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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: Songs of Labor and Other Poems + +Author: Morris Rosenfeld + +Translator: Rose Pastor Stokes + Helena Frank + +Posting Date: March 17, 2014 [EBook #6859] +Release Date: November, 2004 +First Posted: February 2, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF LABOR AND OTHER POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by S Goodman, David Starner and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h1>Songs of Labor<br> +and Other Poems<br> +by Morris Rosenfeld</h1> + +<P class="centered">Translated from the Yiddish by<br> +Rose Pastor Stokes and Helena Frank</p> + +<p><img src="images/laborer.png" alt=""></p> + +<hr> + +<H2>Contents</H2> + +<p><a href="#inthefactory">In the Factory</a><br> +<a href="#myboy">My Boy</a><br> +<a href="#thenightingale">The Nightingale to the Workman</a><br> +<a href="#whatistheworld">What is the World?</a><br> +<a href="#despair">Despair</a><br> +<a href="#whither">Whither?</a><br> +<a href="#fromdawntodawn">From Dawn to Dawn</a><br> +<a href="#thecandleseller">The Candle Seller</a><br> +<a href="#thepaleoperator">The Pale Operator</a><br> +<a href="#thebeggarfamily">The Beggar Family</a><br> +<a href="#amillionaire">A Millionaire</a><br> +<a href="#septembermelodies">September Melodies</a><br> +<a href="#depression">Depression</a><br> +<a href="#thecanary">The Canary</a><br> +<a href="#wantandi">Want and I</a><br> +<a href="#thephantomvessel">The Phantom Vessel</a><br> +<a href="#tomymisery">To my Misery</a><br> +<a href="#olongtheway">O Long the Way</a><br> +<a href="#tothefortuneseeker">To the Fortune Seeker</a><br> +<a href="#myyouth">My Youth</a><br> +<a href="#inthewilderness">In the Wilderness</a><br> +<a href="#iveoftenlaughed">I’ve Often Laughed</a><br> +<a href="#againisingmysongs">Again I Sing my Songs</a><br> +<a href="#liberty">Liberty</a><br> +<a href="#atreeintheghetto">A Tree in the Ghetto</a><br> +<a href="#thecemeterynightingale">The Cemetery Nightingale</a><br> +<a href="#thecreationofman">The Creation of Man</a><br> +<a href="#journalism">Journalism</a><br> +<a href="#penandshears">Pen and Shears</a><br> +<a href="#forhire">For Hire</a><br> +<a href="#afellowslave">A Fellow Slave</a><br> +<a href="#thejewishmay">The Jewish May</a><br> +<a href="#thefeastoflights">The Feast of Lights</a><br> +<a href="#chanukahthoughts">Chanukah Thoughts</a><br> +<a href="#sfere">Sfēré</a><br> +<a href="#measuringthegraves">Measuring the Graves</a><br> +<a href="#thefirstbathofablution">The First Bath of Ablution</a><br> +<a href="#atonementeveningprayer">Atonement Evening Prayer</a><br> +<a href="#exitholiday">Exit Holiday</a><br> +</p> + +<hr> + +<p class="centered">SONGS OF LABOR AND OTHER POEMS</p> + +<hr> + +<H2><a name="inthefactory">In the Factory</a></H2> + +<p>Oh, here in the shop the machines roar so wildly,<br> +That oft, unaware that I am, or have been,<br> +I sink and am lost in the terrible tumult;<br> +And void is my soul... I am but a machine.<br> +I work and I work and I work, never ceasing;<br> +Create and create things from morning till e’en;<br> +For what?—and for whom—Oh, I know not! Oh, ask not!<br> +Who ever has heard of a conscious machine?</p> + +<p>No, here is no feeling, no thought and no reason;<br> +This life-crushing labor has ever supprest<br> +The noblest and finest, the truest and richest,<br> +The deepest, the highest and humanly best.<br> +The seconds, the minutes, they pass out forever,<br> +They vanish, swift fleeting like straws in a gale.<br> +I drive the wheel madly as tho’ to o’ertake them,—<br> +Give chase without wisdom, or wit, or avail.</p> + +<p>The clock in the workshop,—it rests not a moment;<br> +It points on, and ticks on: Eternity—Time;<br> +And once someone told me the clock had a meaning,—<br> +Its pointing and ticking had reason and rhyme.<br> +And this too he told me,—or had I been dreaming,—<br> +The clock wakened life in one, forces unseen,<br> +And something besides;... I forget what; Oh, ask not!<br> +I know not, I know not, I am a machine.</p> + +<p>At times, when I listen, I hear the clock plainly;—<br> +The reason of old—the old meaning—is gone!<br> +The maddening pendulum urges me forward<br> +To labor and labor and still labor on.<br> +The tick of the clock is the Boss in his anger!<br> +The face of the clock has the eyes of a foe;<br> +The clock—Oh, I shudder—dost hear how it drives me?<br> +It calls me “Machine!” and it cries to me “Sew!”</p> + +<p>At noon, when about me the wild tumult ceases,<br> +And gone is the master, and I sit apart,<br> +And dawn in my brain is beginning to glimmer,<br> +The wound comes agape at the core of my heart;<br> +And tears, bitter tears flow; ay, tears that are scalding;<br> +They moisten my dinner—my dry crust of bread;<br> +They choke me,—I cannot eat;—no, no, I cannot!<br> +Oh, horrible toil I born of Need and of Dread.</p> + +<p>The sweatshop at mid-day—I’ll draw you the picture:<br> +A battlefield bloody; the conflict at rest;<br> +Around and about me the corpses are lying;<br> +The blood cries aloud from the earth’s gory breast.<br> +A moment... and hark! The loud signal is sounded,<br> +The dead rise again and renewed is the fight...<br> +They struggle, these corpses; for strangers, for strangers!<br> +They struggle, they fall, and they sink into night.</p> + +<p>I gaze on the battle in bitterest anger,<br> +And pain, hellish pain wakes the rebel in me!<br> +The clock—now I hear it aright!—It is crying:<br> +“An end to this bondage! An end there must be!”<br> +It quickens my reason, each feeling within me;<br> +It shows me how precious the moments that fly.<br> +Oh, worthless my life if I longer am silent,<br> +And lost to the world if in silence I die.</p> + +<p>The man in me sleeping begins to awaken;<br> +The thing that was slave into slumber has passed:<br> +Now; up with the man in me! Up and be doing!<br> +No misery more! Here is freedom at last!<br> +When sudden: a whistle!—the Boss—an alarum!—<br> +I sink in the slime of the stagnant routine;—<br> +There’s tumult, they struggle, oh, lost is my ego;—<br> +I know not, I care not, I am a machine!...</p> + +<H2><a name="myboy">My Boy</a></H2> + +<p>I have a little boy at home,<br> +A pretty little son;<br> +I think sometimes the world is mine<br> +In him, my only one.</p> + +<p>But seldom, seldom do I see<br> +My child in heaven’s light;<br> +I find him always fast asleep...<br> +I see him but at night.</p> + +<p>Ere dawn my labor drives me forth;<br> +’Tis night when I am free;<br> +A stranger am I to my child;<br> +And strange my child to me.</p> + +<p>I come in darkness to my home,<br> +With weariness and—pay;<br> +My pallid wife, she waits to tell<br> +The things he learned to say.</p> + +<p>How plain and prettily he asked:<br> +“Dear mamma, when’s ‘Tonight’?<br> +O when will come my dear papa<br> +And bring a penny bright?”</p> + +<p>I hear her words—I hasten out—<br> +This moment must it be!—<br> +The father-love flames in my breast:<br> +My child must look at me!</p> + +<p>I stand beside the tiny cot,<br> +And look, and list, and—ah!<br> +A dream-thought moves the baby-lips:<br> +“O, where is my papa!”</p> + +<p>I kiss and kiss the shut blue eyes;<br> +I kiss them not in vain.<br> +They open,—O they see me then!<br> +And straightway close again.</p> + +<p>“Here’s your papa, my precious one;—<br> +A penny for you!”—ah!<br> +A dream still moves the baby-lips:<br> +“O, where is my papa!”</p> + +<p>And I—I think in bitterness<br> +And disappointment sore;<br> +“Some day you will awake, my child,<br> +To find me nevermore.”</p> + +<H2><a name="thenightingale">The Nightingale to the Workman</a></H2> + +<p>Fair summer is here, glad summer is here!<br> +O hark! ’tis to you I am singing:<br> +The sun is all gold in a heaven of blue,<br> +The birds in the forest are trilling for you,<br> +The flies ’mid the grasses are winging;<br> +The little brook babbles—its secret is sweet.<br> +The loveliest flowers would circle your feet,—<br> +And you to your work ever clinging!...<br> +Come forth! Nature loves you. Come forth! Do not fear!<br> +Fair summer is here, glad summer is here,<br> +Full measure of happiness bringing.<br> +All creatures drink deep; and they pour wine anew<br> +In the old cup of life, and they wonder at you.<br> +Your portion is waiting since summer began;<br> +Then take it, oh, take it, you laboring man!</p> + +<p>’Tis summer today; ay, summer today!<br> +The butterflies light on the flowers.<br> +Delightfully glistens the silvery rain,<br> +The mountains are covered with greenness again,<br> +And perfumed and cool are the bowers.<br> +The sheep frisk about in the flowery vale,<br> +The shepherd and shepherdess pause in the dale,<br> +And these are the holiest hours!...<br> +Delay not, delay not, life passes away!<br> +’Tis summer today, sweet summer today!<br> +Come, throttle your wheel’s grinding power!...<br> +Your worktime is bitter and endless in length;<br> +And have you not foolishly lavished your strength?<br> +O think not the world is with bitterness rife,<br> +But drink of the wine from the goblet of life.</p> + +<p>O, summer is here, sweet summer is here!<br> +I cannot forever be trilling;<br> +I flee on the morrow. Then, you, have a care!<br> +The crow, from the perch I am leaving, the air<br> +With ominous cries will be filling.<br> +O, while I am singing to you from my tree<br> +Of love, and of life, and of joy yet to be,<br> +Arouse you!—O why so unwilling!...<br> +The heavens remain not so blue and so clear;—<br> +Now summer is here! Come, summer is here!<br> +Reach out for the joys that are thrilling!<br> +For like you who fade at your wheel, day by day,<br> +Soon all things will fade and be carried away.<br> +Our lives are but moments; and sometimes the cost<br> +Of a moment o’erlooked is eternity lost.</p> + +<H2><a name="whatistheworld">What is the World?</a></H2> + +<p>Well, say you the world is a chamber of sleep,<br> +And life but a sleeping and dreaming?<br> +Then I too would dream: and would joyously reap<br> +The blooms of harmonious seeming;<br> +The dream-flow’rs of hope and of freedom, perchance,<br> +The rich are so merrily reaping;—<br> +In Love’s eyes I’d fancy the joy of romance;<br> +No more would I dream Love is weeping.</p> + +<p>Or say you the world is a banquet, a ball,<br> +Where everyone goes who is able?<br> +I too wish to sit like a lord in the hall<br> +With savory share at the table.<br> +I too can enjoy what is wholesome and good,<br> +A morsel both dainty and healthy;<br> +I have in my body the same sort of blood<br> +That flows in the veins of the wealthy.</p> + +<p>A garden you say is the world, where abound<br> +The sweetest and loveliest roses?<br> +Then would I, no leave asking, saunter around<br> +And gather me handfuls of posies.<br> +Of thorns I am sure I would make me no wreath;<br> +(Of flowers I am very much fonder).<br> +And with my beloved the bowers beneath<br> +I’d wander, and wander, and wander.</p> + +<p>But ah! if the world is a battlefield wild,<br> +Where struggle the weak with the stronger,<br> +Then heed I no storm and no wife and no child!—<br> +I stand in abeyance no longer;—<br> +Rush into the fire of the battle nor yield,<br> +And fight for my perishing brother;<br> +Well, if I am struck—I can die on the field;<br> +Die gladly as well as another....</p> + +<H2><a name="despair">Despair</a></H2> + +<p>No rest—not one day in the seven for me?<br> +Not one, from the maddening yoke to be free?<br> +Not one to escape from the boss on the prowl,<br> +His sinister glance and his furious growl,<br> +The cry of the foreman, the smell of the shop,—<br> +To feel for one moment the manacles drop?<br> +—<i>’Tis rest then you want, and you fain would forget?<br> +To rest and oblivion they’ll carry you yet.</i></p> + +<p>The flow’rs and the trees will have withered ere long,<br> +The last bird already is ending his song;<br> +And soon will be leafless and shadeless the bow’rs...<br> +I long, oh I long for the perfume of flow’rs!<br> +To feel for a moment ere stripped are the trees,<br> +In meadow lands open, the breath of the breeze.<br> +—<i>You long for the meadow lands breezy and fair?<br> +O, soon enough others will carry you there.</i></p> + +<p>The rivulet sparkles with heavenly light,<br> +The wavelets they glisten, with diamonds bedight.<br> +Oh, but for a moment to leap in the stream,<br> +And play in the waters that ripple and gleam!<br> +My body is weakened with terrible toil.—<br> +The bath would refresh me, renew me the while.<br> +—<i>You dream of a bath in the shimmering stream?<br> +’Twill come—when forever is ended your dream.</i></p> + +<p>The sweatshop is smoky and gloomy and mean—<br> +I strive—oh, how vainly I strive to be clean!<br> +All day I am covered with grime and with dirt.<br> +You’d laugh,—but I long for a spotless white shirt!<br> +For life that is noble, ’tis needful, I ween,<br> +To work as a man should; and still be as clean.<br> +—<i>So now ’tis your wish all in white to be dressed?<br> +In white they will robe you, and lay you to rest.</i></p> + +<p>The woods they are cool, and the woods they are free;—<br> +To dream and to wander, how sweet it would be!<br> +The birds their eternal glad holiday keep;<br> +With song that enchants you and lulls you to sleep.<br> +’Tis hot here,—and close! and the din will not cease.<br> +I long for the forest, its coolth and its peace.<br> +—<i>Ay, cool you will soon be; and not only cool,<br> +But cold as no forest can make you, O Fool!</i></p> + +<p>I long for a friend who will comfort and cheer,<br> +And fill me with courage when sorrow is near;<br> +A comrade, of treasures the rarest and best,<br> +Who gives to existence its crown and its crest;<br> +And I am an orphan—and I am alone;<br> +No friend or companion to call me his own.<br> +—<i>Companions a-plenty—they’re numberless too;<br> +They’re swarming already and waiting for you.</i></p> + +<H2><a name="whither">Whither?</a></H2> + +<H3>(To a Young Girl)</H3> + +<p>Say whither, whither, pretty one?<br> +The hour is young at present!<br> +How hushed is all the world around!<br> +Ere dawn—the streets hold not a sound.<br> +O whither, whither do you run?<br> +Sleep at this hour is pleasant.<br> +The flowers are dreaming, dewy-wet;<br> +The bird-nests they are silent yet.<br> +Where to, before the rising sun<br> +The world her light is giving?</p> + +<p>“To earn a living.”</p> + +<p>O whither, whither, pretty child,<br> +So late at night a-strolling?<br> +Alone—with darkness round you curled?<br> +All rests!—and sleeping is the world.<br> +Where drives you now the wind so wild?<br> +The midnight bells are tolling!<br> +Day hath not warmed you with her light;<br> +What aid can’st hope then from the night?<br> +Night’s deaf and blind!—Oh whither, child,<br> +Light-minded fancies weaving?</p> + +<p>“To earn a living.”</p> + +<H2><a name="fromdawntodawn">From Dawn to Dawn</a></H2> + +<p>I bend o’er the wheel at my sewing;<br> +I’m spent; and I’m hungry for rest;<br> +No curse on the master bestowing,—<br> +No hell-fires within me are glowing,—<br> +Tho’ pain flares its fires in my breast.</p> + +<p>I mar the new cloth with my weeping,<br> +And struggle to hold back the tears;<br> +A fever comes over me, sweeping<br> +My veins; and all through me goes creeping<br> +A host of black terrors and fears.</p> + +<p>The wounds of the old years ache newly;<br> +The gloom of the shop hems me in;<br> +But six o’clock signals come duly:<br> +O, freedom seems mine again, truly...<br> +Unhindered I haste from the din.</p> + +<p class="centered">* * * * *</p> + +<p>Now home again, ailing and shaking,<br> +With tears that are blinding my eyes,<br> +With bones that are creaking and breaking,<br> +Unjoyful of rest... merely taking<br> +A seat; hoping never to rise.</p> + +<p>I gaze round me: none for a greeting!<br> +By Life for the moment unpressed,<br> +My poor wife lies sleeping—and beating<br> +A lip-tune in dream false and fleeting,<br> +My child mumbles close to her breast.</p> + +<p>I look on them, weeping in sorrow,<br> +And think: “When the Reaper has come—<br> +When finds me no longer the morrow—<br> +What aid then?—from whom will they borrow<br> +The crust of dry bread and the home?</p> + +<p>“What harbors that morrow,” I wonder,<br> +“For them when the breadwinner’s gone?<br> +When sudden and swift as the thunder<br> +The bread-bond is broken asunder,<br> +And friend in the world there is none.”</p> + +<p>A numbness my brain is o’ertaking...<br> +To sleep for a moment I drop:<br> +Then start!... In the east light is breaking!—<br> +I drag myself, ailing and aching,<br> +Again to the gloom of the shop.</p> + +<H2><a name="thecandleseller">The Candle Seller</a></H2> + +<p>In Hester Street, hard by a telegraph post,<br> +There sits a poor woman as wan as a ghost.<br> +Her pale face is shrunk, like the face of the dead,<br> +And yet you can tell that her cheeks once were red.<br> +But love, ease and friendship and glory, I ween,<br> +May hardly the cause of their fading have been.<br> +Poor soul, she has wept so, she scarcely can see.<br> +A skeleton infant she holds on her knee.<br> +It tugs at her breast, and it whimpers and sleeps,<br> +But soon at her cry it awakens and weeps—<br> +“Two cents, my good woman, three candles will buy,<br> +As bright as their flame be my star in the sky!”</p> + +<p>Tho’ few are her wares, and her basket is small,<br> +She earns her own living by these, when at all.<br> +She’s there with her baby in wind and in rain,<br> +In frost and in snow-fall, in weakness and pain.<br> +She trades and she trades, through the good times and slack—<br> +No home and no food, and no cloak to her back.<br> +She’s kithless and kinless—one friend at the most,<br> +And that one is silent: the telegraph post!<br> +She asks for no alms, the poor Jewess, but still,<br> +Altho’ she is wretched, forsaken and ill,<br> +She cries Sabbath candles to those that come nigh,<br> +And all that she pleads is, that people will buy.</p> + +<p>To honor the sweet, holy Sabbath, each one<br> +With joy in his heart to the market has gone.<br> +To shops and to pushcarts they hurriedly fare;<br> +But who for the poor, wretched woman will care?<br> +A few of her candles you think they will take?—<br> +They seek the meat patties, the fish and the cake.<br> +She holds forth a hand with the pitiful cry:<br> +“Two cents, my good women, three candles will buy!”<br> +But no one has listened, and no one has heard:<br> +Her voice is so weak, that it fails at each word.<br> +Perchance the poor mite in her lap understood,<br> +She hears mother’s crying—but where is the good</p> + +<p>I pray you, how long will she sit there and cry<br> +Her candles so feebly to all that pass by?<br> +How long will it be, do you think, ere her breath<br> +Gives out in the horrible struggle with Death?<br> +How long will this frail one in mother-love strong,<br> +Give suck to the babe at her breast? Oh, how long?<br> +The child mother’s tears used to swallow before,<br> +But mother’s eyes, nowadays, shed them no more.<br> +Oh, dry are the eyes now, and empty the brain,<br> +The heart well-nigh broken, the breath drawn with pain.<br> +Yet ever, tho’ faintly, she calls out anew:<br> +“Oh buy but two candles, good women, but two!”</p> + +<p>In Hester Street stands on the pavement of stone<br> +A small, orphaned basket, forsaken, alone.<br> +Beside it is sitting a corpse, cold and stark:<br> +The seller of candles—will nobody mark?<br> +No, none of the passers have noticed her yet.<br> +The rich ones, on feasting are busily set,<br> +And such as are pious, you well may believe,<br> +Have no time to spare on the gay Sabbath eve.<br> +So no one has noticed and no one has seen.<br> +And now comes the nightfall, and with it, serene,<br> +The Princess, the Sabbath, from Heaven descends,<br> +And all the gay throng to the synagogue wends.</p> + +<p>Within, where they pray, all is cleanly and bright,<br> +The cantor sings sweetly, they list with delight.<br> +But why in a dream stands the tall chandelier,<br> +As dim as the candles that gleam round a bier?<br> +The candles belonged to the woman, you know,<br> +Who died in the street but a short time ago.<br> +The rich and the pious have brought them tonight,<br> +For mother and child they have set them alight.<br> +The rich and the pious their duty have done:<br> +Her tapers are lighted who died all alone.<br> +The rich and the pious are nobly behaved:<br> +A body—what matters? But souls must be saved!</p> + +<p>O synagogue lights, be ye witnesses bold<br> +That mother and child died of hunger and cold<br> +Where millions are squandered in idle display;<br> +That men, all unheeded, must starve by the way.<br> +Then hold back your flame, blessed lights, hold it fast!<br> +The great day of judgment will come at the last.<br> +Before the white throne, where imposture is vain,<br> +Ye lights for the soul, ye’ll be lighted again!<br> +And upward your flame there shall mount as on wings,<br> +And damn the existing false order of things!</p> + +<H2><a name="thepaleoperator">The Pale Operator</a></H2> + +<p>If but with my pen I could draw him,<br> + With terror you’d look in his face;<br> +For he, since the first day I saw him,<br> + Has sat there and sewed in his place.</p> + +<p>Years pass in procession unending,<br> + And ever the pale one is seen,<br> +As over his work he sits bending,<br> + And fights with the soulless machine.</p> + +<p>I feel, as I gaze at each feature,<br> + Perspiring and grimy and wan,<br> +It is not the strength of the creature,—<br> + The will only, urges him on.</p> + +<p>And ever the sweat-drops are flowing,<br> + They fall o’er his thin cheek in streams,<br> +They water the stuff he is sewing,<br> + And soak themselves into the seams.</p> + +<p>How long shall the wheel yet, I pray you,<br> + Be chased by the pale artisan?<br> +And what shall the ending be, say you?<br> + Resolve the dark riddle who can!</p> + +<p>I know that it cannot be reckoned,—<br> + But one thing the future will show:<br> +When this man has vanished, a second<br> + Will sit in his place there and sew.</p> + +<H2><a name="thebeggarfamily">The Beggar Family</a></H2> + +<p>Within the court, before the judge,<br> +There stand six wretched creatures,<br> +They’re lame and weary, one and all,<br> +With pinched and pallid features.<br> +The father is a broken man,<br> +The mother weak and ailing,<br> +The little children, skin and bone,<br> +With fear and hunger wailing.</p> + +<p>Their sins are very great, and call<br> +Aloud for retribution,<br> +For their’s (maybe you guess!) the crime<br> +Of hopeless destitution.<br> +They look upon the judge’s face,<br> +They know what judges ponder,<br> +They know the punishment that waits<br> +On those that beg and wander.</p> + +<p>For months from justice they have fled<br> +Along the streets and highways,<br> +From farm to farm, from town to town,<br> +Along the lanes and byways.<br> +They’ve slept full oftentimes in jail,<br> +They’re known in many places;<br> +Yet still they live, for all the woe<br> +That’s stamped upon their faces.</p> + +<p>The woman’s chill with fear. The man<br> +Implores the judge: “Oh tell us,<br> +What will you? With our children small<br> +Relentlessly expel us?<br> +Oh let us be! We’ll sleep at night<br> +In corners dark; the city<br> +Has room for all! And some kind soul<br> +Will give a crust in pity.</p> + +<p>“For wife and children I will toil:<br> +It cannot be much longer<br> +(For God almighty is and good!)<br> +Ere I for work am stronger.<br> +Oh let us here with men remain,<br> +Nor drive us any further!<br> +Oh why our curses will you have,<br> +And not our blessings rather!”</p> + +<p>And now the sick man quails before<br> +The judge’s piercing glances:<br> +“No, only two of you shall go<br> +This time and take your chances.<br> +Your wife and you! The children four<br> +You’ll leave, my man, behind you,<br> +For them, within the Orphan’s Home,<br> +Free places I will find you.”</p> + +<p>The father’s dumb—the mother shrieks:<br> +“My babes and me you’d sever?<br> +If God there be, such cruel act<br> +Shall find forgiveness never!<br> +But first, oh judge, must you condemn<br> +To death their wretched mother—<br> +I cannot leave my children dear<br> +With you or any other!</p> + +<p>“I bore and nursed them, struggling still<br> +To shelter and to shield them,<br> +Oh judge, I’ll beg from door to door,<br> +My very life-blood yield them!<br> +I know you do not mean it, judge,<br> +With us poor folk you’re jesting.<br> +Give back my babes, and further yet<br> +We’ll wander unprotesting.”</p> + +<p>The judge, alas! has turned away,<br> +The paper dread unrolled,<br> +And useless all the mother’s grief,<br> +The wild and uncontrolled.<br> +More cruel can a sentence be<br> +Than that which now is given?<br> +Oh cursed the system ’neath whose sway<br> +The human heart is riven!</p> + +<H2><a name="amillionaire">A Millionaire</a></H2> + +<p>No, not from tuning-forks of gold<br> + Take I my key for singing;<br> +From Upper Seats no order bold<br> + Can set my music ringing;<br> +But groans the slave through sense of wrong,<br> + And naught my voice can smother;<br> +As flame leaps up, so leaps my song<br> + For my oppressed brother.</p> + +<p>And thus the end comes swift and sure...<br> + Thus life itself must leave me;<br> +For what can these my brothers poor<br> + In compensation give me,<br> +Save tears for ev’ry tear and sigh?—<br> + (For they are rich in anguish).<br> +A millionaire of tears am I,<br> + And mid my millions languish.</p> + +<H2><a name="septembermelodies">September Melodies</a></H2> + +<H3>I</H3> + +<p>The summer is over!<br> +’Tis windy and chilly.<br> +The flowers are dead in the dale.<br> +All beauty has faded,<br> +The rose and the lily<br> +In death-sleep lie withered and pale.</p> + +<p>Now hurries the stormwind<br> +A mournful procession<br> +Of leaves and dead flowers along,<br> +Now murmurs the forest<br> +Its dying confession,<br> +And hushed is the holiest song.</p> + +<p>Their “prayers of departure”<br> +The wild birds are singing,<br> +They fly to the wide stormy main.<br> +Oh tell me, ye loved ones,<br> +Whereto are ye winging?<br> +Oh answer: when come ye again?</p> + +<p>Oh hark to the wailing<br> +For joys that have vanished!<br> +The answer is heavy with pain:<br> +Alas! We know only<br> +That hence we are banished—<br> +But God knows of coming again!</p> + +<H3>II</H3> + +<p>The Tkiyes*-man has blown his horn,<br> +And swift the days’ declining;<br> +The leaves drop off, in fields forlorn<br> +Are tender grasses pining.</p> + +<p>The earth will soon be cold and bare,<br> +Her robe of glory falling;<br> +Already to the mourner’s prayer<br> +The last wild bird is calling.</p> + +<p>He sings so sweetly and so sad<br> +A song of friends who parted,<br> +That even if it find you glad,<br> +It leaves you broken hearted.</p> + +<p>The copses shudder in the breeze,<br> +Some dream-known terror fearing.<br> +Awake! O great and little trees!<br> +The Judgment-day is nearing!</p> + +<p>O men! O trees in copses cold!<br> +Beware the rising weather!<br> +Or late or soon, both young and old<br> +Shall strew the ground together... .</p> + +<p>[*Tkiye: first blast of the Ram’s horn.]</p> + +<H2><a name="depression">Depression</a></H2> + +<p>All the striving, all the failing,<br> +To the silent Nothing sailing.<br> +Swiftly, swiftly passing by!<br> +For the land of shadows leaving,<br> +Where a wistful hand is weaving<br> +Thy still woof, Eternity!</p> + +<p>Gloomy thoughts in me awaken,<br> +And with fear my breast is shaken,<br> +Thinking: O thou black abyss;<br> +All the toil and thrift of life,<br> +All the struggle and the strife,<br> +Shall it come at last to this?</p> + +<p>With the grave shall be requited<br> +Good and evil, and united<br> +Ne’er to separate again?<br> +What the light hath parted purely,<br> +Shall the darkness join more surely?—<br> +Was the vict’ry won in vain?</p> + +<p>O mute and infinite extension,<br> +O time beyond our comprehension,<br> +Shall thought and deed ungarnered fall?<br> +Ev’rything dost take and slay,<br> +Ev’rything dost bear away,<br> +Silent Nothing, silent All!...</p> + +<H2><a name="thecanary">The Canary</a></H2> + +<p>The free canary warbles<br> +In leafy forest dell:<br> +Who feels what rapture thrills her,<br> +And who her joy can tell?</p> + +<p>The sweet canary warbles<br> +Where wealth and splendor dwell:<br> +Who knows what sorrow moves her,<br> +And who her pain can tell?</p> + +<H2><a name="wantandi">Want And I</a></H2> + +<p>Who’s there? who’s there? who was it tried<br> +To force the entrance I’ve denied?<br> +An ’twere a friend, I’d gladly borne it,<br> +But no—’twas Want! I could have sworn it.<br> +I heard thy voice, old witch, I know thee!<br> +Avaunt, thou evil hag, beshrew thee!<br> +God’s curse! why seekest thou to find me?<br> +Away to all black years behind me!</p> + +<p>To torture me was thine endeavor,<br> +My body from my soul to sever,<br> +Of pride and courage to deprive me,<br> +And into beggary to drive me.<br> +Begone, where thousand devils burn—<br> +Begone, nor evermore return!<br> +Begone, most wretched thou of creatures,<br> +And hide for aye thine hateful features!<br> +—Beloved, ope the door in pity!</p> + +<p>No friend have I in all the city<br> +Save thee, then open to my call!<br> +The night is bleak, the snowflakes fall.<br> +Thine own, old Want am I, believe me!<br> +Ah, what delight, wilt thou receive me?<br> +I found, when I from thee had parted,<br> +No friend but he was fickle-hearted!</p> + +<p>Away, old hag! Thou liest, lo,<br> +Thou harbinger of pain and woe!<br> +Away—am I thine only friend?<br> +Thy lovers pale, they have no end!<br> +Thou vile one, may the devil take thee!<br> +Begone and no more visits make me!<br> +For—Yiddish writers not to mention—<br> +Men hold thee no such rare invention.</p> + +<p>—’Tis true! yet those must wait my leisure.<br> +To be with thee is now my pleasure.<br> +I love thy black and curling hair,<br> +I love thy wounded heart’s despair,<br> +I love thy sighs, I love to swallow<br> +Thy tears and all thy songs to follow.<br> +Oh great indeed, might I but show it,<br> +My love for thee, my pale-faced poet!</p> + +<p>Away, I’ve heard all that before,<br> +And am a writer, mark, no more.<br> +Instead of verses, wares I tell,<br> +And candy and tobacco sell.<br> +My life is sweet, my life is bitter.<br> +I’m ready and a prompt acquitter.<br> +Oh, smarter traders there are many,<br> +Yet live I well and turn a penny.</p> + +<p>—A dealer then wilt thou remain,<br> +Forever from the pen abstain?<br> +Good resolutions time disperses:<br> +Thou yet shalt hunger o’er thy verses,<br> +But vainly seeking to excuse thee<br> +Because thou dost, tonight, refuse me.<br> +Then open, fool, I tell thee plain,<br> +That we perforce shall meet again.</p> + +<p>Begone the way that I direct thee!<br> +I’ve millionaires now to protect me;<br> +No need to beg, no need to borrow,<br> +Nor fear a penniless tomorrow,<br> +Nor walk with face of blackest omen<br> +To thrill the hearts of stupid foemen,<br> +Who fain my pride to earth would bring,<br> +Because, forsooth, I sweetly sing!</p> + +<p>—Ho ho! ere thou art grown much older,<br> +Thy millionaires will all grow colder.<br> +Thou soon shalt be forgotten by them—<br> +They’ve other things to occupy them!<br> +Just now with thee they’re playing kindly,<br> +But fortune’s wheel is turning blindly<br> +To grind thy pleasures ere thou know it—<br> +And thou art left to me, my poet!</p> + +<H2><a name="thephantomvessel">The Phantom Vessel</a></H2> + +<p>Now the last, long rays of sunset<br> +To the tree-tops are ascending,<br> +And the ash-gray evening shadows<br> +Weave themselves around the earth.</p> + +<p>On the crest of yonder mountain,<br> +Now are seen from out the distance<br> +Slowly fading crimson traces;<br> +Footprints of the dying day.</p> + +<p>Blood-stained banners, torn and tattered,<br> +Hanging in the western corner,<br> +Dip their parched and burning edges<br> +In the cooling ocean wave.</p> + +<p>Smoothly roll the crystal wavelets<br> +Through the dusky veils of twilight,<br> +That are trembling down from heaven<br> +O’er the bosom of the sea.</p> + +<p>Soft a little wind is blowing<br> +O’er the gently rippling waters—<br> +What they whisper, what they murmur,<br> +Who is wise enough to say?</p> + +<p>Broad her snow-white sails outspreading<br> +’Gainst the quiet sky of evening,<br> +Flies a ship without a sailor,<br> +Flies—and whither, who can tell?</p> + +<p>As by magic moves the rudder;<br> +Borne upon her snowy pinions<br> +Flies the ship—as tho’ a spirit<br> +Drove her onward at its will!</p> + +<p>Empty is she, and deserted,<br> +Only close beside the mainmast<br> +Stands a lonely child, heartbroken,<br> +Sobbing loud and bitterly.</p> + +<p>Long and golden curls are falling<br> +Down his neck and o’er his shoulders;<br> +Now he glances backward sighing,<br> +And the silent ship flies on!</p> + +<p>With a little, shining kerchief,<br> +Fluttering upon the breezes,<br> +Unto me he sends a greeting,<br> +From afar he waves farewell.</p> + +<p>And my heart is throbbing wildly,<br> +I am weeping—tell me wherefore?<br> +God! that lovely child, I know him!<br> +’Tis my youth that flies from me!</p> + +<H2><a name="tomymisery">To My Misery</a></H2> + +<p>O Misery of mine, no other<br> + In faithfulness can match with thee,<br> +Thou more than friend, and more than brother,<br> + The only thing that cares for me!</p> + +<p>Where’er I turn, are unkind faces,<br> + And hate and treachery and guile,<br> +Thou, Mis’ry, in all times and places,<br> + Dost greet me with thy pallid smile.</p> + +<p>At birth I found thee waiting for me,<br> + I knew thee in my cradle first,<br> +The same small eyes and dim watched o’er me,<br> + The same dry, bony fingers nursed.</p> + +<p>And day by day when morning lightened,<br> + To school thou led’st me—home did’st bring,<br> +And thine were all the blooms that brightened<br> + The chilly landscape of my spring.</p> + +<p>And, thou my match and marriage monger,<br> + The marriage deed by thee was read;<br> +The hands foretelling need and hunger<br> + Were laid in blessing on my head.</p> + +<p>Thy love for me shall last unshaken,<br> + No further proof I ask, for when<br> +My hopes for aye were from me taken,<br> + My Mis’ry, thou wert with me then;</p> + +<p>And still, while sorrow’s storm is breaking<br> + Above me, and my head I bow—<br> +The kindly and the unforsaking,<br> + Oh Mis’ry, thou art with me now.</p> + +<p>Ay, still from out Fate’s gloomy towers<br> + I see thee come to me again,<br> +With wreaths of everlasting flowers,<br> + And songs funereal in thy train.</p> + +<p>And when life’s curses rock me nightly,<br> + And hushed I lie in slumber’s hold,<br> +Thy sable form comes treading lightly<br> + To wrap me in its garments fold.</p> + +<p>Thy brother let me be, and wholly<br> + Repay thee all I owe, tho’ late:<br> +My aching heart, my melancholy,<br> + My songs to thee I dedicate.</p> + +<H2><a name="olongtheway">O Long The Way</a></H2> + +<p>O long the way and short the day,<br> + No light in tower or town,<br> +The waters roar and far the shore—<br> + My ship, my ship goes down!</p> + +<p>’Tis all in vain to strive again,<br> + My cry the billows drown,<br> +The fight is done, the wind has won—<br> + My ship, my ship goes down!</p> + +<p>Bright sun, adieu! Thou’lt shine anew<br> + When skies no longer frown,<br> +But I—the deafening billows crash—<br> + My ship, my ship goes down!</p> + +<H2><a name="tothefortuneseeker">To The Fortune Seeker</a></H2> + +<p>A little more, a little less!—<br> +O shadow-hunters pitiless,<br> +Why then so eager, say!<br> +What’er you leave the grave will take,<br> +And all you gain and all you make,<br> +It will not last a day!</p> + +<p>Full soon will come the Reaper Black,<br> +Cut thorns and flowers mark his track<br> +Across Life’s meadow blithe.<br> +Oppose him, meet him as you will,<br> +Old Time’s behests he harkens still,<br> +Unsparing wields his scythe.</p> + +<p>A horrid mutiny by stealth<br> +Breaks out,—of power, fame and wealth<br> +Deserted you shall be!<br> +The foam upon your lip is rife;<br> +The last enigma now of Life<br> +Shall Death resolve for thee.</p> + +<p>You call for help—’tis all in vain!<br> +What have you for your toil and pain,<br> +What have you at the last?<br> +Poor luckless hunter, are you dumb?<br> +This way the cold pall-bearers come:<br> +A beggar’s soul has passed!</p> + +<p>A little less, a little more !—<br> +Look forth, look forth! without the door<br> +There stands a robber old.<br> +He’ll force your ev’ry lock and spring,<br> +And all your goods he’ll take and fling<br> +On Stygian waters cold.</p> + +<H2><a name="myyouth">My Youth</a></H2> + +<p>Come, beneath yon verdant branches,<br> +Come, my own, with me!<br> +Come, and there my soul will open<br> +Secret doors to thee.<br> +Yonder shalt thou learn the secrets<br> +Deep within my breast,<br> +Where my love upsprings eternal;<br> +Come! with pain opprest,<br> +Yonder all the truth I’ll tell thee,<br> +Tell it thee with tears...<br> +(Ah, so long have we been parted,<br> +Years of youth, sweet years!)</p> + +<p>See’st thou the dancers floating<br> +On a stream of sound?<br> +There alone, the soul entrancing,<br> +Happiness is found!<br> +Magic music, hark! it calls us,<br> +Ringing wild and sweet!<br> +One, two, three!—beloved, haste thee,<br> +Point thy dainty feet!<br> +Now at last I feel that living<br> +Is no foolish jest...<br> +(O sweet years of youth departed,<br> +Vanished with the rest!)</p> + +<p>Fiddler, play a little longer!<br> +Why this hurry, say?<br> +I’m but half-way through a measure—<br> +Yet a little play!<br> +Smiling in her wreath of flowers<br> +Is my love not fair?<br> +See us in the charmed circle,<br> +Flitting light as air!<br> +Haste thee, loved one, for the music<br> +Shall be hushed anon...<br> +(O sweet years of youth departed,<br> +Whither are ye gone?)</p> + +<p>Gracious youth of mine, so quickly<br> +Hath it come to this?<br> +Lo, where flowed the golden river,<br> +Yawns the black abyss!<br> +Where, oh where is my beloved,<br> +Where the wreath of flowers?<br> +Where, oh where the merry fiddler,<br> +Where those happy hours?<br> +Shall I never hear the echoes<br> +Of those songs again?<br> +Oh, on what hills are they ringing,<br> +O’er what sunny plain?<br> +May not I from out the distance<br> +Cast one backward glance<br> +On that fair and lost existence,<br> +Youth’s sweet dalliance?<br> +Foolish dreamer! Time hath snatched it,<br> +And, tho’ man implore,<br> +Joys that <i>he</i> hath reaped and garnered<br> +Bloom again no more!</p> + +<H2><a name="inthewilderness">In The Wilderness</a></H2> + +<p>Alone in desert dreary,<br> +A bird with folded wings<br> +Beholds the waste about her,<br> +And sweetly, sweetly sings.</p> + +<p>So heaven-sweet her singing,<br> +So clear the bird notes flow,<br> +’Twould seem the rocks must waken,<br> +The desert vibrant grow.</p> + +<p>Dead rocks and silent mountains<br> +Would’st waken with thy strain,—<br> +But dumb are still the mountains,<br> +And dead the rocks remain.</p> + +<p>For whom, O heavenly singer,<br> +Thy song so clear and free?<br> +Who hears or sees or heeds thee,<br> +Who feels or cares for thee?</p> + +<p>Thou may’st outpour in music<br> +Thy very soul... ’Twere vain!<br> +In stone thou canst not waken<br> +A throb of joy or pain.</p> + +<p>Thy song shall soon be silenced;<br> +I feel it... For I know<br> +Thy heart is near to bursting<br> +With loneliness and woe.</p> + +<p>Ah, vain is thine endeavor;<br> +It naught availeth—nay;<br> +For lonely as thou camest,<br> +So shalt thou pass away.</p> + +<H2><a name="iveoftenlaughed">I’ve Often Laughed</a></H2> + +<p>I’ve often laughed and oftener still have wept,<br> +A sighing always through my laughter crept,<br> +Tears were not far away...<br> +What is there to say?</p> + +<p>I’ve spoken much and oftener held by tongue,<br> +For still the most was neither said nor sung.<br> +Could I but tell it so...<br> +What is there to know?</p> + +<p>I’ve hated much and loved, oh so much more!<br> +Fierce contrasts at my very heartstrings tore...<br> +I tried to fight them—well...<br> +What is there to tell?</p> + +<H2><a name="againisingmysongs">Again I Sing my Songs</a></H2> + +<p>Once again my songs I sing thee,<br> + Now the spell is broken;<br> +Brothers, yet again I bring thee<br> + Songs of love the token.<br> +Of my joy and of my sorrow<br> + Gladly, sadly bringing;—<br> +Summer not a song would borrow—<br> + Winter sets me singing.</p> + +<p>O when life turns sad and lonely,<br> + When our joys are dead;<br> +When are heard the ravens only<br> + In the trees o’erhead;<br> +When the stormwind on the bowers<br> + Wreaks its wicked will,<br> +When the frost paints lying flowers,<br> + How should I be still?</p> + +<p>When the clouds are low descending,<br> + And the sun is drowned;<br> +When the winter knows no ending,<br> + And the cold is crowned;<br> +When with evil gloom oppressed<br> + Lie the ruins bare;<br> +When a sigh escapes the breast,<br> + Takes us unaware;</p> + +<p>When the snow-wrapped mountain dreams<br> + Of its summer gladness,<br> +When the wood is stripped and seems<br> + Full of care and sadness;<br> +When the songs are growing still<br> + As in Death’s repose,<br> +And the heart is growing chill,<br> + And the eyelids close;</p> + +<p>Then, O then I can but sing<br> + For I dream her coming—<br> +May, sweet May! I see her bring<br> + Buds and wild-bee humming!<br> +Through the silence heart-appalling,<br> + As I stand and listen,<br> +I can hear her song-birds calling,<br> + See her green leaves glisten!</p> + +<p>Thus again my songs I sing thee,<br> + Now the spell is broken;<br> +Brothers, yet again I bring thee<br> + Of my love the token.<br> +Of my joy and of my sorrow<br> + Gladly, sadly bringing,—<br> +Summer not a song would borrow!—<br> +Winter sets me singing.</p> + +<H2><a name="liberty">Liberty</a></H2> + +<p>When night and silence deep<br> +Hold all the world in sleep,<br> +As tho’ Death claimed the Hour,<br> +By some strange witchery<br> +Appears her form to me,<br> +As tho’ Magic were her dow’r.</p> + +<p>Her beauty heaven’s light!<br> +Her bosom snowy white!<br> +But pale her cheek appears.<br> +Her shoulders firm and fair;<br> +A mass of gold her hair.<br> +Her eyes—the home of tears.</p> + +<p>She looks at me nor speaks.<br> +Her arms are raised; she seeks<br> +Her fettered hands to show.<br> +On both white wrists a chain!—<br> +She cries and pleads in pain:<br> +“Unbind me!—Let me go!”</p> + +<p>I burn with bitter ire,<br> +I leap in wild desire<br> +The cruel bonds to break;<br> +But God! around the chain<br> +Is coiled and coiled again<br> +A long and loathsome snake.</p> + +<p>I shout, I cry, I chide;<br> +My voice goes far and wide,<br> +A ringing call to men:<br> +“Oh come, let in the light!<br> +Arise! Ye have the might!<br> +Set Freedom free again!”</p> + +<p>They sleep. But I strive on.<br> +They sleep!... Can’st wake a stone?...<br> +That one might stir! but one!<br> +Call I, or hold my peace,<br> +None comes to her release;<br> +And hope for her is none.</p> + +<p>But who may see her plight<br> +And not go mad outright!...<br> +“Now: up! For Freedom’s sake!”<br> +I spring to take her part:—<br> +“Fool!” cries a voice. I start...<br> +In anguish I awake.</p> + +<H2><a name="atreeintheghetto">A Tree in the Ghetto</a></H2> + +<p>There stands in th’ leafless Ghetto<br> +One spare-leaved, ancient tree;<br> +Above the Ghetto noises<br> +It moans eternally.</p> + +<p>In wonderment it muses,<br> +And murmurs with a sigh:<br> +“Alas! how God-forsaken<br> +And desolate am I!</p> + +<p>“Alas, the stony alleys,<br> +And noises loud and bold!<br> +Where are ye, birds of summer?<br> +Where are ye, woods of old?</p> + +<p>“And where, ye breezes balmy<br> +That wandered vagrant here?<br> +And where, oh sweep of heavens<br> +So deep and blue and clear?</p> + +<p>“Where are ye, mighty giants?<br> +Ye come not riding by<br> +Upon your fiery horses,<br> +A-whistling merrily.</p> + +<p>“Of other days my dreaming,<br> +Of other days, ah me!<br> +When sturdy hero-races<br> +Lived wild and glad and free!</p> + +<p>“The old sun shone, how brightly!<br> +The old lark sang, what song!<br> +O’er earth Desire and Gladness<br> +Reigned happily and long</p> + +<p>“But see! what are these ant-hills?—<br> +These ants that creep and crawl?...<br> +Bereft of man and nature,<br> +My life is stripped of all!</p> + +<p>“And I, an ancient orphan,<br> +What do I here alone?<br> +My friends have all departed,<br> +My youth and glory gone.</p> + +<p>“Oh, tear me, root and branches!<br> +No longer let me be<br> +A living head-stone, brooding<br> +O’er the grave of liberty.”</p> + +<H2><a name="thecemeterynightingale">The Cemetery Nightingale</a></H2> + +<p>In the hills’ embraces holden,<br> + In a valley filled with glooms,<br> +Lies a cemetery olden,<br> + Strewn with countless mould’ring tombs.</p> + +<p>Ancient graves o’erhung with mosses,<br> + Crumbling stones, effaced and green,—<br> +Venturesome is he who crosses,<br> + Night or day, the lonely scene.</p> + +<p>Blasted trees and willow streamers,<br> + ’Midst the terror round them spread,<br> +Seem like awe-bound, silent dreamers<br> + In this garden of the dead.</p> + +<p>One bird, anguish stricken, lingers<br> + In the shadow of the vale,<br> +First and best of feathered singers,—<br> + ’Tis the churchyard nightingale.</p> + +<p>As from bough to bough he flutters,<br> + Sweetest songs of woe and wail<br> +Through his gift divine he utters<br> + For the dreamers in the vale.</p> + +<p>Listen how his trills awaken<br> + Echoes from each mossy stone!<br> +Of all places he has taken<br> + God’s still Acre for his own.</p> + +<p class="centered">* * * * *</p> + +<p>Not on Spring or Summer glory,<br> +Not on god or angel story<br> +Loyal poet-fancy dwells!<br> +Not on streams for rich men flowing,<br> +Not on fields for rich men’s mowing,—<br> +Graves he sees, of graves he tells.<br> +Pain, oppression, woe eternal,<br> +Open heart-wounds deep, diurnal,<br> +Nothing comforts or allays;<br> +O’er God’s Acre in each nation<br> +Sings he songs of tribulation<br> +Tunes his golden harp and plays.</p> + +<H2><a name="thecreationofman">The Creation Of Man</a></H2> + +<p>When the world was first created<br> +By th’ all-wise Eternal One,<br> +Asked he none for help or counsel,—<br> +Simply spake, and it was done!</p> + +<p>Made it for his own good pleasure,<br> +Shaped it on his own design,<br> +Spent a long day’s work upon it,<br> +Formed it fair and very fine.</p> + +<p>Soon he thought on man’s creation,—<br> +Then perplexities arose,<br> +So the Lord His winged Senate<br> +Called, the question to propose:</p> + +<p>Hear, my great ones, why I called ye,<br> +Hear and help me ye who can,<br> +Hear and tell me how I further<br> +Shall proceed in making man.</p> + +<p>Ponder well before ye answer,<br> +And consider, children dear;—<br> +In our image I would make him,<br> +Free from stain, from blemish clear.</p> + +<p>Of my holy fire I’d give him,<br> +Crowned monarch shall he be,<br> +Ruling with a sway unquestioned<br> +Over earth and air and sea.</p> + +<p>Birds across the blue sky winging<br> +Swift shall fly before his face,—<br> +Silver fishes in the ocean,<br> +Savage lion in the chase.</p> + +<p>—How? This toy of froth and vapor,<br> +Thought the Senate, filled with fear,<br> +If so wide his kingdom stretches,<br> +Shortly he will break in here!</p> + +<p>So the Lord they answered, saying:—<br> +Mind and strength Thy creature give,<br> +Form him in our very image,<br> +Lord, but wingless let him live!</p> + +<p>Lest he shame the soaring eagle<br> +Let no wings to man be giv’n,<br> +Bid him o’er the earth be ruler,<br> +Lord, but keep him out of heav’n!</p> + +<p>Wisely said, the Lord made answer,<br> +Lo, your counsel fair I take!<br> +Yet, my Senate, one exception—<br> +One alone, I will to make.</p> + +<p>One exception! for the poet,<br> +For the singer, shall have wings;<br> +He the gates of Heav’n shall enter,<br> +Highest of created things.</p> + +<p>One I single from among ye,<br> +One to watch the ages long,<br> +Promptly to admit the poet<br> +When he hears his holy song.</p> + +<H2><a name="journalism">Journalism</a></H2> + +<p>Written today, and read today,<br> +And stale the news tomorrow!—<br> +Upon the sands I build... I <i>play!</i><br> +I play, and weep in sorrow:<br> +“Ah God, dear God! to find cessation<br> +From this soul-crushing occupation!<br> +If but one year ere Thou dost call me Thither,<br> +Lord, at this blighting task let me not wither.”</p> + +<H2><a name="penandshears">Pen and Shears</a></H2> + +<p>My tailor’s shears I scornèd then;<br> + I strove for something higher:<br> +To edit news—live by the pen—<br> + The pen that shall not tire!</p> + +<p>The pen, that was my humble slave,<br> + Has now enslaved its master;<br> +And fast as flows its Midas-wave,<br> + My rebel tears flow faster.</p> + +<p>The world I clad once, tailor-hired,<br> + Whilst I in tatters quakèd,<br> +Today, you see me well attired,<br> + Who lets the world go naked.</p> + +<p>What human soul, how’er oppressed,<br> + Can feel my chained soul’s yearning!<br> +A monster woe lies in my breast,<br> + In voiceless anguish burning.</p> + +<p>Oh, swing ajar the shop door, do!<br> + I’ll bear as ne’er I bore it.<br> +My blood!... you sweatshop leeches, you!...<br> + Now less I’ll blame you for it.</p> + +<p>I’ll stitch as ne’er in former years;<br> + I’ll drive the mad wheel faster;<br> +Slave will I be but to the shears;<br> + The pen shall know its master!</p> + +<H2><a name="forhire">For Hire</a></H2> + +<p>Work with might and main,<br> + Or with hand and heart,<br> +Work with soul and brain,<br> + Or with holy art,<br> +Thread, or genius’ fire—<br> + Make a vest, or verse—<br> +If ’tis done for hire,<br> + It is done the worse.</p> + +<H2><a name="afellowslave">A Fellow Slave</a></H2> + +<p>Pale-faced is he, as in the door<br> +He stands and trembles visibly,—<br> +With diffidence approaches me,<br> +And says: “Dear editor,</p> + +<p>“Since write you must, in prose or rhyme,<br> +Expose my master’s knavery,<br> +Condemn, I pray, the slavery<br> +That dominates our time.</p> + +<p>“I labor for a wicked man<br> +Who holds o’er all my being sway,—<br> +Who keeps me harnessed night and day.<br> +Since work I first began.</p> + +<p>“No leisure moments do I store,<br> +Yet harsh words only will he speak;<br> +My days are his, from week to week,<br> +But still he cries for more.</p> + +<p>“Oh print, I beg you, all I’ve said,<br> +And ask the world if this be right:<br> +To give the worker wage so slight<br> +That he must want for bread.</p> + +<p>“See, I have sinews powerful,<br> +And I’ve endurance, subtle skill,—<br> +Yet may not use them at my will,<br> +But live a master’s tool.</p> + +<p>“But oh, without avail do I<br> +Lay bare the woes of workingmen!<br> +Who earns his living by the pen,<br> +Feels not our misery.”</p> + +<p>The pallid slave yet paler grew,<br> +And ended here his bitter cry...<br> +And thus to him I made reply:<br> +“My friend, you judge untrue.</p> + +<p>“My strength and skill, like yours, are gain<br> +For others... Sold!... You understand?<br> +Your master—well—he owns your hand,<br> +And mine—he owns my brain.”</p> + +<H2><a name="thejewishmay">The Jewish May</a></H2> + +<p>May has come from out the showers,<br> +Sun and splendor in her train.<br> +All the grasses and the flowers<br> +Waken up to life again.<br> +Once again the leaves do show,<br> +And the meadow blossoms blow,<br> +Once again through hills and dales<br> +Rise the songs of nightingales.</p> + +<p>Wheresoe’er on field or hillside<br> +With her paint-brush Spring is seen,—<br> +In the valley, by the rillside,<br> +All the earth is decked with green.<br> +Once again the sun beguiles<br> +Moves the drowsy world to smiles.<br> +See! the sun, with mother-kiss<br> +Wakes her child to joy and bliss.</p> + +<p>Now each human feeling presses<br> +Flow’r like, upward to the sun,<br> +Softly, through the heart’s recesses,<br> +Steal sweet fancies, one by one.<br> +Golden dreams, their wings outshaking,<br> +Now are making<br> +Realms celestial,<br> +All of azure,<br> +New life waking,<br> +Bringing treasure<br> +Out of measure<br> +For the soul’s delight and pleasure.</p> + +<p>Who then, tell me, old and sad,<br> +Nears us with a heavy tread?<br> +On the sward in verdure clad,<br> +Lonely is the strange newcomer,<br> +Wearily he walks and slow,—<br> +His sweet springtime and his summer<br> +Faded long and long ago!</p> + +<p>Say, who is it yonder walks<br> +Past the hedgerows decked anew,<br> +While a fearful spectre stalks<br> +By his side the woodland through?<br> +’Tis our ancient friend the Jew!<br> +No sweet fancies hover round him,<br> +Naught but terror and distress.<br> +Wounds unhealed<br> +Where lie revealed<br> +Ghosts of former recollections,<br> +Corpses, corpses, old affections,<br> +Buried youth and happiness.</p> + +<p>Brier and blossom bow to meet him<br> +In derision round his path;<br> +Gloomily the hemlocks greet him<br> +And the crow screams out in wrath.<br> +Strange the birds and strange the flowers,<br> +Strange the sunshine seems and dim,<br> +Folk on earth and heav’nly powers!—<br> +Lo, the May is strange to him!</p> + +<p>Little flowers, it were meeter<br> +If ye made not quite so bold:<br> +Sweet ye are, but oh, far sweeter<br> +Knew he in the days of old!<br> +Oranges by thousands glowing<br> +Filled his groves on either hand,—<br> +All the plants were God’s own sowing<br> +In his happy, far-off land!</p> + +<p>Ask the cedars on the mountain!<br> +Ask them, for they know him well!<br> +Myrtles green by Sharon’s fountain,<br> +In whose shade he loved to dwell!<br> +Ask the Mount of Olives beauteous,—<br> +Ev’ry tree by ev’ry stream!—<br> +One and all will answer duteous<br> +For the fair and ancient dream....</p> + +<p>O’er the desert and the pleasance<br> +Gales of Eden softly blew,<br> +And the Lord His loving Presence<br> +Evermore declared anew.<br> +Angel children at their leisure<br> +Played in thousands round His tent,<br> +Countless thoughts of joy and pleasure<br> +God to His beloved sent.</p> + +<p>There in bygone days and olden,<br> +From a wond’rous harp and golden<br> +Charmed he music spirit-haunting,<br> +Holy, chaste and soul-enchanting.<br> +Never with the ancient sweetness,<br> +Never in its old completeness<br> +Shall it sound: his dream is ended,<br> +On a willow-bough suspended.</p> + +<p>Gone that dream so fair and fleeting!<br> +Yet behold: thou dreamst anew!<br> +Hark! a <i>new</i> May gives thee greeting<br> +From afar. Dost hear it, Jew?<br> +Weep no more, altho’ with sorrows<br> +Bow’d e’en to the grave: I see<br> +Happier years and brighter morrows,<br> +Dawning, Israel, for thee!<br> +Hear’st thou not the promise ring<br> +Where, like doves on silver wing,<br> +Thronging cherubs sweetly sing<br> +Newmade songs of what shall be?</p> + +<p>Hark! your olives shall be shaken,<br> +And your citrons and your limes<br> +Filled with fragrance. God shall waken.<br> +Lead you as in olden times.<br> +In the pastures by the river<br> +Ye once more your flocks shall tend.<br> +Ye shall live, and live forever<br> +Happy lives that know no end.<br> +No more wandering, no more sadness:<br> +Peace shall be your lot, and still<br> +Hero hearts shall throb with gladness<br> +’Neath Moriah’s silent hill.<br> +Nevermore of dread afflictions<br> +Or oppression need ye tell:<br> +Filled with joy and benedictions<br> +In the old home shall ye dwell.<br> +To the fatherland returning,<br> +Following the homeward path,<br> +Ye shall find the embers burning<br> +Still upon the ruined hearth!</p> + +<H2><a name="thefeastoflights">The Feast Of Lights</a></H2> + +<p>Little candles glistening,<br> +Telling those are listening<br> +Legends manifold,<br> +Many a little story,<br> +Tales of blood and glory<br> +Of the days of old.</p> + +<p>As I watch you flicker,<br> +As I list you bicker,<br> +Speak the ancient dreams:<br> +—You have battled, Jew, one time,<br> +You have conquer’d too, one time.<br> +(God, how strange it seems!)</p> + +<p>In your midst was order once,<br> +And within your border once<br> +Strangers took no part.<br> +Jew, you had a land one time,<br> +And an armèd hand, one time.<br> +(How it moves the heart!)</p> + +<p>Glisten, candles, glisten!<br> +As I stand and listen<br> +All the grief in me,<br> +All the woe is stirred again,<br> +And the question heard again:<br> +What the end shall be?</p> + +<H2><a name="chanukahthoughts">Chanukah Thoughts</a></H2> + +<p>Not always as you see us now,<br> + Have we been used to weep and sigh,<br> +We too have grasped the sword, I trow,<br> + And seen astonished foemen fly!</p> + +<p>We too have rushed into the fray,<br> + For our Belief the battle braved,<br> +And through the spears have fought our way,<br> + And high the flag of vict’ry waved.</p> + +<p>But generations go and come,<br> + And suns arise and set in tears,<br> +And we are weakened now and dumb,<br> + Foregone the might of ancient years.</p> + +<p>In exile where the wicked reign,<br> +Our courage and our pride expired,<br> +But e’en today each throbbing vein<br> + With Asmonean blood is fired.</p> + +<p>Tho’ cruel hands with mighty flail<br> + Have threshed us, yet we have not blenched:<br> +The sea of blood could naught prevail,<br> + That fire is burning, still unquenched.</p> + +<p>Our fall is great, our fall is real,<br> + (You need but look on us to tell!)<br> +Yet in us lives the old Ideal<br> + Which all the nations shall not quell.</p> + +<H2><a name="sfere">Sfēré</a></H2> + +<p>I asked of my Muse, had she any objection<br> + To laughing with me,—not a word for reply!<br> +You see, it is Sfēré, our time for dejection,—<br> + And can a Jew laugh when the rule is to cry?</p> + +<p>You laughed then, you say? ’tis a sound to affright one!<br> + In Jewish delight, what is worthy the name?<br> +The laugh of a Jew! It is never a right one,<br> + For laughing and groaning with him are the same.</p> + +<p>You thought there was zest in a Jewish existence?<br> + You deemd that the star of a Jew could be kind?<br> +The Spring calls and beckons with gracious insistence,—<br> + Jew,—sit down in sackcloth and weep yourself blind!</p> + +<p>The garden is green and the woodland rejoices:<br> + How cool are the breezes, with fragrance how blent!<br> +But Spring calls not <i>you</i> with her thousand sweet voices!—<br> + With you it is Sfēré,—sit still and lament!</p> + +<p>The beautiful summer, this life’s consolation,<br> + In moaning and sighing glides quickly away.<br> +What hope can it offer to one of my nation?<br> + What joy can he find in the splendors of May?</p> + +<p>Bewildered and homeless, of whom whoso passes<br> + May fearlessly stop to make sport at his ease,—<br> +Say, is it for him to seek flowers and grasses,<br> + For him to be thinking on meadows and trees?</p> + +<p>And if for a moment, forgetting to ponder<br> + On grief and oppression, song breaks out anew,<br> +I hear in his lay only: “Wander and wander!”<br> + And ev’ry note tells me the singer’s a Jew.</p> + +<p>A skilful musician, and one who is verséd<br> + In metre and measure, whenever he hears<br> +The pitiful song of the Jewish disperséd,<br> + It touches his heart and it moves him to tears.</p> + +<p>The blast of the Ram’s-horn that quavers and trembles,—<br> + On this, now, alone Jewish fancy is bent.<br> +To grief and contrition its host it assembles,<br> + And causes the stoniest heart to relent.</p> + +<p>The wail that went up when the Temple was shattered,—<br> + The song of Atonement, the Suppliant’s psalm,—<br> +These only he loves, since they took him—and scattered,—<br> + Away from the land of the balsam and balm.</p> + +<p>Of all the sweet instruments, shiver’d and broken,<br> + That once in the Temple delighted his ear,<br> +The Ram’s-horn alone has he kept, as a token,<br> + And sobs out his soul on it once in the year.</p> + +<p>Instead of the harp and the viol and cymbal,<br> + Instead of the lyre, the guitar and the flute,<br> +He has but the dry, wither’d Ram’s-horn, the symbol<br> + Of gloom and despondence; the rest all are mute.</p> + +<p>He laughs, or he breaks into song, but soon after,<br> + Tho’ fain would he take in man’s gladness a part,<br> +One hears, low resounding athwart the gay laughter,<br> + The Suppliant’s psalm, and it pierces the heart.</p> + +<p>I asked of my Muse, had she any objection<br> + To laughing with me,—not a word for reply!<br> +You see, it is Sfēré, our time for dejection,—<br> + And can a Jew laugh when the rule is to cry?</p> + +<H2><a name="measuringthegraves">Measuring the Graves</a></H2> + +<p>First old Minna, bent and lowly,<br> + Eyes with weeping nearly blind;<br> +Pessyeh-Tsvaitel, slowly, slowly,<br> + With the yarn creeps on behind.</p> + +<p>On the holy book of Minna<br> + Fall the tear-drops—scarce a word<br> +(For the heart is moved within her)<br> + Of her praying can be heard.</p> + +<p>“Mighty Lord, whose sovereign pleasure<br> + Made all worlds and men of dust,<br> +I, Thy humble handmaid, measure,<br> + God, the dwellings of the just.</p> + +<p>“Speechless here the ground they cumber,<br> + Where the pious, gracious God,<br> +Where Thy heart’s beloved slumber<br> + Underneath the quiet sod.</p> + +<p>“They who sing in jubilation,<br> + Lord, before Thy holy seat,<br> +Each one from his habitation,<br> + Through the dream for ever sweet.</p> + +<p>“From the yarn with which I measure,<br> + Pessyeh-Tsvaitel, filled with awe,<br> +Wicks will make, to search the treasure,<br> + Nightly, of Thy holy Law.</p> + +<p>Praying still, by faith sustained:<br> + ’Thou with whom the holy dwell,<br> +Scorn not Jacob’s prayer unfeigned,<br> + Mark the tears of Israel!’”</p> + +<H2><a name="thefirstbathofablution">The First Bath of Ablution</a></H2> + +<p>The wind is keen, the frost is dread,<br> + Toward the icy water,<br> +By aunt and mother forth is led<br> + The fisher’s lovely daughter.</p> + +<p>“Dive in, dive in, my child, with haste!<br> + There’s naught whereon to ponder,<br> +The time, dear heart, we must not waste:<br> + The sun has set out yonder.</p> + +<p>“God’s mercy, child, is great and sure:<br> + Fear not but He will show it!<br> +Leap in,—leap out! and you are pure,—<br> + ’Tis over ere you know it!”</p> + +<p>The frost and cold with cruel knife<br> + The tender form assail.<br> +Ah, would you be a Jewish wife,<br> + You must not weep and quail!</p> + +<p>And in—and out,—she leaps. Once more!<br> + Poor girl, it has not served you.<br> +No purer are you than before:<br> + A Gentile has observed you!</p> + +<p>And into th’ icy flood again,<br> + In terror wild she leaps!<br> +The white limbs shudder... all in vain!<br> + The Christian still he peeps.</p> + +<p>The frost and cold, they burn and bite,<br> + The women rub their fingers,<br> +The lovely child grows white and white,<br> + As on the bank she lingers.</p> + +<p>“The Law, my child, we must fulfill,<br> + The scoundrel see depart!<br> +Yet once! ’tis but a moment’s chill,<br> + ’Tis but a trifling smart!”</p> + +<p>The white-faced child the Law has kept,<br> + The covenant unstained,<br> +For in the waters deep she leapt,<br> + And there below remained.</p> + +<H2><a name="atonementeveningprayer">Atonement Evening Prayer</a></H2> + +<p>Atonement Day—evening pray’r—sadness profound.<br> +The soul-lights, so clear once, are dying around.<br> +The reader is spent, and he barely can speak;<br> +The people are faint, e’en the basso is weak.<br> +The choristers pine for the hour of repose.<br> +Just one—two chants more, and the pray’r book we close!</p> + +<p>And now ev’ry Jew’s supplication is ended,<br> +And Nilah* approaching, and twilight descended.<br> +The blast of the New Year is blown on the horn,<br> +All go; by the Ark I am standing forlorn,<br> +And thinking: “How shall it be with us anon,<br> +When closed is the temple, and ev’ryone gone!”</p> + +<p>[* Ne’ilah, (Hebrew) Conclusion, concluding prayer.]</p> + +<H2><a name="exitholiday">Exit Holiday</a></H2> + +<p>Farewell to the feast-day! the pray’r book is stained<br> +With tears; of the booth scarce a trace has remained;<br> +The lime branch is withered, the osiers are dying,<br> +And pale as a corpse the fair palm-frond is lying;<br> +The boughs of grey willow are trodden and broken—<br> +Friend, these are your hopes and your longings unspoken!</p> + +<p>Lo, there lie your dreamings all dimm’d and rejected,<br> +And there lie the joys were so surely expected!<br> +And there is the happiness blighted and perished,<br> +And all that aforetime your soul knew and cherished,<br> +The loved and the longed for, the striven for vainly—<br> +Your whole life before you lies pictured how plainly!</p> + +<p>The branches are sapless, the leaves will decay,<br> +An end is upon us, and whence, who shall say?<br> +The broom of the beadle outside now has hustled<br> +The lime and the palm that so pleasantly rustled.<br> +There blew a cold gust, from our sight all is banished—<br> +The shaft from a cross-bow less swiftly had vanished!</p> + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Songs of Labor and Other Poems, by Morris Rosenfeld + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF LABOR AND OTHER POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 6859-h.htm or 6859-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/8/5/6859/ + +Produced by S Goodman, David Starner and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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