diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/slbpm10.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/slbpm10.txt | 2412 |
1 files changed, 2412 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/old/slbpm10.txt b/old/slbpm10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6a2d771 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/slbpm10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2412 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Songs of Labor and Other Poems +by Morris Rosenfeld +translated by Rose Pastor Stokes and Helena Frank + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Songs of Labor and Other Poems + +Author: Morris Rosenfeld +translated by Rose Pastor Stokes and Helena Frank + +Release Date: November, 2004 [EBook #6859] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on February 2, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF LABOR AND OTHER POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by S Goodman, David Starner +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + +SONGS OF LABOR +AND OTHER POEMS BY +MORRIS ROSENFELD + +_Translated from the Yiddish by +Rose Pastor Stokes and Helena Frank_ + + + + +Contents + + +In the Factory +My Boy +The Nightingale to the Workman +What is the World? +Despair +Whither? +From Dawn to Dawn +The Candle Seller +The Pale Operator +The Beggar Family +A Millionaire +September Melodies +Depression +The Canary +Want and I +The Phantom Vessel +To my Misery +O Long the Way +To the Fortune Seeker +My Youth +In the Wilderness +I've Often Laughed +Again I Sing my Songs +Liberty +A Tree in the Ghetto +The Cemetery Nightingale +The Creation of Man +Journalism +Pen and Shears +For Hire +A Fellow Slave +The Jewish May +The Feast of Lights +Chanukah Thoughts +Sfere +Measuring the Graves +The First Bath of Ablution +Atonement Evening Prayer +Exit Holiday + + + + +SONGS OF LABOR AND OTHER POEMS + + + + + +In the Factory + + +Oh, here in the shop the machines roar so wildly, +That oft, unaware that I am, or have been, +I sink and am lost in the terrible tumult; +And void is my soul... I am but a machine. +I work and I work and I work, never ceasing; +Create and create things from morning till e'en; +For what?--and for whom--Oh, I know not! Oh, ask not! +Who ever has heard of a conscious machine? + +No, here is no feeling, no thought and no reason; +This life-crushing labor has ever supprest +The noblest and finest, the truest and richest, +The deepest, the highest and humanly best. +The seconds, the minutes, they pass out forever, +They vanish, swift fleeting like straws in a gale. +I drive the wheel madly as tho' to o'ertake them,-- +Give chase without wisdom, or wit, or avail. + +The clock in the workshop,--it rests not a moment; +It points on, and ticks on: Eternity--Time; +And once someone told me the clock had a meaning,-- +Its pointing and ticking had reason and rhyme. +And this too he told me,--or had I been dreaming,-- +The clock wakened life in one, forces unseen, +And something besides;... I forget what; Oh, ask not! +I know not, I know not, I am a machine. + +At times, when I listen, I hear the clock plainly;-- +The reason of old--the old meaning--is gone! +The maddening pendulum urges me forward +To labor and labor and still labor on. +The tick of the clock is the Boss in his anger! +The face of the clock has the eyes of a foe; +The clock--Oh, I shudder--dost hear how it drives me? +It calls me "Machine!" and it cries to me "Sew!" + +At noon, when about me the wild tumult ceases, +And gone is the master, and I sit apart, +And dawn in my brain is beginning to glimmer, +The wound comes agape at the core of my heart; +And tears, bitter tears flow; ay, tears that are scalding; +They moisten my dinner--my dry crust of bread; +They choke me,--I cannot eat;--no, no, I cannot! +Oh, horrible toil I born of Need and of Dread. + +The sweatshop at mid-day--I'll draw you the picture: +A battlefield bloody; the conflict at rest; +Around and about me the corpses are lying; +The blood cries aloud from the earth's gory breast. +A moment... and hark! The loud signal is sounded, +The dead rise again and renewed is the fight... +They struggle, these corpses; for strangers, for strangers! +They struggle, they fall, and they sink into night. + +I gaze on the battle in bitterest anger, +And pain, hellish pain wakes the rebel in me! +The clock--now I hear it aright!--It is crying: +"An end to this bondage! An end there must be!" +It quickens my reason, each feeling within me; +It shows me how precious the moments that fly. +Oh, worthless my life if I longer am silent, +And lost to the world if in silence I die. + +The man in me sleeping begins to awaken; +The thing that was slave into slumber has passed: +Now; up with the man in me! Up and be doing! +No misery more! Here is freedom at last! +When sudden: a whistle!--the Boss--an alarum!-- +I sink in the slime of the stagnant routine;-- +There's tumult, they struggle, oh, lost is my ego;-- +I know not, I care not, I am a machine!... + + + + +My Boy + + +I have a little boy at home, +A pretty little son; +I think sometimes the world is mine +In him, my only one. + +But seldom, seldom do I see +My child in heaven's light; +I find him always fast asleep... +I see him but at night. + +Ere dawn my labor drives me forth; +'Tis night when I am free; +A stranger am I to my child; +And strange my child to me. + +I come in darkness to my home, +With weariness and--pay; +My pallid wife, she waits to tell +The things he learned to say. + +How plain and prettily he asked: +"Dear mamma, when's 'Tonight'? +O when will come my dear papa +And bring a penny bright?" + +I hear her words--I hasten out-- +This moment must it be!-- +The father-love flames in my breast: +My child must look at me! + +I stand beside the tiny cot, +And look, and list, and--ah! +A dream-thought moves the baby-lips: +"O, where is my papa!" + +I kiss and kiss the shut blue eyes; +I kiss them not in vain. +They open,--O they see me then! +And straightway close again. + +"Here's your papa, my precious one;-- +A penny for you!"--ah! +A dream still moves the baby-lips: +"O, where is my papa!" + +And I--I think in bitterness +And disappointment sore; +"Some day you will awake, my child, +To find me nevermore." + + + + +The Nightingale to the Workman + + +Fair summer is here, glad summer is here! +O hark! 'tis to you I am singing: +The sun is all gold in a heaven of blue, +The birds in the forest are trilling for you, +The flies 'mid the grasses are winging; +The little brook babbles--its secret is sweet. +The loveliest flowers would circle your feet,-- +And you to your work ever clinging!... +Come forth! Nature loves you. Come forth! Do not fear! +Fair summer is here, glad summer is here, +Full measure of happiness bringing. +All creatures drink deep; and they pour wine anew +In the old cup of life, and they wonder at you. +Your portion is waiting since summer began; +Then take it, oh, take it, you laboring man! + +'Tis summer today; ay, summer today! +The butterflies light on the flowers. +Delightfully glistens the silvery rain, +The mountains are covered with greenness again, +And perfumed and cool are the bowers. +The sheep frisk about in the flowery vale, +The shepherd and shepherdess pause in the dale, +And these are the holiest hours!... +Delay not, delay not, life passes away! +'Tis summer today, sweet summer today! +Come, throttle your wheel's grinding power!... +Your worktime is bitter and endless in length; +And have you not foolishly lavished your strength? +O think not the world is with bitterness rife, +But drink of the wine from the goblet of life. + +O, summer is here, sweet summer is here! +I cannot forever be trilling; +I flee on the morrow. Then, you, have a care! +The crow, from the perch I am leaving, the air +With ominous cries will be filling. +O, while I am singing to you from my tree +Of love, and of life, and of joy yet to be, +Arouse you!--O why so unwilling!... +The heavens remain not so blue and so clear;-- +Now summer is here! Come, summer is here! +Reach out for the joys that are thrilling! +For like you who fade at your wheel, day by day, +Soon all things will fade and be carried away. +Our lives are but moments; and sometimes the cost +Of a moment o'erlooked is eternity lost. + + + + +What is the World? + + +Well, say you the world is a chamber of sleep, +And life but a sleeping and dreaming? +Then I too would dream: and would joyously reap +The blooms of harmonious seeming; +The dream-flow'rs of hope and of freedom, perchance, +The rich are so merrily reaping;-- +In Love's eyes I'd fancy the joy of romance; +No more would I dream Love is weeping. + +Or say you the world is a banquet, a ball, +Where everyone goes who is able? +I too wish to sit like a lord in the hall +With savory share at the table. +I too can enjoy what is wholesome and good, +A morsel both dainty and healthy; +I have in my body the same sort of blood +That flows in the veins of the wealthy. + +A garden you say is the world, where abound +The sweetest and loveliest roses? +Then would I, no leave asking, saunter around +And gather me handfuls of posies. +Of thorns I am sure I would make me no wreath; +(Of flowers I am very much fonder). +And with my beloved the bowers beneath +I'd wander, and wander, and wander. + +But ah! if the world is a battlefield wild, +Where struggle the weak with the stronger, +Then heed I no storm and no wife and no child!-- +I stand in abeyance no longer;-- +Rush into the fire of the battle nor yield, +And fight for my perishing brother; +Well, if I am struck--I can die on the field; +Die gladly as well as another.... + + + + +Despair + + +No rest--not one day in the seven for me? +Not one, from the maddening yoke to be free? +Not one to escape from the boss on the prowl, +His sinister glance and his furious growl, +The cry of the foreman, the smell of the shop,-- +To feel for one moment the manacles drop? +--_'Tis rest then you want, and you fain would forget? +To rest and oblivion they'll carry you yet._ + +The flow'rs and the trees will have withered ere long, +The last bird already is ending his song; +And soon will be leafless and shadeless the bow'rs... +I long, oh I long for the perfume of flow'rs! +To feel for a moment ere stripped are the trees, +In meadow lands open, the breath of the breeze. +--_You long for the meadow lands breezy and fair? +O, soon enough others will carry you there._ + +The rivulet sparkles with heavenly light, +The wavelets they glisten, with diamonds bedight. +Oh, but for a moment to leap in the stream, +And play in the waters that ripple and gleam! +My body is weakened with terrible toil.-- +The bath would refresh me, renew me the while. +--_You dream of a bath in the shimmering stream? +'Twill come--when forever is ended your dream._ + +The sweatshop is smoky and gloomy and mean-- +I strive--oh, how vainly I strive to be clean! +All day I am covered with grime and with dirt. +You'd laugh,--but I long for a spotless white shirt! +For life that is noble, 'tis needful, I ween, +To work as a man should; and still be as clean. +--_So now 'tis your wish all in white to be dressed? +In white they will robe you, and lay you to rest._ + +The woods they are cool, and the woods they are free;-- +To dream and to wander, how sweet it would be! +The birds their eternal glad holiday keep; +With song that enchants you and lulls you to sleep. +'Tis hot here,--and close! and the din will not cease. +I long for the forest, its coolth and its peace. +--_Ay, cool you will soon be; and not only cool, +But cold as no forest can make you, O Fool!_ + +I long for a friend who will comfort and cheer, +And fill me with courage when sorrow is near; +A comrade, of treasures the rarest and best, +Who gives to existence its crown and its crest; +And I am an orphan--and I am alone; +No friend or companion to call me his own. +--_Companions a-plenty--they're numberless too; +They're swarming already and waiting for you._ + + + + +Whither? + +(To a Young Girl) + + +Say whither, whither, pretty one? +The hour is young at present! +How hushed is all the world around! +Ere dawn--the streets hold not a sound. +O whither, whither do you run? +Sleep at this hour is pleasant. +The flowers are dreaming, dewy-wet; +The bird-nests they are silent yet. +Where to, before the rising sun +The world her light is giving? + +"To earn a living." + +O whither, whither, pretty child, +So late at night a-strolling? +Alone--with darkness round you curled? +All rests!--and sleeping is the world. +Where drives you now the wind so wild? +The midnight bells are tolling! +Day hath not warmed you with her light; +What aid can'st hope then from the night? +Night's deaf and blind!--Oh whither, child, +Light-minded fancies weaving? + +"To earn a living." + + + + +From Dawn to Dawn + + +I bend o'er the wheel at my sewing; +I'm spent; and I'm hungry for rest; +No curse on the master bestowing,-- +No hell-fires within me are glowing,-- +Tho' pain flares its fires in my breast. + +I mar the new cloth with my weeping, +And struggle to hold back the tears; +A fever comes over me, sweeping +My veins; and all through me goes creeping +A host of black terrors and fears. + +The wounds of the old years ache newly; +The gloom of the shop hems me in; +But six o'clock signals come duly: +O, freedom seems mine again, truly... +Unhindered I haste from the din. + + * * * * * + +Now home again, ailing and shaking, +With tears that are blinding my eyes, +With bones that are creaking and breaking, +Unjoyful of rest... merely taking +A seat; hoping never to rise. + +I gaze round me: none for a greeting! +By Life for the moment unpressed, +My poor wife lies sleeping--and beating +A lip-tune in dream false and fleeting, +My child mumbles close to her breast. + +I look on them, weeping in sorrow, +And think: "When the Reaper has come-- +When finds me no longer the morrow-- +What aid then?--from whom will they borrow +The crust of dry bread and the home? + +"What harbors that morrow," I wonder, +"For them when the breadwinner's gone? +When sudden and swift as the thunder +The bread-bond is broken asunder, +And friend in the world there is none." + +A numbness my brain is o'ertaking... +To sleep for a moment I drop: +Then start!... In the east light is breaking!-- +I drag myself, ailing and aching, +Again to the gloom of the shop. + + + + +The Candle Seller + + +In Hester Street, hard by a telegraph post, +There sits a poor woman as wan as a ghost. +Her pale face is shrunk, like the face of the dead, +And yet you can tell that her cheeks once were red. +But love, ease and friendship and glory, I ween, +May hardly the cause of their fading have been. +Poor soul, she has wept so, she scarcely can see. +A skeleton infant she holds on her knee. +It tugs at her breast, and it whimpers and sleeps, +But soon at her cry it awakens and weeps-- +"Two cents, my good woman, three candles will buy, +As bright as their flame be my star in the sky!" + +Tho' few are her wares, and her basket is small, +She earns her own living by these, when at all. +She's there with her baby in wind and in rain, +In frost and in snow-fall, in weakness and pain. +She trades and she trades, through the good times and slack-- +No home and no food, and no cloak to her back. +She's kithless and kinless--one friend at the most, +And that one is silent: the telegraph post! +She asks for no alms, the poor Jewess, but still, +Altho' she is wretched, forsaken and ill, +She cries Sabbath candles to those that come nigh, +And all that she pleads is, that people will buy. + +To honor the sweet, holy Sabbath, each one +With joy in his heart to the market has gone. +To shops and to pushcarts they hurriedly fare; +But who for the poor, wretched woman will care? +A few of her candles you think they will take?-- +They seek the meat patties, the fish and the cake. +She holds forth a hand with the pitiful cry: +"Two cents, my good women, three candles will buy!" +But no one has listened, and no one has heard: +Her voice is so weak, that it fails at each word. +Perchance the poor mite in her lap understood, +She hears mother's crying--but where is the good + +I pray you, how long will she sit there and cry +Her candles so feebly to all that pass by? +How long will it be, do you think, ere her breath +Gives out in the horrible struggle with Death? +How long will this frail one in mother-love strong, +Give suck to the babe at her breast? Oh, how long? +The child mother's tears used to swallow before, +But mother's eyes, nowadays, shed them no more. +Oh, dry are the eyes now, and empty the brain, +The heart well-nigh broken, the breath drawn with pain. +Yet ever, tho' faintly, she calls out anew: +"Oh buy but two candles, good women, but two!" + +In Hester Street stands on the pavement of stone +A small, orphaned basket, forsaken, alone. +Beside it is sitting a corpse, cold and stark: +The seller of candles--will nobody mark? +No, none of the passers have noticed her yet. +The rich ones, on feasting are busily set, +And such as are pious, you well may believe, +Have no time to spare on the gay Sabbath eve. +So no one has noticed and no one has seen. +And now comes the nightfall, and with it, serene, +The Princess, the Sabbath, from Heaven descends, +And all the gay throng to the synagogue wends. + +Within, where they pray, all is cleanly and bright, +The cantor sings sweetly, they list with delight. +But why in a dream stands the tall chandelier, +As dim as the candles that gleam round a bier? +The candles belonged to the woman, you know, +Who died in the street but a short time ago. +The rich and the pious have brought them tonight, +For mother and child they have set them alight. +The rich and the pious their duty have done: +Her tapers are lighted who died all alone. +The rich and the pious are nobly behaved: +A body--what matters? But souls must be saved! + +O synagogue lights, be ye witnesses bold +That mother and child died of hunger and cold +Where millions are squandered in idle display; +That men, all unheeded, must starve by the way. +Then hold back your flame, blessed lights, hold it fast! +The great day of judgment will come at the last. +Before the white throne, where imposture is vain, +Ye lights for the soul, ye'll be lighted again! +And upward your flame there shall mount as on wings, +And damn the existing false order of things! + + + + +The Pale Operator + + +If but with my pen I could draw him, + With terror you'd look in his face; +For he, since the first day I saw him, + Has sat there and sewed in his place. + +Years pass in procession unending, + And ever the pale one is seen, +As over his work he sits bending, + And fights with the soulless machine. + +I feel, as I gaze at each feature, + Perspiring and grimy and wan, +It is not the strength of the creature,-- + The will only, urges him on. + +And ever the sweat-drops are flowing, + They fall o'er his thin cheek in streams, +They water the stuff he is sewing, + And soak themselves into the seams. + +How long shall the wheel yet, I pray you, + Be chased by the pale artisan? +And what shall the ending be, say you? + Resolve the dark riddle who can! + +I know that it cannot be reckoned,-- + But one thing the future will show: +When this man has vanished, a second + Will sit in his place there and sew. + + + + +The Beggar Family + + +Within the court, before the judge, +There stand six wretched creatures, +They're lame and weary, one and all, +With pinched and pallid features. +The father is a broken man, +The mother weak and ailing, +The little children, skin and bone, +With fear and hunger wailing. + +Their sins are very great, and call +Aloud for retribution, +For their's (maybe you guess!) the crime +Of hopeless destitution. +They look upon the judge's face, +They know what judges ponder, +They know the punishment that waits +On those that beg and wander. + +For months from justice they have fled +Along the streets and highways, +From farm to farm, from town to town, +Along the lanes and byways. +They've slept full oftentimes in jail, +They're known in many places; +Yet still they live, for all the woe +That's stamped upon their faces. + +The woman's chill with fear. The man +Implores the judge: "Oh tell us, +What will you? With our children small +Relentlessly expel us? +Oh let us be! We'll sleep at night +In corners dark; the city +Has room for all! And some kind soul +Will give a crust in pity. + +"For wife and children I will toil: +It cannot be much longer +(For God almighty is and good!) +Ere I for work am stronger. +Oh let us here with men remain, +Nor drive us any further! +Oh why our curses will you have, +And not our blessings rather!" + +And now the sick man quails before +The judge's piercing glances: +"No, only two of you shall go +This time and take your chances. +Your wife and you! The children four +You'll leave, my man, behind you, +For them, within the Orphan's Home, +Free places I will find you." + +The father's dumb--the mother shrieks: +"My babes and me you'd sever? +If God there be, such cruel act +Shall find forgiveness never! +But first, oh judge, must you condemn +To death their wretched mother-- +I cannot leave my children dear +With you or any other! + +"I bore and nursed them, struggling still +To shelter and to shield them, +Oh judge, I'll beg from door to door, +My very life-blood yield them! +I know you do not mean it, judge, +With us poor folk you're jesting. +Give back my babes, and further yet +We'll wander unprotesting." + +The judge, alas! has turned away, +The paper dread unrolled, +And useless all the mother's grief, +The wild and uncontrolled. +More cruel can a sentence be +Than that which now is given? +Oh cursed the system 'neath whose sway +The human heart is riven! + + + + +A Millionaire + + +No, not from tuning-forks of gold + Take I my key for singing; +From Upper Seats no order bold + Can set my music ringing; +But groans the slave through sense of wrong, + And naught my voice can smother; +As flame leaps up, so leaps my song + For my oppressed brother. + +And thus the end comes swift and sure... + Thus life itself must leave me; +For what can these my brothers poor + In compensation give me, +Save tears for ev'ry tear and sigh?-- + (For they are rich in anguish). +A millionaire of tears am I, + And mid my millions languish. + + + + +September Melodies + + +I + + +The summer is over! +'Tis windy and chilly. +The flowers are dead in the dale. +All beauty has faded, +The rose and the lily +In death-sleep lie withered and pale. + +Now hurries the stormwind +A mournful procession +Of leaves and dead flowers along, +Now murmurs the forest +Its dying confession, +And hushed is the holiest song. + +Their "prayers of departure" +The wild birds are singing, +They fly to the wide stormy main. +Oh tell me, ye loved ones, +Whereto are ye winging? +Oh answer: when come ye again? + +Oh hark to the wailing +For joys that have vanished! +The answer is heavy with pain: +Alas! We know only +That hence we are banished-- +But God knows of coming again! + + +II + + +The Tkiyes*-man has blown his horn, +And swift the days' declining; +The leaves drop off, in fields forlorn +Are tender grasses pining. + +The earth will soon be cold and bare, +Her robe of glory falling; +Already to the mourner's prayer +The last wild bird is calling. + +He sings so sweetly and so sad +A song of friends who parted, +That even if it find you glad, +It leaves you broken hearted. + +The copses shudder in the breeze, +Some dream-known terror fearing. +Awake! O great and little trees! +The Judgment-day is nearing! + +O men! O trees in copses cold! +Beware the rising weather! +Or late or soon, both young and old +Shall strew the ground together.... + +[*Tkiye: first blast of the Ram's horn.] + + + + +Depression + + +All the striving, all the failing, +To the silent Nothing sailing. +Swiftly, swiftly passing by! +For the land of shadows leaving, +Where a wistful hand is weaving +Thy still woof, Eternity! + +Gloomy thoughts in me awaken, +And with fear my breast is shaken, +Thinking: O thou black abyss; +All the toil and thrift of life, +All the struggle and the strife, +Shall it come at last to this? + +With the grave shall be requited +Good and evil, and united +Ne'er to separate again? +What the light hath parted purely, +Shall the darkness join more surely?-- +Was the vict'ry won in vain? + +O mute and infinite extension, +O time beyond our comprehension, +Shall thought and deed ungarnered fall? +Ev'rything dost take and slay, +Ev'rything dost bear away, +Silent Nothing, silent All!... + + + + +The Canary + + +The free canary warbles +In leafy forest dell: +Who feels what rapture thrills her, +And who her joy can tell? + +The sweet canary warbles +Where wealth and splendor dwell: +Who knows what sorrow moves her, +And who her pain can tell? + + + + +Want And I + + +Who's there? who's there? who was it tried +To force the entrance I've denied? +An 'twere a friend, I'd gladly borne it, +But no--'twas Want! I could have sworn it. +I heard thy voice, old witch, I know thee! +Avaunt, thou evil hag, beshrew thee! +God's curse! why seekest thou to find me? +Away to all black years behind me! + +To torture me was thine endeavor, +My body from my soul to sever, +Of pride and courage to deprive me, +And into beggary to drive me. +Begone, where thousand devils burn-- +Begone, nor evermore return! +Begone, most wretched thou of creatures, +And hide for aye thine hateful features! +--Beloved, ope the door in pity! + +No friend have I in all the city +Save thee, then open to my call! +The night is bleak, the snowflakes fall. +Thine own, old Want am I, believe me! +Ah, what delight, wilt thou receive me? +I found, when I from thee had parted, +No friend but he was fickle-hearted! + +Away, old hag! Thou liest, lo, +Thou harbinger of pain and woe! +Away--am I thine only friend? +Thy lovers pale, they have no end! +Thou vile one, may the devil take thee! +Begone and no more visits make me! +For--Yiddish writers not to mention-- +Men hold thee no such rare invention. + +--'Tis true! yet those must wait my leisure. +To be with thee is now my pleasure. +I love thy black and curling hair, +I love thy wounded heart's despair, +I love thy sighs, I love to swallow +Thy tears and all thy songs to follow. +Oh great indeed, might I but show it, +My love for thee, my pale-faced poet! + +Away, I've heard all that before, +And am a writer, mark, no more. +Instead of verses, wares I tell, +And candy and tobacco sell. +My life is sweet, my life is bitter. +I'm ready and a prompt acquitter. +Oh, smarter traders there are many, +Yet live I well and turn a penny. + +--A dealer then wilt thou remain, +Forever from the pen abstain? +Good resolutions time disperses: +Thou yet shalt hunger o'er thy verses, +But vainly seeking to excuse thee +Because thou dost, tonight, refuse me. +Then open, fool, I tell thee plain, +That we perforce shall meet again. + +Begone the way that I direct thee! +I've millionaires now to protect me; +No need to beg, no need to borrow, +Nor fear a penniless tomorrow, +Nor walk with face of blackest omen +To thrill the hearts of stupid foemen, +Who fain my pride to earth would bring, +Because, forsooth, I sweetly sing! + +--Ho ho! ere thou art grown much older, +Thy millionaires will all grow colder. +Thou soon shalt be forgotten by them-- +They've other things to occupy them! +Just now with thee they're playing kindly, +But fortune's wheel is turning blindly +To grind thy pleasures ere thou know it-- +And thou art left to me, my poet! + + + + +The Phantom Vessel + + +Now the last, long rays of sunset +To the tree-tops are ascending, +And the ash-gray evening shadows +Weave themselves around the earth. + +On the crest of yonder mountain, +Now are seen from out the distance +Slowly fading crimson traces; +Footprints of the dying day. + +Blood-stained banners, torn and tattered, +Hanging in the western corner, +Dip their parched and burning edges +In the cooling ocean wave. + +Smoothly roll the crystal wavelets +Through the dusky veils of twilight, +That are trembling down from heaven +O'er the bosom of the sea. + +Soft a little wind is blowing +O'er the gently rippling waters-- +What they whisper, what they murmur, +Who is wise enough to say? + +Broad her snow-white sails outspreading +'Gainst the quiet sky of evening, +Flies a ship without a sailor, +Flies--and whither, who can tell? + +As by magic moves the rudder; +Borne upon her snowy pinions +Flies the ship--as tho' a spirit +Drove her onward at its will! + +Empty is she, and deserted, +Only close beside the mainmast +Stands a lonely child, heartbroken, +Sobbing loud and bitterly. + +Long and golden curls are falling +Down his neck and o'er his shoulders; +Now he glances backward sighing, +And the silent ship flies on! + +With a little, shining kerchief, +Fluttering upon the breezes, +Unto me he sends a greeting, +From afar he waves farewell. + +And my heart is throbbing wildly, +I am weeping--tell me wherefore? +God! that lovely child, I know him! +'Tis my youth that flies from me! + + + + +To My Misery + + +O Misery of mine, no other + In faithfulness can match with thee, +Thou more than friend, and more than brother, + The only thing that cares for me! + +Where'er I turn, are unkind faces, + And hate and treachery and guile, +Thou, Mis'ry, in all times and places, + Dost greet me with thy pallid smile. + +At birth I found thee waiting for me, + I knew thee in my cradle first, +The same small eyes and dim watched o'er me, + The same dry, bony fingers nursed. + +And day by day when morning lightened, + To school thou led'st me--home did'st bring, +And thine were all the blooms that brightened + The chilly landscape of my spring. + +And, thou my match and marriage monger, + The marriage deed by thee was read; +The hands foretelling need and hunger + Were laid in blessing on my head. + +Thy love for me shall last unshaken, + No further proof I ask, for when +My hopes for aye were from me taken, + My Mis'ry, thou wert with me then; + +And still, while sorrow's storm is breaking + Above me, and my head I bow-- +The kindly and the unforsaking, + Oh Mis'ry, thou art with me now. + +Ay, still from out Fate's gloomy towers + I see thee come to me again, +With wreaths of everlasting flowers, + And songs funereal in thy train. + +And when life's curses rock me nightly, + And hushed I lie in slumber's hold, +Thy sable form comes treading lightly + To wrap me in its garments fold. + +Thy brother let me be, and wholly + Repay thee all I owe, tho' late: +My aching heart, my melancholy, + My songs to thee I dedicate. + + + + +O Long The Way + + +O long the way and short the day, + No light in tower or town, +The waters roar and far the shore-- + My ship, my ship goes down! + +'Tis all in vain to strive again, + My cry the billows drown, +The fight is done, the wind has won-- + My ship, my ship goes down! + +Bright sun, adieu! Thou'lt shine anew + When skies no longer frown, +But I--the deafening billows crash-- + My ship, my ship goes down! + + + + +To The Fortune Seeker + + +A little more, a little less!-- +O shadow-hunters pitiless, +Why then so eager, say! +What'er you leave the grave will take, +And all you gain and all you make, +It will not last a day! + +Full soon will come the Reaper Black, +Cut thorns and flowers mark his track +Across Life's meadow blithe. +Oppose him, meet him as you will, +Old Time's behests he harkens still, +Unsparing wields his scythe. + +A horrid mutiny by stealth +Breaks out,--of power, fame and wealth +Deserted you shall be! +The foam upon your lip is rife; +The last enigma now of Life +Shall Death resolve for thee. + +You call for help--'tis all in vain! +What have you for your toil and pain, +What have you at the last? +Poor luckless hunter, are you dumb? +This way the cold pall-bearers come: +A beggar's soul has passed! + +A little less, a little more !-- +Look forth, look forth! without the door +There stands a robber old. +He'll force your ev'ry lock and spring, +And all your goods he'll take and fling +On Stygian waters cold. + + + + +My Youth + + +Come, beneath yon verdant branches, +Come, my own, with me! +Come, and there my soul will open +Secret doors to thee. +Yonder shalt thou learn the secrets +Deep within my breast, +Where my love upsprings eternal; +Come! with pain opprest, +Yonder all the truth I'll tell thee, +Tell it thee with tears... +(Ah, so long have we been parted, +Years of youth, sweet years!) + +See'st thou the dancers floating +On a stream of sound? +There alone, the soul entrancing, +Happiness is found! +Magic music, hark! it calls us, +Ringing wild and sweet! +One, two, three!--beloved, haste thee, +Point thy dainty feet! +Now at last I feel that living +Is no foolish jest... +(O sweet years of youth departed, +Vanished with the rest!) + +Fiddler, play a little longer! +Why this hurry, say? +I'm but half-way through a measure-- +Yet a little play! +Smiling in her wreath of flowers +Is my love not fair? +See us in the charmed circle, +Flitting light as air! +Haste thee, loved one, for the music +Shall be hushed anon... +(O sweet years of youth departed, +Whither are ye gone?) + +Gracious youth of mine, so quickly +Hath it come to this? +Lo, where flowed the golden river, +Yawns the black abyss! +Where, oh where is my beloved, +Where the wreath of flowers? +Where, oh where the merry fiddler, +Where those happy hours? +Shall I never hear the echoes +Of those songs again? +Oh, on what hills are they ringing, +O'er what sunny plain? +May not I from out the distance +Cast one backward glance +On that fair and lost existence, +Youth's sweet dalliance? +Foolish dreamer! Time hath snatched it, +And, tho' man implore, +Joys that _he_ hath reaped and garnered +Bloom again no more! + + + + +In The Wilderness + + +Alone in desert dreary, +A bird with folded wings +Beholds the waste about her, +And sweetly, sweetly sings. + +So heaven-sweet her singing, +So clear the bird notes flow, +'Twould seem the rocks must waken, +The desert vibrant grow. + +Dead rocks and silent mountains +Would'st waken with thy strain,-- +But dumb are still the mountains, +And dead the rocks remain. + +For whom, O heavenly singer, +Thy song so clear and free? +Who hears or sees or heeds thee, +Who feels or cares for thee? + +Thou may'st outpour in music +Thy very soul... 'Twere vain! +In stone thou canst not waken +A throb of joy or pain. + +Thy song shall soon be silenced; +I feel it... For I know +Thy heart is near to bursting +With loneliness and woe. + +Ah, vain is thine endeavor; +It naught availeth--nay; +For lonely as thou camest, +So shalt thou pass away. + + + + +I've Often Laughed + + +I've often laughed and oftener still have wept, +A sighing always through my laughter crept, +Tears were not far away... +What is there to say? + +I've spoken much and oftener held by tongue, +For still the most was neither said nor sung. +Could I but tell it so... +What is there to know? + +I've hated much and loved, oh so much more! +Fierce contrasts at my very heartstrings tore... +I tried to fight them--well... +What is there to tell? + + + + +Again I Sing my Songs + + +Once again my songs I sing thee, + Now the spell is broken; +Brothers, yet again I bring thee + Songs of love the token. +Of my joy and of my sorrow + Gladly, sadly bringing;-- +Summer not a song would borrow-- + Winter sets me singing. + +O when life turns sad and lonely, + When our joys are dead; +When are heard the ravens only + In the trees o'erhead; +When the stormwind on the bowers + Wreaks its wicked will, +When the frost paints lying flowers, + How should I be still? + +When the clouds are low descending, + And the sun is drowned; +When the winter knows no ending, + And the cold is crowned; +When with evil gloom oppressed + Lie the ruins bare; +When a sigh escapes the breast, + Takes us unaware; + +When the snow-wrapped mountain dreams + Of its summer gladness, +When the wood is stripped and seems + Full of care and sadness; +When the songs are growing still + As in Death's repose, +And the heart is growing chill, + And the eyelids close; + +Then, O then I can but sing + For I dream her coming-- +May, sweet May! I see her bring + Buds and wild-bee humming! +Through the silence heart-appalling, + As I stand and listen, +I can hear her song-birds calling, + See her green leaves glisten! + +Thus again my songs I sing thee, + Now the spell is broken; +Brothers, yet again I bring thee + Of my love the token. +Of my joy and of my sorrow + Gladly, sadly bringing,-- +Summer not a song would borrow!-- +Winter sets me singing. + + + + +Liberty + + +When night and silence deep +Hold all the world in sleep, +As tho' Death claimed the Hour, +By some strange witchery +Appears her form to me, +As tho' Magic were her dow'r. + +Her beauty heaven's light! +Her bosom snowy white! +But pale her cheek appears. +Her shoulders firm and fair; +A mass of gold her hair. +Her eyes--the home of tears. + +She looks at me nor speaks. +Her arms are raised; she seeks +Her fettered hands to show. +On both white wrists a chain!-- +She cries and pleads in pain: +"Unbind me!--Let me go!" + +I burn with bitter ire, +I leap in wild desire +The cruel bonds to break; +But God! around the chain +Is coiled and coiled again +A long and loathsome snake. + +I shout, I cry, I chide; +My voice goes far and wide, +A ringing call to men: +"Oh come, let in the light! +Arise! Ye have the might! +Set Freedom free again!" + +They sleep. But I strive on. +They sleep!... Can'st wake a stone?... +That one might stir! but one! +Call I, or hold my peace, +None comes to her release; +And hope for her is none. + +But who may see her plight +And not go mad outright!... +"Now: up! For Freedom's sake!" +I spring to take her part:-- +"Fool!" cries a voice. I start... +In anguish I awake. + + + + +A Tree in the Ghetto + + +There stands in th' leafless Ghetto +One spare-leaved, ancient tree; +Above the Ghetto noises +It moans eternally. + +In wonderment it muses, +And murmurs with a sigh: +"Alas! how God-forsaken +And desolate am I! + +"Alas, the stony alleys, +And noises loud and bold! +Where are ye, birds of summer? +Where are ye, woods of old? + +"And where, ye breezes balmy +That wandered vagrant here? +And where, oh sweep of heavens +So deep and blue and clear? + +"Where are ye, mighty giants? +Ye come not riding by +Upon your fiery horses, +A-whistling merrily. + +"Of other days my dreaming, +Of other days, ah me! +When sturdy hero-races +Lived wild and glad and free! + +"The old sun shone, how brightly! +The old lark sang, what song! +O'er earth Desire and Gladness +Reigned happily and long + +"But see! what are these ant-hills?-- +These ants that creep and crawl?... +Bereft of man and nature, +My life is stripped of all! + +"And I, an ancient orphan, +What do I here alone? +My friends have all departed, +My youth and glory gone. + +"Oh, tear me, root and branches! +No longer let me be +A living head-stone, brooding +O'er the grave of liberty." + + + + +The Cemetery Nightingale + + +In the hills' embraces holden, + In a valley filled with glooms, +Lies a cemetery olden, + Strewn with countless mould'ring tombs. + +Ancient graves o'erhung with mosses, + Crumbling stones, effaced and green,-- +Venturesome is he who crosses, + Night or day, the lonely scene. + +Blasted trees and willow streamers, + 'Midst the terror round them spread, +Seem like awe-bound, silent dreamers + In this garden of the dead. + +One bird, anguish stricken, lingers + In the shadow of the vale, +First and best of feathered singers,-- + 'Tis the churchyard nightingale. + +As from bough to bough he flutters, + Sweetest songs of woe and wail +Through his gift divine he utters + For the dreamers in the vale. + +Listen how his trills awaken + Echoes from each mossy stone! +Of all places he has taken + God's still Acre for his own. + + * * * * * + +Not on Spring or Summer glory, +Not on god or angel story +Loyal poet-fancy dwells! +Not on streams for rich men flowing, +Not on fields for rich men's mowing,-- +Graves he sees, of graves he tells. +Pain, oppression, woe eternal, +Open heart-wounds deep, diurnal, +Nothing comforts or allays; +O'er God's Acre in each nation +Sings he songs of tribulation +Tunes his golden harp and plays. + + + + +The Creation of Man + + +When the world was first created +By th' all-wise Eternal One, +Asked he none for help or counsel,-- +Simply spake, and it was done! + +Made it for his own good pleasure, +Shaped it on his own design, +Spent a long day's work upon it, +Formed it fair and very fine. + +Soon he thought on man's creation,-- +Then perplexities arose, +So the Lord His winged Senate +Called, the question to propose: + +Hear, my great ones, why I called ye, +Hear and help me ye who can, +Hear and tell me how I further +Shall proceed in making man. + +Ponder well before ye answer, +And consider, children dear;-- +In our image I would make him, +Free from stain, from blemish clear. + +Of my holy fire I'd give him, +Crowned monarch shall he be, +Ruling with a sway unquestioned +Over earth and air and sea. + +Birds across the blue sky winging +Swift shall fly before his face,-- +Silver fishes in the ocean, +Savage lion in the chase. + +--How? This toy of froth and vapor, +Thought the Senate, filled with fear, +If so wide his kingdom stretches, +Shortly he will break in here! + +So the Lord they answered, saying:-- +Mind and strength Thy creature give, +Form him in our very image, +Lord, but wingless let him live! + +Lest he shame the soaring eagle +Let no wings to man be giv'n, +Bid him o'er the earth be ruler, +Lord, but keep him out of heav'n! + +Wisely said, the Lord made answer, +Lo, your counsel fair I take! +Yet, my Senate, one exception-- +One alone, I will to make. + +One exception! for the poet, +For the singer, shall have wings; +He the gates of Heav'n shall enter, +Highest of created things. + +One I single from among ye, +One to watch the ages long, +Promptly to admit the poet +When he hears his holy song. + + + + +Journalism + +Written today, and read today, +And stale the news tomorrow!-- +Upon the sands I build... I _play!_ +I play, and weep in sorrow: +"Ah God, dear God! to find cessation +From this soul-crushing occupation! +If but one year ere Thou dost call me Thither, +Lord, at this blighting task let me not wither." + + + + +Pen and Shears + + +My tailor's shears I scorned then; + I strove for something higher: +To edit news--live by the pen-- + The pen that shall not tire! + +The pen, that was my humble slave, + Has now enslaved its master; +And fast as flows its Midas-wave, + My rebel tears flow faster. + +The world I clad once, tailor-hired, + Whilst I in tatters quaked, +Today, you see me well attired, + Who lets the world go naked. + +What human soul, how'er oppressed, + Can feel my chained soul's yearning! +A monster woe lies in my breast, + In voiceless anguish burning. + +Oh, swing ajar the shop door, do! + I'll bear as ne'er I bore it. +My blood!... you sweatshop leeches, you!... + Now less I'll blame you for it. + +I'll stitch as ne'er in former years; + I'll drive the mad wheel faster; +Slave will I be but to the shears; + The pen shall know its master! + + + + +For Hire + + +Work with might and main, + Or with hand and heart, +Work with soul and brain, + Or with holy art, +Thread, or genius' fire-- + Make a vest, or verse-- +If 'tis done for hire, + It is done the worse. + + + + +A Fellow Slave + + +Pale-faced is he, as in the door +He stands and trembles visibly,-- +With diffidence approaches me, +And says: "Dear editor, + +"Since write you must, in prose or rhyme, +Expose my master's knavery, +Condemn, I pray, the slavery +That dominates our time. + +"I labor for a wicked man +Who holds o'er all my being sway,-- +Who keeps me harnessed night and day. +Since work I first began. + +"No leisure moments do I store, +Yet harsh words only will he speak; +My days are his, from week to week, +But still he cries for more. + +"Oh print, I beg you, all I've said, +And ask the world if this be right: +To give the worker wage so slight +That he must want for bread. + +"See, I have sinews powerful, +And I've endurance, subtle skill,-- +Yet may not use them at my will, +But live a master's tool. + +"But oh, without avail do I +Lay bare the woes of workingmen! +Who earns his living by the pen, +Feels not our misery." + +The pallid slave yet paler grew, +And ended here his bitter cry... +And thus to him I made reply: +"My friend, you judge untrue. + +"My strength and skill, like yours, are gain +For others... Sold!... You understand? +Your master--well--he owns your hand, +And mine--he owns my brain." + + + + +The Jewish May + + +May has come from out the showers, +Sun and splendor in her train. +All the grasses and the flowers +Waken up to life again. +Once again the leaves do show, +And the meadow blossoms blow, +Once again through hills and dales +Rise the songs of nightingales. + +Wheresoe'er on field or hillside +With her paint-brush Spring is seen,-- +In the valley, by the rillside, +All the earth is decked with green. +Once again the sun beguiles +Moves the drowsy world to smiles. +See! the sun, with mother-kiss +Wakes her child to joy and bliss. + +Now each human feeling presses +Flow'r like, upward to the sun, +Softly, through the heart's recesses, +Steal sweet fancies, one by one. +Golden dreams, their wings outshaking, +Now are making +Realms celestial, +All of azure, +New life waking, +Bringing treasure +Out of measure +For the soul's delight and pleasure. + +Who then, tell me, old and sad, +Nears us with a heavy tread? +On the sward in verdure clad, +Lonely is the strange newcomer, +Wearily he walks and slow,-- +His sweet springtime and his summer +Faded long and long ago! + +Say, who is it yonder walks +Past the hedgerows decked anew, +While a fearful spectre stalks +By his side the woodland through? +'Tis our ancient friend the Jew! +No sweet fancies hover round him, +Naught but terror and distress. +Wounds unhealed +Where lie revealed +Ghosts of former recollections, +Corpses, corpses, old affections, +Buried youth and happiness. + +Brier and blossom bow to meet him +In derision round his path; +Gloomily the hemlocks greet him +And the crow screams out in wrath. +Strange the birds and strange the flowers, +Strange the sunshine seems and dim, +Folk on earth and heav'nly powers!-- +Lo, the May is strange to him! + +Little flowers, it were meeter +If ye made not quite so bold: +Sweet ye are, but oh, far sweeter +Knew he in the days of old! +Oranges by thousands glowing +Filled his groves on either hand,-- +All the plants were God's own sowing +In his happy, far-off land! + +Ask the cedars on the mountain! +Ask them, for they know him well! +Myrtles green by Sharon's fountain, +In whose shade he loved to dwell! +Ask the Mount of Olives beauteous,-- +Ev'ry tree by ev'ry stream!-- +One and all will answer duteous +For the fair and ancient dream.... + +O'er the desert and the pleasance +Gales of Eden softly blew, +And the Lord His loving Presence +Evermore declared anew. +Angel children at their leisure +Played in thousands round His tent, +Countless thoughts of joy and pleasure +God to His beloved sent. + +There in bygone days and olden, +From a wond'rous harp and golden +Charmed he music spirit-haunting, +Holy, chaste and soul-enchanting. +Never with the ancient sweetness, +Never in its old completeness +Shall it sound: his dream is ended, +On a willow-bough suspended. + +Gone that dream so fair and fleeting! +Yet behold: thou dreamst anew! +Hark! a _new_ May gives thee greeting +From afar. Dost hear it, Jew? +Weep no more, altho' with sorrows +Bow'd e'en to the grave: I see +Happier years and brighter morrows, +Dawning, Israel, for thee! +Hear'st thou not the promise ring +Where, like doves on silver wing, +Thronging cherubs sweetly sing +Newmade songs of what shall be? + +Hark! your olives shall be shaken, +And your citrons and your limes +Filled with fragrance. God shall waken. +Lead you as in olden times. +In the pastures by the river +Ye once more your flocks shall tend. +Ye shall live, and live forever +Happy lives that know no end. +No more wandering, no more sadness: +Peace shall be your lot, and still +Hero hearts shall throb with gladness +'Neath Moriah's silent hill. +Nevermore of dread afflictions +Or oppression need ye tell: +Filled with joy and benedictions +In the old home shall ye dwell. +To the fatherland returning, +Following the homeward path, +Ye shall find the embers burning +Still upon the ruined hearth! + + + + +The Feast Of Lights + + +Little candles glistening, +Telling those are listening +Legends manifold, +Many a little story, +Tales of blood and glory +Of the days of old. + +As I watch you flicker, +As I list you bicker, +Speak the ancient dreams: +--You have battled, Jew, one time, +You have conquer'd too, one time. +(God, how strange it seems!) + +In your midst was order once, +And within your border once +Strangers took no part. +Jew, you had a land one time, +And an armed hand, one time. +(How it moves the heart!) + +Glisten, candles, glisten! +As I stand and listen +All the grief in me, +All the woe is stirred again, +And the question heard again: +What the end shall be? + + + + +Chanukah Thoughts + + +Not always as you see us now, + Have we been used to weep and sigh, +We too have grasped the sword, I trow, + And seen astonished foemen fly! + +We too have rushed into the fray, + For our Belief the battle braved, +And through the spears have fought our way, + And high the flag of vict'ry waved. + +But generations go and come, + And suns arise and set in tears, +And we are weakened now and dumb, + Foregone the might of ancient years. + +In exile where the wicked reign, +Our courage and our pride expired, +But e'en today each throbbing vein + With Asmonean blood is fired. + +Tho' cruel hands with mighty flail + Have threshed us, yet we have not blenched: +The sea of blood could naught prevail, + That fire is burning, still unquenched. + +Our fall is great, our fall is real, + (You need but look on us to tell!) +Yet in us lives the old Ideal + Which all the nations shall not quell. + + + + +Sfere + + +I asked of my Muse, had she any objection + To laughing with me,--not a word for reply! +You see, it is Sfere, our time for dejection,-- + And can a Jew laugh when the rule is to cry? + +You laughed then, you say? 'tis a sound to affright one! + In Jewish delight, what is worthy the name? +The laugh of a Jew! It is never a right one, + For laughing and groaning with him are the same. + +You thought there was zest in a Jewish existence? + You deemd that the star of a Jew could be kind? +The Spring calls and beckons with gracious insistence,-- + Jew,--sit down in sackcloth and weep yourself blind! + +The garden is green and the woodland rejoices: + How cool are the breezes, with fragrance how blent! +But Spring calls not _you_ with her thousand sweet voices!-- + With you it is Sfere,--sit still and lament! + +The beautiful summer, this life's consolation, + In moaning and sighing glides quickly away. +What hope can it offer to one of my nation? + What joy can he find in the splendors of May? + +Bewildered and homeless, of whom whoso passes + May fearlessly stop to make sport at his ease,-- +Say, is it for him to seek flowers and grasses, + For him to be thinking on meadows and trees? + +And if for a moment, forgetting to ponder + On grief and oppression, song breaks out anew, +I hear in his lay only: "Wander and wander!" + And ev'ry note tells me the singer's a Jew. + +A skilful musician, and one who is versed + In metre and measure, whenever he hears +The pitiful song of the Jewish dispersed, + It touches his heart and it moves him to tears. + +The blast of the Ram's-horn that quavers and trembles,-- + On this, now, alone Jewish fancy is bent. +To grief and contrition its host it assembles, + And causes the stoniest heart to relent. + +The wail that went up when the Temple was shattered,-- + The song of Atonement, the Suppliant's psalm,-- +These only he loves, since they took him--and scattered,-- + Away from the land of the balsam and balm. + +Of all the sweet instruments, shiver'd and broken, + That once in the Temple delighted his ear, +The Ram's-horn alone has he kept, as a token, + And sobs out his soul on it once in the year. + +Instead of the harp and the viol and cymbal, + Instead of the lyre, the guitar and the flute, +He has but the dry, wither'd Ram's-horn, the symbol + Of gloom and despondence; the rest all are mute. + +He laughs, or he breaks into song, but soon after, + Tho' fain would he take in man's gladness a part, +One hears, low resounding athwart the gay laughter, + The Suppliant's psalm, and it pierces the heart. + +I asked of my Muse, had she any objection + To laughing with me,--not a word for reply! +You see, it is Sfere, our time for dejection,-- + And can a Jew laugh when the rule is to cry? + + + + +Measuring the Graves + + +First old Minna, bent and lowly, + Eyes with weeping nearly blind; +Pessyeh-Tsvaitel, slowly, slowly, + With the yarn creeps on behind. + +On the holy book of Minna + Fall the tear-drops--scarce a word +(For the heart is moved within her) + Of her praying can be heard. + +"Mighty Lord, whose sovereign pleasure + Made all worlds and men of dust, +I, Thy humble handmaid, measure, + God, the dwellings of the just. + +"Speechless here the ground they cumber, + Where the pious, gracious God, +Where Thy heart's beloved slumber + Underneath the quiet sod. + +"They who sing in jubilation, + Lord, before Thy holy seat, +Each one from his habitation, + Through the dream for ever sweet. + +"From the yarn with which I measure, + Pessyeh-Tsvaitel, filled with awe, +Wicks will make, to search the treasure, + Nightly, of Thy holy Law. + +Praying still, by faith sustained: + 'Thou with whom the holy dwell, +Scorn not Jacob's prayer unfeigned, + Mark the tears of Israel!'" + + + + +The First Bath of Ablution + + +The wind is keen, the frost is dread, + Toward the icy water, +By aunt and mother forth is led + The fisher's lovely daughter. + +"Dive in, dive in, my child, with haste! + There's naught whereon to ponder, +The time, dear heart, we must not waste: + The sun has set out yonder. + +"God's mercy, child, is great and sure: + Fear not but He will show it! +Leap in,--leap out! and you are pure,-- + 'Tis over ere you know it!" + +The frost and cold with cruel knife + The tender form assail. +Ah, would you be a Jewish wife, + You must not weep and quail! + +And in--and out,--she leaps. Once more! + Poor girl, it has not served you. +No purer are you than before: + A Gentile has observed you! + +And into th' icy flood again, + In terror wild she leaps! +The white limbs shudder... all in vain! + The Christian still he peeps. + +The frost and cold, they burn and bite, + The women rub their fingers, +The lovely child grows white and white, + As on the bank she lingers. + +"The Law, my child, we must fulfill, + The scoundrel see depart! +Yet once! 'tis but a moment's chill, + 'Tis but a trifling smart!" + +The white-faced child the Law has kept, + The covenant unstained, +For in the waters deep she leapt, + And there below remained. + + + + +Atonement Evening Prayer + + +Atonement Day--evening pray'r--sadness profound. +The soul-lights, so clear once, are dying around. +The reader is spent, and he barely can speak; +The people are faint, e'en the basso is weak. +The choristers pine for the hour of repose. +Just one--two chants more, and the pray'r book we close! + +And now ev'ry Jew's supplication is ended, +And Nilah* approaching, and twilight descended. +The blast of the New Year is blown on the horn, +All go; by the Ark I am standing forlorn, +And thinking: "How shall it be with us anon, +When closed is the temple, and ev'ryone gone!" + +[* Ne'ilah, (Hebrew) Conclusion, concluding prayer.] + + + + +Exit Holiday + + +Farewell to the feast-day! the pray'r book is stained +With tears; of the booth scarce a trace has remained; +The lime branch is withered, the osiers are dying, +And pale as a corpse the fair palm-frond is lying; +The boughs of grey willow are trodden and broken-- +Friend, these are your hopes and your longings unspoken! + +Lo, there lie your dreamings all dimm'd and rejected, +And there lie the joys were so surely expected! +And there is the happiness blighted and perished, +And all that aforetime your soul knew and cherished, +The loved and the longed for, the striven for vainly-- +Your whole life before you lies pictured how plainly! + +The branches are sapless, the leaves will decay, +An end is upon us, and whence, who shall say? +The broom of the beadle outside now has hustled +The lime and the palm that so pleasantly rustled. +There blew a cold gust, from our sight all is banished-- +The shaft from a cross-bow less swiftly had vanished! + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Songs of Labor and Other Poems +by Morris Rosenfeld +translated by Rose Pastor Stokes and Helena Frank + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF LABOR AND OTHER POEMS *** + +This file should be named slbpm10.txt or slbpm10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, slbpm11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, slbpm10a.txt + +Produced by S Goodman, David Starner +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance +of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. +Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections, +even years after the official publication date. + +Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. + +Most people start at our Web sites at: +http://gutenberg.net or +http://promo.net/pg + +These Web sites include award-winning information about Project +Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new +eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!). + + +Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement +can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is +also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the +indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an +announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter. + +http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext03 or +ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03 + +Or /etext02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90 + +Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want, +as it appears in our Newsletters. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours +to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text +files per month: 1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+ +We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002 +If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total +will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks! +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users. + +Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated): + +eBooks Year Month + + 1 1971 July + 10 1991 January + 100 1994 January + 1000 1997 August + 1500 1998 October + 2000 1999 December + 2500 2000 December + 3000 2001 November + 4000 2001 October/November + 6000 2002 December* + 9000 2003 November* +10000 2004 January* + + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created +to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people +and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut, +Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois, +Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts, +Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New +Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, +Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South +Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West +Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming. + +We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones +that have responded. + +As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list +will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states. +Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state. + +In answer to various questions we have received on this: + +We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally +request donations in all 50 states. If your state is not listed and +you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have, +just ask. + +While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are +not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting +donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to +donate. + +International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about +how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made +deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are +ways. + +Donations by check or money order may be sent to: + +Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +PMB 113 +1739 University Ave. +Oxford, MS 38655-4109 + +Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment +method other than by check or money order. + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by +the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN +[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154. Donations are +tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law. As fund-raising +requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be +made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +You can get up to date donation information online at: + +http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html + + +*** + +If you can't reach Project Gutenberg, +you can always email directly to: + +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message. + +We would prefer to send you information by email. + + +**The Legal Small Print** + + +(Three Pages) + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks, +is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart +through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project"). +Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook +under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market +any commercial products without permission. + +To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may +receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims +all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation, +and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated +with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including +legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the +following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this eBook, +[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook, +or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + eBook or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word + processing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the eBook (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the + gross profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation" + the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were + legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent + periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to + let us know your plans and to work out the details. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of +public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed +in machine readable form. + +The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time, +public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses. +Money should be paid to the: +"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or +software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at: +hart@pobox.com + +[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only +when distributed free of all fees. Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by +Michael S. Hart. Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be +used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be +they hardware or software or any other related product without +express permission.] + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* + |