Poems of Emma Lazarus. Vol. 2, Jewish poems : translations [electronic text]

MOSES BEN ESRA.

( ABOUT 1100.)

EXTRACTS FROM THE BOOK OF TARSHISH, OR "NECKLACE OF PEARLS."

I.

THE shadow of the houses leave behind,In the cool boscage of the grove reclined,The wine of friendship from love's goblet drink,And entertain with cheerful speech the mind.

Drink, friend! behold, the dreary winter's gone,The mantle of old age has time withdrawn.The sunbeam glitters in the morning dew,O'er hill and vale youth's bloom is surging on.

Cup-bearer! quench with snow the goblet's fire,Even as the wise man cools and stills his ire.Look, when the jar is drained, upon the brimThe light foam melteth with the heart's desire.

Cup-bearer! bring anear the silver bowl,And with the glowing gold fulfil the whole,Unto the weak new vigor it imparts,And without lance subdues the hero's soul.

My love sways, dancing, like the myrtle-tree,The masses of her curls disheveled, see!She kills me with her darts, intoxicatesMy burning blood, and will not set me free.

Within the aromatic garden come,And slowly in its shadows let us roam,The foliage be the turban for our brows,And the green branches o'er our heads a dome.

All pain thou with the goblet shalt assuage,The wine-cup heals the sharpest pangs that rage,Let others crave inheritance of wealth,Joy be our portion and our heritage.

Drink in the garden, friend, anigh the rose,Richer than spice's breath the soft air blows.If it should cease a little traitor then,A zephyr light its secret would disclose.

II.

Thou who art clothed in silk, who drawest onProudly thy raiment of fine linen spun,Bethink thee of the day when thou aloneShall dwell at last beneath the marble stone.

Anigh the nests of adders thine abode,With the earth-crawling serpent and the toad.Trust in the Lord, He will sustain thee there,And without fear thy soul shall rest with God.

If the world flatter thee with soft-voiced art,Know 't is a cunning witch who charms thy heart,Whose habit is to wed man's soul with grief,And those who are close-bound in love to part.

He who bestows his wealth upon the poor,Has only lent it to the Lord, be sure—Of what avail to clasp it with clenched hand?It goes not with us to the grave obscure.

The voice of those who dwell within the tomb,Who in corruption's house have made their home;"O ye who wander o'er us still to-day,When will ye come to share with us the gloom?"

How can'st thou ever of the world complain,And murmuring, burden it with all thy pain?Silence! thou art a traveller at an inn,A guest, who may but over night remain.

Be thou not wroth against the proud, but showHow he who yesterday great joy did know,To-day is begging for his very bread,And painfully upon a crutch must go.

How foolish they whose faith is fixed uponThe treasures of their worldly wealth alone,Far wiser were it to obey the Lord,And only say, "The will of God be done!"

Has Fortune smiled on thee? Oh do not trustHer reckless joy, she still deceives and must.Perpetual snares she spreads about thy feet,Thou shalt not rest till thou art mixed with dust.

Man is a weaver on the earth, 't is said,Who weaves and weaves — his own days are the thread,And when the length allotted he hath spun,All life is over, and all hope is dead.

IN THE NIGHT.

UNTO the house of prayer my spirit yearns,Unto the sources of her being turns,To where the sacred light of heaven burns,She struggles thitherward by day and night.

The splendor of God's glory blinds her eyes,Up without wings she soareth to the skies,With silent aspiration seeks to rise,In dusky evening and in darksome night.

To her the wonders of God's works appear,She longs with fervor Him to draw anear,The tidings of His glory reach her ear,From morn to even, and from night to night.

The banner of thy grace did o'er me rest,Yet was thy worship banished from my breast.

Almighty, thou didst seek me out and testTo try and to instruct me in the night.

I dare not idly on my pillow lie,With winged feet to the shrine I fain would fly,When chained by leaden slumbers heavily,Men rest in imaged shadows, dreams of night.

Infatuate I trifled youth away,In nothingness dreamed through my manhood's day.Therefore my streaming tears I may not stay,They are my meat and drink by day and night.

In flesh imprisoned is the son of light,This life is but a bridge when seen aright.Rise in the silent hour and pray with might,Awake and call upon thy God by night!

Hasten to cleanse thyself of sin, arise!Follow Truth's path that leads unto the skies,As swift as yesterday existence flies,Brief even as a watch within the night.

Man enters life for trouble; all he has,And all that he beholds, is pain, alas!Like to a flower does he bloom and pass,He fadeth like a vision of the night.

The surging floods of life around him roar,Death feeds upon him, pity is no more,

To others all his riches he gives o'er,And dieth in the middle hour of night.

Crushed by the burden of my sins I pray,Oh, wherefore shunned I not the evil way?Deep are my sighs, I weep the livelong day,And wet my couch with tears night after night.

My spirit stirs, my streaming tears still run,Like to the wild birds' notes my sorrows' tone,In the hushed silence loud resounds my groan,My soul arises moaning in the night.

Within her narrow cell oppressed with dread,Bare of adornment and with grief-bowed headLamenting, many a tear her sad eyes shed,She weeps with anguish in the gloomy night.

For tears my burden seem to lighten best,Could I but weep my heart's blood, I might rest.My spirit bows with mighty grief oppressed,I utter forth my prayer within the night.

Youth's charm has like a fleeting shadow gone,With eagle wings the hours of life have flown.Alas! the time when pleasure I have known,I may not now recall by day or night.

The haughty scorn pursues me of my foe,Evil his thought, yet soft his speech and low.

Forget it not, but bear his purpose soForever in thy mind by day and night.

Observe a pious fast, be whole again,Hasten to purge thy heart of every stain.No more from prayer and penitence refrain,But turn unto thy God by day and night.

He speaks: "My son, yea, I will send thee aid,Bend thou thy steps to me, be not afraid.No nearer friend than I am, hast thou made,Possess thy soul in patience one more night."

FROM THE "DIVAN."

MY thoughts impelled me to the resting-placeWhere sleep my parents, many a friend and brother.I asked them (no one heard and none replied):"Do ye forsake me, too, oh father, mother?"Then from the grave, without a tongue, these cried,And showed my own place waiting by their side.

LOVE SONG OF ALCHARISI.

I.

THE long-closed door, oh open it again, send me back once more my fawn that had fled.On the day of our reunion, thou shalt rest by my side, there wilt thou shed over me the streams of thy delicious perfume.

Oh beautiful bride, what is the form of thy friend, that thou say to me, Release him, send him away?He is the beautiful-eyed one of ruddy glorious aspect — that is my friend, him do thou detain.

II.

Hail to thee, Son of my friend, the ruddy, the bright-colored one! Hail to thee whose temples are like a pomegranate.Hasten to the refuge of thy sister, and protect the son of Isaiah against the troops of the Ammonites.What art thou, O Beauty, that thou shouldst inspire love? that thy voice should ring like the voices of the bells upon the priestly garments?The hour wherein thou desireth my love, I shall hasten to meet thee. Softly will I drop beside thee like the dew upon Hermon.