The Poems of Emma Lazarus Volume II Part 38

Yea, boldly I defy Fate, I cringe not to envious Fortune.

I mock the towering floods.

My brave heart does not shrink-- This heart of mine, that, albeit young in years, Is none the less rich in deep, keen-eyed experience.

A DEGENERATE AGE.

Where is the man who has been tried and found strong and sound?

Where is the friend of reason and of knowledge?

I see only sceptics and weaklings.

I see only prisoners in the durance of the senses, And every fool and every spendthrift Thinks himself as great a master as Aristotle.

Think'st thou that they have written poems?

Call'st thou that a Song?

I call it the cackling of ravens.

The zeal of the prophet must free poesy From the embrace of wanton youths.

My song I have inscribed on the forehead of Time, They know and hate it--for it is lofty.

ABUL Ha.s.sAN JUDAH BEN HA-LEVI. (Born Between 1080-90.)

A LETTER TO HIS FRIEND ISAAC.

But yesterday the earth drank like a child With eager thirst the autumn rain.

Or like a wistful bride who waits the hour Of love's mysterious bliss and pain.

And now the Spring is here with yearning eyes; Midst s.h.i.+mmering golden flower-beds, On meadows carpeted with varied hues, In richest raiment clad, she treads.

She weaves a tapestry of bloom o'er all, And myriad eyed young plants upspring, White, green, or red like lips that to the mouth Of the beloved one sweetly cling.

Whence come these radiant tints, these blended beams?

Here's such a dazzle, such a blaze, As though each stole the splendor of the stars, Fain to eclipse them with her rays.

Come! go we to the garden with our wine, Which scatters sparks of hot desire, Within our hand 't is cold, but in our veins It flashes clear, it glows like fire.

It bubbles sunnily in earthen jugs.

We catch it in the crystal gla.s.s, Then wander through cool, shadowy lanes and breathe The spicy freshness of the gra.s.s.

Whilst we with happy hearts our circuit keep, The gladness of the Earth is shown.

She smileth, though the trickling raindrops weep Silently o'er her, one by one.

She loves to feel the tears upon her cheek, Like a rich veil, with pearls inwove.

Joyous she listens when the swallows chirp, And warbles to her mate, the dove.

Blithe as a maiden midst the young green leaves, A wreath she'll wind, a fragrant treasure; All living things in graceful motion leap, As dancing to some merry measure.

The morning breezes rustle cordially, Love's thirst is sated with the balm they send.

Sweet breathes the myrtle in the frolic wind, As though remembering a distant friend.

The myrtle branch now proudly lifted high, Now whispering to itself drops low again.

The topmost palm-leaves rapturously stir, For all at once they hear the birds' soft strain.

So stirs, so yearns all nature, gayly decked, To honor ISAAC with her best array.

Hear'st thou the word? She cries--I beam with joy, Because with Isaac I am wed to-day.

ADMONITION.

Long in the lap of childhood didst thou sleep, Think how thy youth like chaff did disappear; Shall life's sweet Spring forever last? Look up, Old age approaches ominously near.

Oh shake thou off the world, even as the bird Shakes off the midnight dew that clogged his wings.

Soar upward, seek redemption from thy guilt And from the earthly dross that round thee clings.

Draw near to G.o.d, His holy angels know, For whom His bounteous streams of mercy flow.

LOVE-SONG.

"See'st thou o'er my shoulders falling, Snake-like ringlets waving free?

Have no fear, for they are twisted To allure thee unto me."

Thus she spake, the gentle dove, Listen to thy plighted love:-- "Ah, how long I wait, until Sweetheart cometh back (she said) Laying his caressing hand Underneath my burning head."

SEPARATION.

And so we twain must part! Oh linger yet, Let me still feed my glance upon thine eyes.

Forget not, love, the days of our delight, And I our nights of bliss shall ever prize.

In dreams thy shadowy image I shall see, Oh even in my dream be kind to me!

Though I were dead, I none the less would hear Thy step, thy garment rustling on the sand.

And if thou waft me greetings from the grave, I shall drink deep the breath of that cold land.

Take thou my days, command this life of mine, If it can lengthen out the s.p.a.ce of thine.

No voice I hear from lips death-pale and chill, Yet deep within my heart it echoes still.

My frame remains--my soul to thee yearns forth.

A shadow I must tarry still on earth.

Back to the body dwelling here in pain, Return, my soul, make haste and come again!