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diff --git a/3473-h/3473-h.htm b/3473-h/3473-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cd0d1db --- /dev/null +++ b/3473-h/3473-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9862 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Poems of Emma Lazarus, by Emma Lazarus + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +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 + +Release Date: January 13, 2009 [EBook #3473] +Last Updated: February 4, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POEMS OF EMMA LAZARUS *** + + + + +Produced by Douglas E. Levy, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE POEMS of EMMA LAZARUS + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Emma Lazarus + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + in Two Volumes <br /><br /> VOL. II. <br /><br /><br /> Jewish Poems: + Translation + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="mynote"> + TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> EMMA LAZARUS. (Written for "The Century + Magazine") </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE NEW YEAR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THE CROWING OF THE RED COCK. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> IN EXILE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> IN MEMORIAM—REV. J. J. LYONS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> THE VALLEY OF BACA. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> THE BANNER OF THE JEW. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> THE GUARDIAN OF THE RED DISK. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> THE NEW EZEKIEL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> THE CHOICE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> THE WORLD'S JUSTICE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> THE SUPREME SACRIFICE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> THE FEAST OF LIGHTS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> GIFTS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> BAR KOCHBA. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> THE BIRTH OF MAN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> RASCHI IN PRAGUE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> THE DEATH OF RASCHI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> AN EPISTLE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> TO CARMEN SYLVA. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> <b>THE DANCE TO DEATH</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> THE PERSONS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> ACT I.—In Nordhausen. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> ACT II.—At Eisenach. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> ACT III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> ACT IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> ACT V. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> <b>TRANSLATIONS FROM THE HEBREW POETS OF + MEDAEVAL SPAIN.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> TO A DETRACTOR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> FRAGMENT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> STANZAS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> WINE AND GRIEF. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> MOSES BEN ESRA (About 1100). </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> IN THE NIGHT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> FROM THE "DIVAN." </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> LOVE SONG OF ALCHARISI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> NACHUM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> A TRANSLATION AND TWO IMITATIONS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> TRANSLATIONS FROM PETRARCH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> IN MORTE. II. ON THE DEATH OF CARDINAL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> TRANSLATIONS FROM ALFRED DE MUSSET. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_NOTE"> NOTES TO "EPISTLE" OF JOSHUA IBN VIVES OF + ALLORQUI. </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EMMA LAZARUS. (Written for "The Century Magazine") + </h2> + <h3> + Born July 22, 1849; Died November 19, 1887. + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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." + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "What simple things be these the soul to raise + To bounding joy, and make young pulses beat + With nameless pleasure, finding life so sweet!" +</pre> + <p> + 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 + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Behold, yon bolt struck home, + And over ruined fields the storm hath come." +</pre> + <p> + 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 + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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!" +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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:"— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> + <p> + Nature is the perpetual resource and consolation. "'T is good to be + alive!" she says, and why? Simply, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> + <p> + 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 + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "To gaze as one who is not satisfied + With gazing at the large, bright, breathing sea." +</pre> + <p> + "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. + </p> + <p> + 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:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> + <p> + Charming and graceful words, of which the young writer was justly proud. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Does love steal gently o'er our soul?" +</pre> + <p> + she asks; + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "What if he come, + A cloud, a fire, a whirlwind?" +</pre> + <p> + and then the cry: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "O my God! + This awful joy in mine own heart is love." +</pre> + <p> + Again: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "While you are here the one thing real to me + In all the universe is love." +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> + <p> + 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 + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + The dead forms burst their bonds and lived again. She sings "Rosh + Hashanah" (the Jewish New Year) and "Hanuckah" (the Feast of Lights):— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + And "The New Ezekiel:"— +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "What good shall come, forswearing kith and God, + To follow the allurements of the heart?" +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "The misers! they will take their gems and gold + Down to the grave!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Let us rejoice" +</pre> + <p> + sing the Jewish youths in chorus; and the maidens:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Our feet stand within thy gates, O Zion! + Within thy portals, O Jerusalem!" +</pre> + <p> + 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? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> + <p> + 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." + </p> + <p> + 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:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> + <p> + 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:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> + <p> + In drawing the epistles to a close, February 24, 1883, she thus summarizes + the special objects she has had in view:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> + <p> + 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:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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." + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + "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." + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> + <p> + True to her old attractions, it is pagan Rome that appeals to her most + strongly,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> + <p> + 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." + </p> + <p> + 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." + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?" + </p> + <p> + Who knows? But would we break, if we could, that repose, that silence and + mystery and peace everlasting? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE NEW YEAR. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ROSH-HASHANAH, 5643. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CROWING OF THE RED COCK. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN EXILE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN MEMORIAM—REV. J. J. LYONS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ROSH-HASHANAH, 5638. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE VALLEY OF BACA. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PSALM LXXXIV. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BANNER OF THE JEW. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.* +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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 +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE GUARDIAN OF THE RED DISK. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Spoken by a Citizen of Malta—1300. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE NEW EZEKIEL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CHOICE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WORLD'S JUSTICE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SUPREME SACRIFICE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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!" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE FEAST OF LIGHTS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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, +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GIFTS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BAR KOCHBA. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1492. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BIRTH OF MAN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A Legend of the Talmud. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + RASCHI IN PRAGUE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE DEATH OF RASCHI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [Aaron Ben Mier "loquitur."] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AN EPISTLE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + III. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IV. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + V. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VI. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VII. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VIII. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IX. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + X. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XI. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XII. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XIII. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XIV. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XV. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XVI. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XVII. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XVIII. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XIX. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XX. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XXI. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XXII. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XXIII. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XXIV. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XXV. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XXVI. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XXVII. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XXVIII. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XXIX. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XXX. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XXXI. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XXXII. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XXXIII. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + XXXIV. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LITTLE POEMS IN PROSE. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. THE EXODUS. (August 3, 1492.) +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II. TREASURES. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + III. THE SOWER. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IV. THE TEST. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + V. CURRENTS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VI. THE PROPHET. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VII. CHRYSALIS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO CARMEN SYLVA. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE DANCE TO DEATH; + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A Historical Tragedy in Five Acts. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PERSONS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Scene—Partly in Nordhausen, partly in Eisenach. Time, May, 4th, + 5th, 6th, 1349. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT I.—In Nordhausen. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NAPHTALI. + Hast seen him yet? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NAPHTALI. + To-morrow, man? + He will not hear of rest—he comes anon— + Shall we within? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + BARUCH. + Rather let's wait, + And scrutinize him as he mounts the street. + Since you denote him so remarkable, + You've whetted my desire. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + BARUCH. + Bring they fresh tidings of the pestilence? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NAPHTALI. + I know not—but I learn from other source + It has burst forth at Erfurt. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + BARUCH. + God have mercy! + Have many of our tribe been stricken? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + BARUCH. + Who's that, the Prince? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + BARUCH (exaltedly). + Blessed art thou, O Lord, + King of the Universe, who teachest wisdom + To those who fear thee! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NAPHTALI. + Haste we in. The star + Of Sabbath dawns. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + BARUCH. + Think you he speaks before the service? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NAPHTALI. + Yea. + Lo, phantom-like the towering patriarch! + [RABBI CRESSELIN slowly rises beneath the Ark.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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, +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A VOICE. + Look to the women! Marianne swoons! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ANOTHER VOICE. + Woe unto us who sinned! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ANOTHER VOICE. + We're all dead men. + Fly, fly ere dawn as our forefathers fled + From out the land of Egypt. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A VOICE. + He flouts the Lord's anointed! Cast him forth! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + CLAIRE (from the gallery). + Father! My father! + Let me go down to him! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1ST VOICE. + He's doomed. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 2D VOICE. + Dead! Dead! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 3D VOICE. + A judgment! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 5TH VOICE. + Didst mark a diamond lance flash from the roof, + And strike him 'twixt the eyes? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1ST VOICE. + Our days are numbered. + This is the token. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE III. + + Evening. A crooked byway in the Judengasse. Enter PRINCE + + WILLIAM. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRINCE WILLIAM. + I am his friend. + Is he in peril? What's the matter, man? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRINCE WILLIAM. + I pray you, + Tell me the way to Susskind's home. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRINCE WILLIAM. + Here's gold. I am the Prince of Meissen—speak! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LIEBHAID. + Yea, father. + She prays and weeps within: she had no heart + For Sabbath meal, but charged me with her thanks— +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SUSSKIND. + Thou shalt be mother and sister in one to her. + Speak to her comfortably. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SERVANT. + His highness Prince of Meissen. + [Exit.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SUSSKIND. + I think, sir, we are in the hand of God, + I trust the Prince—your father and my friend. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRINCE WILLIAM. + Better to fall beneath + The hand of God, than be cut off by man. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LIEBHAID. + Ah! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LIEBHAID. + Father, my heart's desire is one with his. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRINCE WILLIAM. + Have you no smile to welcome love with, Liebhaid? + Why should you tremble? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SUSSKIND. + Blessed, O Lord, art thou, who bringest joy + To bride and bridegroom. Let us thank the Lord. + [Curtain falls.] +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT II.—At Eisenach. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE I. + + A Room in the LANDGRAVE'S Palace. + FREDERICK THE GRAVE and + + HENRY SCHNETZEN. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LANDGRAVE. + Who tells thee of my son's love for the Jewess? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCHNETZEN. + Who tells me? Ask the Judengasse walls, + The garrulous stones publish Prince William's visits + To his fair mistress. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LANDGRAVE. + Mistress? Ah, such sins + The Provost of St. George's will remit + For half a pound of coppers. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCHNETZEN. + Think it not! + No light amour this, leaving shield unflecked; + He wooes the Jewish damsel as a knight + The lady of his heart. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRINCE WILLIAM. + Father, you called me? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LANDGRAVE. + Ay, when were you last + In Nordhausen? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRINCE WILLIAM. + This morning I rode hence. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LANDGRAVE. + Were you at Susskind's house? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRINCE WILLIAM. + I was, my liege. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LANDGRAVE. + I hear you entertain unseemly love + For the Jew's daughter. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRINCE WILLIAM. + Who has told thee this? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCHNETZEN. + This I have told him. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRINCE WILLIAM. + Father, believe him not. + I swear by heaven 't is no unseemly love + Leads me to Susskind's house. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LANDGRAVE. + With what high title + Please you to qualify it? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRINCE WILLIAM. + True, I love + Liebhaid von Orb, but 't is the honest passion + Wherewith a knight leads home his equal wife. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCHNETZEN. + He is your son! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LANDGRAVE. + Look, foreign pilgrims! What an endless file! + Naked waist-upward. Blood is trickling down + Their lacerated flesh. What do they carry? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCHNETZEN. + Their scourges—iron-pointed, leathern thongs, + Mark how they lash themselves—the strict Flagellants. + The Brothers of the Cross—hark to their cries! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCHNETZEN. + Do not the people ask the same as I? + Is not the people's voice the voice of God? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LANDGRAVE. + I will consider. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LANDGRAVE. + 'T were rash + Contending with such odds. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LANDGRAVE. + What credence lend you to the general rumor + Of the river poison? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LANDGRAVE. + Such goblin-tales may curdle + The veins of priest-rid women, fools, and children. + They are not for the ears of sober men. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LANDGRAVE. + How know you + That Susskind holds my bonds? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LANDGRAVE. + Well, the Jews shall die. + This is the will of God. Whom shall I send + To bear my message to the council? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCHNETZEN. + I + Am ever at your 'hest. To-morrow morn + Sees me in Nordhausen. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LANDGRAVE. + Come two hours hence. + I will deliver you the letter signed. + Make ready for your ride. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE II. + + A Room in the Wartburg Monastery. + PRINCESS MATHILDIS and + + PRIOR PEPPERCORN. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRINCESS. + Justice is murdered; + Oh slander not her corpse. For my son's fault, + A thousand innocents are doomed. Is that + God's justice? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRINCESS. + But my son + Will die with her he loves. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRINCESS. + Thanks and farewell. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRIOR. + Farewell. God send thee peace! + [Exeunt.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE III. + + A mean apartment in one of the Towers of the Landgrave's Palace. + + PRINCE WILLIAM discovered seated at the window. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRINCE WILLIAM. + I know no blot upon my life's fair record. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRINCE WILLIAM. + Forbear! thy cowl's a helmet, thy serge frock + Invulnerable as brass—yet I am human, + Thou, priest, art still a man. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRINCE WILLIAM. + In the name of God, + What has he done to HER? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRIOR. + Boy! your bribes touch not, nor your curses shake + The minister of Christ. Yet I will bear + Your message to the Landgrave. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRIOR. + First I must foil such devil's tricks as lurk + In its gem-crusted cabinet. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRINCE WILLIAM. + Away! + Deliverance posts on your return. I feel it. + For your much comfort thanks. Good-night. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRIOR. + Good-night. + [Exit.] +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT III. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A cell in the Wartburg Monastery. Enter PRIOR PEPPERCORN with + the casket. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LAY-BROTHER. + Peace be thine, father! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRIOR. + Amen! and thine. What's new? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LAY-BROTHER. + A strange Flagellant + Fresh come to Wartburg craves a word with thee. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NORDMANN. + May the Lord grant thee thine own prayer fourfold! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRIOR. + What is thine errand? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRIOR. + Almighty God! + The grave gives up her dead. Thou canst not be— +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NORDMANN. + Nordmann of Nordmannstein, the Knight of Treffurt. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRIOR. + He was beheaded years agone. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRIOR. + Does Frederick know thou art in Eisenach? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRIOR. + I saw it. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NORDMANN. + Schnetzen's wife, + Three days a mother, perished. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRIOR. + And his child? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NORDMANN. + His child was saved. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRIOR. + By whom? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NORDMANN. + By the same Jew + Who had betrayed the Castle. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRIOR. + Susskind von Orb? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NORDMANN. + Susskind von Orb! and Schnetzen's daughter lives + As the Jew's child within the Judengasse. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRIOR (eagerly). + What proof hast thou of this? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRIOR. + Why hast thou ne'er + Discovered her to Schnetzen? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NORDMANN. + So! Henry Schnetzen + Shall be the Jews' destroyer? Ah! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRIOR. + I thank the Saints that this has come betimes. + Thou shalt renounce thy hate. Vengeance is mine, + The Lord hath said. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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]. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRINCE WILLIAM. + Is this the place where we shall find fresh steeds? + Would I had not dismounted! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PAGE. + Nay, sir; beyond + The Werra bridge the horses wait for us. + These rotten planks would never bear their weight. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PAGE. + Sir, what's that? + Yon stir and glitter in the bush? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE III. + + Nordhausen. A room in SUSSKIND's house. + LIEBHAID and CLAIRE. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LIEBHAID. + Say on, poor girl, if but to speak these horrors + Revive not too intense a pang. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + CLAIRE. + What mean these contrary words? + These passionate tears? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LIEBHAID. + Where is our father, Reuben? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + CLAIRE. + Hush, foolish boy. See how your rude words hurt. + Look up, sweet girl; take comfort. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + REUBEN. + Pluck up heart: + Dear sister, pardon me; he lives, he lives! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LIEBHAID. + Father, what wild and wandering words are these? + Is all hope lost? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT IV. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + TETTENBORN. + Doubtless your shrewd friend Prior Peppercorn + Masks here some warning. Ask the scrivener + To help us to its contents. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCHNETZEN (to the clerk). + Read me these. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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 +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ALL. + Death to the Jews! God wills it! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + RABBI JACOB (springing forward and clasping his hands). + I' the name of God, + Your God and ours, have mercy! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SUSSKIND. + Courage, my brother. On our firmness hangs + The dignity of Israel. Sir Governor, + I have a secret word to speak with you. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + TETTENBORN. + No more, no more! + Go, bid your tribe make ready for their death + At sunset. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + RABBI JACOB. + Oh! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + TETTENBORN. + We have heard enough. + Begone, and bear our message. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT V. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE I. + + A Room in Susskind's House. + LIEBHAID, CLAIRE, REUBEN. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LIEBHAID. + The air hangs sultry as in mid-July. + Look forth, Claire; moves not some big thundercloud + Athwart the sky? My heart is sick. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + CLAIRE. + Nay, Liebhaid. + The clear May sun is shining, and the air + Blows fresh and cordial from the budding hills. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LIEBHAID. + Reuben, what is 't o'clock. Our father stays. + The midday meal was cold an hour agone. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LIEBHAID. + Father, what news? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LIEBHAID. + What is it, father? Exile? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LIEBHAID. + Said you at sunset? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SUSSKIND. + So they have decreed. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LIEBHAID. + In what dread shape + Approaches death? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + REUBEN. + Shall the smoke choke us, father? or the flame + Consume our flesh? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SUSSKIND. + I know not, boy. Be sure + The Lord will temper the shrewd pain for those + Who trust in Him. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + REUBEN. + May I stand by thy side, + And hold my hand in thine until the end? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + CLAIRE. + Oh, Liebhaid, live. Hast thou forgot the Prince? + Think of the happy summer blooms for thee + When we are in our graves. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LIEBHAID. + And I shall smile, + Live and rejoice in love, when ye are dead? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VOICES (without). + Susskind von Orb! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SUSSKIND. + I come, my friends. + + Enter boisterously certain Jews. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1ST JEW. + Come to the house of God! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 2D JEW. + Wilt thou desert us for whose sake we perish? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 3D JEW. + The awful hour draws nigh. Come forth with us + Unto the Synagogue. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE II. + + A Street in the Judengasse. Several Jews pass across the stage, + running and with gestures of distress. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + JEWS. + Woe, woe! the curse has fallen! + [Exeunt.] + + Enter other Jews. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ONE CALLING FROM ABOVE. + Neighbors, what wild alarm is this? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SEVERAL VOICES. + Woe! woe! God pity us! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SEVERAL VOICES. + Woe unto us who perish! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A JEW. + Susskind von Orb, + Thou hast brought down this doom. Would we had heard + The prophet's voice! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SEVERAL VOICES. + Amen! amen! amen! we dance to death! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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 +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1ST CITIZEN. + Here's such a throng! Neighbor, your elbow makes + An ill prod for my ribs. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 2D CITIZEN. + I am pushed and squeezed. + My limbs are not mine own. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 3D CITIZEN. + D' ye call me Jew? + Where do you spy one now? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + WIFE. + You'll have your jest + Now or anon, what matters it? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + BOY. + Father, be these + The folk who murdered Jesus? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + CITIZENS. + The Jews! the Jews! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + BOY. + Quick, father! lift me! I see nothing here + But hose and skirts. + [Music of a march approaching.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + CITIZENS. + What mummery is this? + The sorcerers brew new mischief. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ANOTHER CITIZEN. + Why, they come + Pranked for a holiday; not veiled for death. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + CITIZENS. + The misers! they will take their gems and gold + Down to the grave! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + CITIZEN'S WIFE. + So these be Jews! Christ save us! + To think the devils look like human folk! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + CITIZENS. + Cursed be the poison-mixers! Let them burn! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + CITIZENS. + Burn! burn! + + Enter SUSSKIND VON ORB, LIEBHAID, REUBEN, and CLAIRE. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCHNETZEN. + Good God! what maid is that? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + TETTENBORN. + Liebhaid von Orb. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCHNETZEN. + The devil's trick! + He has bewitched mine eyes. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SUSSKIND (as he passes the platform). + Woe to the father + Who murders his own child! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + YOUTHS (in chorus). + Let us rejoice, for it is promised us + That we shall enter in God's tabernacle! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MAIDENS. + Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Zion, + Within thy portals, O Jerusalem! + [Exeunt.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + CITIZEN'S WIFE. + I can see naught from here. Let's follow, Hans. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + CITIZEN. + Be satisfied. There is no inch of space + For foot to rest on yonder. Look! look there! + How the flames rise! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRINCE WILLIAM. + Respite! You kill your daughter, Henry Schnetzen! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NORDMANN. + Liebhaid von Orb is your own flesh and blood. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCHNETZEN. + Spectre! do dead men rise? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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!] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRINCE WILLIAM and SCHNETZEN. + Too late! too late! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + CITIZENS. + All's done! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PRINCE WILLIAM. + The fire! the fire! Liebhaid, I come to thee. + [He is about to spring forward, but is held back by guards.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE END. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + TRANSLATIONS. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TRANSLATIONS FROM THE HEBREW POETS OF MEDAEVAL SPAIN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SOLOMON BEN JUDAH GABIROL (Died Between 1070-80.) +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NIGHT-PIECE. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NIGHT-THOUGHTS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MEDITATIONS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HYMN. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO A DETRACTOR. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FRAGMENT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + STANZAS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WINE AND GRIEF. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + DEFIANCE. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A DEGENERATE AGE. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ABUL HASSAN JUDAH BEN HA-LEVI. (Born Between 1080-90.) +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A LETTER TO HIS FRIEND ISAAC. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ADMONITION. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LOVE-SONG. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SEPARATION. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LONGING FOR JERUSALEM. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ON THE VOYAGE TO JERUSALEM. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + III. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + TO THE WEST WIND. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MOSES BEN ESRA (About 1100). + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + EXTRACTS FROM THE BOOK OF TARSHISH, + + OR "NECKLACE OF PEARLS." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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?" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN THE NIGHT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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." +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FROM THE "DIVAN." + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LOVE SONG OF ALCHARISI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NACHUM. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SPRING SONGS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A TRANSLATION AND TWO IMITATIONS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + DONNA CLARA. + + (From the German of Heine) +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the evening through her garden + Wanders the Alcalde's daughter, + Festal sounds of drum and trumpet + Ring out hither from the Castle. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I am weary of the dances, + Honeyed words of adulation + From the knights who still compare me + To the sun with dainty phrases. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Yes, of all things I am weary, + Since I first beheld by moonlight + Him, my cavalier, whose zither + Nightly draws me to my casement. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "As he stands so slim and daring, + With his flaming eyes that sparkle, + And with nobly pallid features, + Truly, he St. George resembles." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thus went Donna Clara dreaming, + On the ground her eyes were fastened. + When she raised them, lo! before her + Stood the handsome knightly stranger. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Pressing hands and whispering passion, + These twain wander in the moonlight, + Gently doth the breeze caress them, + The enchanted roses greet them. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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?" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Heed not gnats nor Jews, beloved," + Spake the knight with fond endearments. + From the almond-trees dropped downward + Myriad snowy flakes of blossoms. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Myriad snowy flakes of blossoms + Shed around them fragrant odors. + "Tell me, tell me, my beloved, + Looks thy heart on me with favor?" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Heed thou neither Jews nor Saviour," + Spake the knight with fond endearments. + Far off waved, as in a vision, + Gleaming lilies bathed in moonlight. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Gleaming lilies bathed in moonlight + Seemed to watch the stars above them. + "Tell me, tell me, my beloved, + Didst thou not erewhile swear falsely?" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Heed not Moors nor Jews, beloved," + Spake the knight with fond endearments. + Then towards a grove of myrtles + + Leads he the Alcalde's daughter. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What a melting bridal carol + Sings the nightingale, the pure one. + How the fire-flies in the grasses + Trip their sparkling torchlight dances! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the grove the silence deepens, + Naught is heard save furtive rustling + Of the swaying myrtle branches, + And the breathing of the flowers. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + But the sound of drum and trumpet + Burst forth sudden from the castle. + Rudely they awaken Clara, + Pillowed on her lover's bosom. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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: +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I, Senora, your beloved, + Am the son of the respected, + Worthy, erudite Grand Rabbi, + Israel of Saragossa." +</pre> + <p> + "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. + </p> + <p> + Guided by these hints, I have endeavored to carry out in the two following + original Ballads the Poet's first conception. + </p> + <p> + Emma Lazarus. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + DON PEDRILLO. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Not a lad in Saragossa + Nobler-featured, haughtier-tempered, + Than the Alcalde's youthful grandson, + Donna Clara's boy Pedrillo. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Handsome as the Prince of Evil, + And devout as St. Ignatius. + Deft at fence, unmatched with zither, + Miniature of knightly virtues. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Truly an unfailing blessing + To his pious, widowed mother, + To the beautiful, lone matron + Who forswore the world to rear him. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + For her beauty hath but ripened + In such wise as the pomegranate + Putteth by her crown of blossoms, + For her richer crown of fruitage. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Still her hand is claimed and courted, + Still she spurns her proudest suitors, + Doting on a phantom passion, + And upon her boy Pedrillo. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Like a saint lives Donna Clara, + First at matins, last at vespers, + Half her fortune she expendeth + Buying masses for the needy. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Visiting the poor afflicted, + Infinite is her compassion, + Scorning not the Moorish beggar, + Nor the wretched Jew despising. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + By the blessed Saint Iago, + He hath vowed immortal hatred + To these circumcised intruders + Who pollute the soil of Spaniards. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Seated in his mother's garden, + At high noon the boy Pedrillo + Playeth with his favorite parrot, + Golden-green with streaks of scarlet. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Pretty Dodo, speak thy lesson," + Coaxed Pedrillo—"thief and traitor"— + "Thief and traitor"—croaked the parrot, + "Is the yellow-skirted Rabbi." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Very gentle was his aspect, + And his voice was mild and friendly, + "Evil words, my son, thou speakest, + Teaching to the fowls of heaven. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Very gently spoke the Rabbi, + "Have a care, my son Pedrillo, + Thou art orphaned, and who knoweth + But thy father loved this people?" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "In his youth my youth renewing + Pamper, fondle, die to serve him, + Only breathing through his spirit— + Couldst thou not love such a father?" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Faltering spoke the deep-voiced Rabbi, + With white lips and twitching fingers, + Then in clear, young, steady treble, + Answered him the boy Pedrillo: +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "When I meet these unbelievers, + With thick lips and eagle noses, + Thus I scorn them, thus revile them, + Thus I spit upon their garment." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + And the haughty youth passed onward, + Bearing on his wrist his parrot, + And the yellow-skirted Rabbi + With bowed head sought Donna Clara. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + III. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + FRA PEDRO. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Golden lights and lengthening shadows, + Flings the splendid sun declining, + O'er the monastery garden + Rich in flower, fruit and foliage. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Lithe and ferret-eyed the younger, + Black his scapular denoting + A lay brother; his companion + Large, imperious, towers above him. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'T is the abbot, great Fra Pedro, + Famous through all Saragossa + For his quenchless zeal in crushing + Heresy amidst his townfolk. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Handsome still with hood and tonsure, + E'en as when the boy Pedrillo, + Insolent with youth and beauty, + Who reviled the gentle Rabbi. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Lo, the level sun strikes sparkles + From his dark eyes brightly flashing. + Stern his voice: "These too shall perish. + I have vowed extermination. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Tell not me of skill or virtue, + Filial love or woman's beauty— + Jews are Jews, as serpents serpents, + In themselves abomination." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Earnestly the other pleaded, + "If my zeal, thrice reverend master, + E'er afforded thee assistance, + Serving thee as flesh serves spirit, +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Hounding, scourging, flaying, burning, + Casting into chains or exile, + At thy bidding these vile wretches, + Hear and heed me now, my master. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "These be nowise like their brethren, + Ben Jehudah is accounted + Saragossa's first physician, + Loved by colleague as by patient. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Well thou knowest, thrice reverend master, + This is not their first affliction, + Was it not our Holy Office + Whose bribed menials fired their dwelling? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Ere dawn broke, the smoke ascended, + Choked the stairways, filled the chambers, + Waked the household to the terror + Of the flaming death that threatened. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Towards her door sprang Ben Jehudah, + Donna Zara flew behind him + Round his neck her white arms wreathing, + Drew him from the burning chamber. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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.' +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "This the outer throng could witness, + As the flames enwound the dwelling, + Like a glory they illumined + Awfully the martyred daughter. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Closer, fiercer, round they gathered, + Not a natural cry escaped her, + Helpless clung to her her mother, + Hand in hand they went together. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thus he spoke and ceased. The Abbot + Lent him an impatient hearing, + Then outbroke with angry accent, + "We have borne three years, thou sayest? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "'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, +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "I would shrink not from outpouring + All my life blood, but to purge it. + Shall I gentler prove to others? + Mercy would be sacrilegious. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "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." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Down behind the purple hillside + Dropped the sun; above the garden + Rang the Angelus' clear cadence + Summoning the monks to vespers. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TRANSLATIONS FROM PETRARCH. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IN VITA. LXVII. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IN VITA. LXXVI. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IN VITA. CV. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IN VITA. CIX. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN MORTE. II. ON THE DEATH OF CARDINAL + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + COLONNA AND LAURA. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IN MORTE. XLIII. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IN VITA. CANZONE XI. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + FRAGMENT. CANZONE XII. 5. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + FRAGMENT. TRIONFO D' AMORE. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + FRAGMENT. + TRIONFO DELLA MORTE. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TRANSLATIONS FROM ALFRED DE MUSSET. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE MAY NIGHT. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE OCTOBER NIGHT. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_NOTE" id="link2H_NOTE"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NOTES TO "EPISTLE" OF JOSHUA IBN VIVES OF ALLORQUI. + </h2> + <p> + The life and character of Paulus de Santa Maria are thus described by Dr. + Graetz:— + </p> + <p> + "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.... + </p> + <p> + "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." + </p> + <p> + [Page 77 et seq. Volume 8, Second half, Graetz' History of the Jews.] + </p> + <p> + Marrano..—See Verse xix., Line 7th of "Epistle." + </p> + <p> + 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.] + </p> + <p> + "Master, if thou to thy prides' goal should come, Where wouldst thou + throne—at Avignon or Rome?" Verse xxviii. 7, 8. + </p> + <p> + This sentence occurs in another Epistle to Paulus by Profiat Duran. + </p> + <p> + Verses 29 and 30 are paraphrases from an epistle to Paulus by Chasdai + Crescas. + </p> + <p> + "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.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Poems of Emma Lazarus, by Emma Lazarus + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POEMS OF EMMA LAZARUS *** + +***** This file should be named 3473-h.htm or 3473-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/7/3473/ + +Produced by Douglas E. 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