is given,
+          By my beloved's blue eyes,
+            And by the azure heaven,
+          By yonder spark of flame,
+            Yon trembling pearl, the star
+          That beareth Venus' name,
+            And glistens from afar,
+          By Nature's glorious scheme,
+            The infinite grace of God,
+          The planet's tranquil beam
+            That cheers the traveler's road,
+          The grass, the water-course,
+            Woods, fields with dew impearled,
+          The quenchless vital force,
+            The sap of all the world,--
+          I banish from my heart
+            This reckless passion's ghost,
+          Mysterious shade, depart!
+            In the dark past be lost!
+          And thou whom once I met
+            As friend, while thou didst live,
+          The hour when I forget,
+            I likewise should forgive.
+          Let me forgive!  I break
+            The long-uniting spell.
+          With a last tear, oh take,
+            Take thou, a last farewell.
+          Now, gold-haired, pensive Muse,
+            On to our pleasures!  Sing--
+          Some joyous carol choose,
+            As in the dear old Spring.
+          Mark, how the dew-drenched lawn
+            Scents the auroral hour.
+          Waken my love with dawn,
+            And pluck her garden's flower.
+          Immortal nature, see!
+            Casts slumber's veil away.
+          New born with her are we
+            In morning's earliest ray.
+
+
+
+
+
+NOTES TO "EPISTLE" OF JOSHUA IBN VIVES OF ALLORQUI.
+
+
+The life and character of Paulus de Santa Maria are thus described by
+Dr. Graetz:--
+
+"Among the Jews baptized in 1391, no other wrought so much harm to his
+race as the Rabbi Solomon Levi of Burgos, known to Christians as Paulus
+Burgensis, or de Santa Maria (born about 1351-52, died 1435) who rose to
+very high ecclesiastical and political rank.... He had no philosophical
+culture; on the contrary, as a Jew, he had been extremely devout,
+observing scrupulously all the rites, and regarded as a pillar of
+Judaism in his own circle.... Possessed by ambition and vanity, the
+synagogue where he had passed a short time in giving and receiving
+instruction, appeared to him too narrow and restricted a sphere.
+He longed for a bustling activity, aimed at a position at court,
+in whatever capacity, began to live on a grand scale, maintained a
+sumptuous equipage, a spirited team, and a numerous retinue of servants.
+As his affairs brought him into daily contact with Christians and
+entangled him in religious discussions, he studied ecclesiastical
+literature in order to display his erudition. The bloody massacre
+of 1391 robbed him of all hope of reaching eminence as a Jew, in his
+fortieth year, and he abruptly resolved to be baptized. The lofty degree
+of dignity which he afterwards attained in Church and State, may even
+then have floated alluringly before his mind. In order to profit by
+his apostasy, the convert Paulus de Santa Maria gave out that he had
+voluntarily embraced Christianity, the theological writings of the
+Scholiast Thomas of Aquinas having taken hold of his inmost convictions.
+The Jews, however, mistrusted his credulity, and knowing him well, they
+ascribed this step to his ambition and his thirst for fame. His family,
+consisting of a wife and son, renounced him when he changed his
+faith.... He studied theology in the University of Paris, and then
+visited the papal court of Avignon, where Cardinal Pedro de Juna had
+been elected papal antagonist to Benedict XIII. of Rome. The church feud
+and the schism between the two Popes offered the most favorable
+opportunity for intrigues and claims. Paulus, by his cleverness, his
+zeal, and his eloquence, won the favor of the Pope, who discerned in him
+a useful tool. Thus he became successively Archdeacon of Trevinjo, Canon
+of Seville, Bishop of Cartagena, Chancellor of Castile, and Privy
+Councillor to King Henry III. of Spain. With tongue and pen he attacked
+Judaism, and Jewish literature provided him with the necessary weapons.
+Intelligent Jews rightly divined in this convert to Christianity their
+bitterest enemy, and entered into a contest with him....
+
+"The campaign against the malignity of Paul de Santa Maria was opened
+by a young man who had formerly sat at his feet, Joshua ben Joseph
+Ibn Vives, from the town of Lorca or Allorqui, a physician and Arabic
+scholar. In an epistle written in a tone of humility as from a docile
+pupil to a revered master, he deals his apostate teacher heavy blows,
+and under the show of doubt he shatters the foundations of Christianity.
+He begins by saying that the apostasy of his beloved teacher to whom
+his loyal spirit had formerly clung, has amazed him beyond measure
+and aroused in him many serious reflections. He can only conceive four
+possible motives for such a surprising step. Either Paulus has been
+actuated by ambition, love of wealth, pomp, and the satisfaction of
+the senses, or else by doubt of the truth of Judaism upon philosophic
+grounds, and has renounced therefore the religion which afforded him so
+little freedom and security; or else he has foreseen through the latest
+cruel persecutions of the Jews in Spain, the total extinction of
+the race; or, finally, he may have become convinced of the truth of
+Christianity. The writer enters therefore into an examination based upon
+his acquaintance with the character of his former master, as to which of
+these four motives is most likely to have occasioned the act. He cannot
+believe that ambition and covetousness prompted it, "For I remember
+when you used to be surrounded by wealth and attendants, you sighed
+regretfully for your previous humble station, for your retired life and
+communion with wisdom, and regarded your actual brilliant position as
+an unsatisfactory sham happiness. Neither can Allorqui admit that Paulus
+had been disturbed by philosophic scepticism, for to the day of his
+baptism he had observed all the Jewish customs and had only accepted
+that little kernel of philosophy which accords with faith, always
+rejecting the pernicious outward shell. He must also discard the theory
+that the sanguinary persecution of the Jews could have made Paulus
+despair of the possible continuation of the Jewish race, for only a
+small portion of the Jews dwelt among Christians, while the majority
+lived in Asia and enjoyed a certain independence. There remains only
+the conclusion that Paulus has tested the new dogmas and found
+them sufficient.... Allorqui therefore begs him to communicate his
+convictions and vanquish his pupil's doubts concerning Christianity.
+Instead of the general spread of divine doctrine and everlasting peace
+which the prophets had associated with the advent of the Messiah, only
+dissension and war reigned on earth. Indeed, after Jesus' appearance,
+frightful wars had but increased.... And even if Allorqui conceded the
+Messiahship of Jesus, the Immaculate Conception, the Resurrection, and
+all incomprehensible miracles, he could not reconcile himself to the
+idea of God becoming a man. Every enlightened conception of the Deity
+was at variance with it."
+
+[Page 77 et seq. Volume 8, Second half, Graetz' History of the Jews.]
+
+
+Marrano..--See Verse xix., Line 7th of "Epistle."
+
+The enforced recipients of baptism who remained in Spain formed a
+peculiar class, outwardly Christians, inwardly Jews. They might have
+been called Jewish-Christians. They were looked upon with suspicion by
+the Christian population, and shunned with a still more intense hatred
+by the loyal Jews who gave them the name of Marranos, the accursed.
+[Page 73.]
+
+"Master, if thou to thy prides' goal should come, Where wouldst thou
+throne--at Avignon or Rome?" Verse xxviii. 7, 8.
+
+This sentence occurs in another Epistle to Paulus by Profiat Duran.
+
+Verses 29 and 30 are paraphrases from an epistle to Paulus by Chasdai
+Crescas.
+
+"These are burning questions, from which the fire of the stake may be
+kindled. Christianity gives itself out as a new revelation in a certain
+sense completing and improving Judaism. But the revelation has so little
+efficacy, that in the prolonged schism in the Church, a new divine
+message is already needed to scatter the dangerous errors. Two Popes and
+their partisans fulminate against each other bulls of excommunication
+and condemn each other to profoundest hell. Where is the truth and
+certainty of revelation?" [Graetz' History of the Jews.]
+
+
+
+
+
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