Fleurs De Lys, and Other Poems Part 7

Sadly Ben Horad smiled, and raised his head: "She has been spared that agony," he said.

Then all his sorrow died; but not for long, For soon again the spirit voice he heard, Crooning all day a little cradle song, With happiness and love in every word.

And as she sang he wept: "Ah! woe is me, Who robbed her of her sweet maternity."

Once more he heard her moans, and once again Heard the young mother crooning o'er her child.

And then came no more sorrow in the strain, Which had there been might him have reconciled, But as she sang he wept: "Ah! woe is me, Who robbed her of her sweet maturity."

And still he read the Talmud, day and night, And still the years slipped by on noiseless wing.

Then one day as he studied, lo! the sprite, Till then long silent, recommenced to sing.

He sighed: "To-day she feasts her eldest boy, And I have robbed my darling of this joy."

Again was silence, and again there fell Upon the Rabbi's ears the sweet refrain, With the glad tumult of a marriage bell, Now rising like a bird, now low again.

"Her daughter weds," he said. "Ah! woe is me, Who robbed her of her sweet maternity."

Year after year he lived, and children died Of age, whom he had dandled, until he, Worn with his grief, for death's oblivion sighed; But still he heard the same sweet melody, And could not die until the singing ceased, For by her life had his life been increased.

Long flashed the lamp upon the sacred page, Long peeped the star-worlds through the orioled pane, Long nightly sat the white-haired, saintly sage And listened till at last the happy strain Died into discord. "G.o.d be thanked," he said-- Next day they found him, smiling now--but dead.

_RHODOPE'S SHOE._

In Egypt Rhodope was born, And lived afar from king and court; No jewels did the maid adorn; She crowned herself with flowers in sport.

Her hair was like a summer night, Her eyes like stars that twinkle low, Her voice like soft winds in their flight, When through the tremulous leaves they blow.

She dwelt beside the sacred Nile, And in its waters every day, With but the sun to gaze and smile, Like any nymph was wont to play.

While in the limpid stream she played One day, an eagle cleft the blue, And, hovering o'er the sporting maid, Upon the bank espied her shoe.

Loth to forget so sweet a sight, And lest his memory should grow dim, He sought the earth with sudden flight, And bore the shoe aloft with him.

He bore it far, and let it fall In the king's palace, where next day So lily-frail, so strangely small, Within the palace-court it lay.

The king was walking, wrapped in thought, Throughout his palace, up and down: Him had his councillors besought, With some fair maid to share his crown,

And he had searched the wide world through To find a princess he could love, Yet all in vain he sought to woo, His heart there was not one could move.

Into the palace-court he went, Still wondering whom to make his bride, And as he strolled, eyes earthward bent, The wondrous tiny shoe he spied.

As leaps the sun to tropic skies, So sprang his heart unto its choice, Love sparkled brightly in his eyes, And thrilled triumphant in his voice.

"You bid me wed, I could not do, For lack of love, your bidding, Sirs.

But find the maid who wore this shoe, And I will make my kingdom hers."

They searched the palace from the ground Up to the towers, but in vain; Nowhere was maiden to be found To own the shoe and share the reign.

Then came a lad, who told in awe How just at dawn an eagle flew Above the town, and from its claw Dropped to the palace-yard the shoe.

The wise men stroked their beards, and said: "The G.o.ds have surely done this thing, That our beloved lord may wed A maiden meet for such a king."

Then far and wide the heralds rode To find the king's G.o.d-chosen bride; They chanced on Rhodope's abode, The overflowing Nile beside.

She stood before the heralds twain, She fitted on the tiny shoe, And claimed it for her own again, And not till then their errand knew.

The richest robes they offered her, But she refused them: "If my king In my coa.r.s.e garb, will deem me fair, Then only will I take his ring."

Before the king the maid they brought, And at his feet she bent the knee; He gently raised her: "Nay, kneel not, O sweetheart! I should kneel to thee,

"Fair as a poet's dream thou art, Purer than lilies--Oh! mine own, Since thou has won thy monarch's heart, 'Tis meet that thou shouldst share his throne."

The wise men stroked their beards and said: "The G.o.ds have surely done this thing."

Then Rhodope the fair was wed, And ruled all Egypt with the king.

_HOPE AND DESPAIR._

You love the sun and the languid breeze That gently kisses the rosebud's lips, And delight to see How the dainty bee, Stilling his gauze-winged melodies Into the lily's chalice dips.

I love the wind that unceasing roars, While cringe the trees from its wrath in vain, And the lightning-flash, And the thunder-crash, And skies, from whose Erebus depths outpours In slanting drifts the autumnal rain.

You sigh to find that the time is here When leaves are falling from bush and tree; When the flowerets sweet Die beneath our feet, And feebly totters the dying year Into the mists of eternity.

To me the autumn is never drear, It bears the glory of hopes fulfilled.

Though the flowers be dead, There are seeds instead, That, with the spring of the dawning year, With life will find all their being thrilled.

You tread the wood, and the wind behold Tear down the leaves from the crackling bough Till they make a pall, As they thickly fall, To hide dead flowers. The air seems cold, No summer gladdens the forest now.

HOPE AND DESPAIR

I tread the maze of the changing wood, And though no light through the maples plays, Yet they glow each one, Like a rose-red sun, And drop their leaves, like a glittering flood Of warm sunbeams, in the woodland ways.

Poor human heart, in the year of life All seasons are, and it rests with thee To enjoy them all, Or to drape a pall O'er withered hopes, and to be at strife With things that are, and no brightness see.

_CARLOTTA._