Poems By John L. Stoddard Part 34

Now fire! ... How badly you have shot!

Adieu, my land Tyrol"!

(From the German.)

STREAM AND SEA

A river flowed through a desert land On its way to find the sea, And saw naught else than glaring sand And scarcely a shady tree.

The distant stars looked down by night, And the burning sun by day, On the crystal stream, so pure and bright; But the sea was far away.

Sometimes at night the little stream Would sigh for the sea's embrace, And oft would see, as in a dream, The longed-for ocean's face.

At last one day it felt a thrill It had never known before, As it reached the brow of a lofty hill, And saw the wave-lapped sh.o.r.e.

And it flung itself with a mighty leap From the crest of the hill above, Till its waters mingled with the deep;-- And the name of the sea was Love.

RACHEL

'Twas sunset in Jerusalem; the light Still lingered on the city's walls, and crowned Mount Olivet with splendor, while below, Among the trees of dark Gethsemane And on the Kedron gloomy shadows lay, As if but waiting for the death of day To rise and mantle Zion in a shroud.

To one who watched it in that golden light, Across the gulf between the sunlit hills, The city seemed transfigured, lifted high Above the gloom and misery of earth,-- A fit abode for Israel's ancient kings.

The broad plateau, where Abram once had knelt, And where the hallowed Temple of the Jews Had glittered gorgeous with its gems and gold, Now bore, 'tis true, the stately Moslem mosque, But bore it as a captive bears his chains, Whose spirit is not crushed, but borne aloft By thrilling memories of a n.o.ble past.

The rays of dying day yet half illumed A dreary spot outside the city walls Where sat, apart, an old man and his child.

Beside them rose the cherished blocks of stone Which once had graced the Temple's sacred court; It was the "Day of Wailing", and the Jews,-- A poor scant remnant of their outcast race--, Had gathered there, as is their weekly wont, To read of all the glories they have lost, And count their endless list of shattered hopes.

Some moaned at thought of their contrasted lot, Some plucked their beards in anguish and despair, Some turned their tear-stained faces to the wall, And mutely kissed the precious blocks, as if The historic stones held sentient sympathy.

Their lamentations ended, all had gone To their poor dwellings, sadly, one by one, Save these two lingering mourners, who still sat With downcast eyes and slowly-dropping tears.

At length the old man raised his head, and spoke;--

"Our Fathers' G.o.d! whose all-protecting hand Led us, Thy people, to this chosen land, Through the cleft waters of a distant sea, That we might rear a temple here to Thee; Thou, who on Zion hadst Thy favorite shrine, And in Thy majesty and power divine Wast daily by our suppliant race adored As sovereign Jehovah, peerless Lord; Why hast Thou cast us off to toil and die In foreign countries' harsh captivity?

Our race is scattered now the wide world o'er; Our wailings rise to Thee from every sh.o.r.e; Baited or banished by the Christian Powers, Cursed by the Moslem mid our ruined towers, Like pariah dogs, an execrated race, We crouch to-day within our 'Wailing Place', Begging, and paying dearly for, the right To bathe with tears this consecrated site.

How long, O Israel's G.o.d, shall this endure?

Are not Thy promises to Jacob sure?

Oh, speed the day when once again Thy name Shall here be worshipped, and the sacred flame Of pure, atoning offerings shall rise, And smoke ascend from daily sacrifice!"

Tears choked his utterance, and the old man wept, His meagre frame convulsed with mighty sobs,-- Pathetic tokens of a broken heart.

His daughter crept beside him, drew his head,-- Adorned with thin, white hair,--upon her breast, And soothed him as a mother might her child; Then, when his grief abated, took his hands,-- So worn and white,--within her own soft palms, And chafed them gently with a loving care; Then pressed them to her lips, and lightly lay Her warm cheek next his own, while murmuring words Of tender, filial love in that old tongue Which once had rung in triumph on this spot, When poets of her race in glowing words Had sung their glorious, prophetic strains.

"Father," she whispered, "shall we now despair, When we at last inhale the sacred air Of our ancestral glory, and have come, Despite long years of waiting, to our home?

Didst thou not say, when far beyond the sea, In our dark days of want and misery, That thou hadst but one prayer,--to go to die Upon the hill where Zion's ruins lie?

Now this is granted, and thou hast attained Thy dearest wish, with ample wealth retained To keep us here from want, till on the breast Of Olivet's gray slope in death we rest."

She paused, and faintly smiled, while at her voice Her father turned his tear-dimmed eyes to hers, As one who hears soft music with delight.

The sunset glow fell full upon her face,-- A rich, dark oval, crowned with raven hair; Her l.u.s.trous eyes were shrines of tenderness, Large, dark, profound, and tremulously bright, And fringed by lashes of the deepest hue, Which swept the downy smoothness of her cheek; While her full lips, inimitably arched And exquisitely mobile, told her thoughts, Ere their soft motion framed them into speech; Divinely there had Beauty set her seal; As who should say,--"Behold a perfect type Of southern loveliness, in whose warm veins The blood of good, ancestral stock runs pure, Maintained through centuries of Spanish suns."

The old man fondly took her hands in his, And, bending forward, kissed her broad, fair brow; Then in a faint and weary voice replied;--

"Rachel, my well-belov'd, I have in thee The only blessing left on earth to me, The one sweet solace in my dreary life Of fourscore years of racial hate and strife; Dear Comforter, 'tis true, our feet now stand Within the limits of our people's land; Behind us are the obloquy and pain Endured in cruel, persecuting Spain, Yet feel I still more keenly here than there The degradation which our people share; Each object here speaks sadly to the Jew Of all the grandeur which his race once knew.

But let that pa.s.s; there is another pain Which hurts me sorely, Rachel, and in vain I seek a remedy; it is that thou Hast now new lines of sorrow on thy brow.

'Tis true, thou art a Jewess, and must know The shame which const.i.tutes thy people's woe; But I detect the signs of some new grief For which the lapse of time brings no relief; Thy cheek hath paled since our arrival here, And often on its pallor gleams a tear."

At first she spoke not; but at length her lips Moved, quivering as in pain, while o'er her face An ashen paleness came, which whiter seemed From startling contrast with her ebon hair; "Father", she murmured, "speak of that no more!

I shared thy coming to this Syrian sh.o.r.e, And here shall die, for nothing more I crave Than on these lonely hills to find a grave.

My life, though like a flower deprived of light, Hath yet known moments so divinely bright, So full of rapture, that I then forgave The insults we endured, and still could brave Existence in Seville, if thou wouldst stay; But in thy absence how could I betray My dying mother's trust and farewell prayer That I henceforth thy lonely life should share?"

She paused, and from her lips a stifled moan Revealed the torture that her soul had known.

Her father noted it, and with a sigh Of self-reproach attempted a reply;-- "Dear child, thy love for me hath cost thee much; For young Emanuel,--shrink not from my touch!-- Was dear to thee; I knew it, and confess That I, to consummate thy happiness, Had given thee to him with full consent, (Who with Emanuel would not be content?) Had not my vow and purpose of long years Compelled me to depart despite thy tears.

I knew the struggle, Rachel, in thy heart, I felt the anguish of thy soul to part From one for whom thy love was so intense; In truth, for weeks I suffered in suspense, Lest thy impetuous temperament might lead Even thee to leave me, in my hour of need, Infirm with years, to sail alone from Spain, Go unattended on the stormy main, And lay my poor, worn body in a grave Unknown, uncared for, by a foreign wave.

G.o.d bless thee, Rachel, that thy n.o.ble soul Could make this filial choice, and thus control A love which, though supreme, could not efface Thy duty, as a daughter of thy race; Thy ancestors were princes on this hill!

Within thy veins their blood runs n.o.bly still!"

Rachel sat motionless, with outstretched hands, And fingers interlocked; her steadfast eyes Had hopeless sorrow in their stony gaze, As though they read Fate's sentence of despair.

At length she turned her face; the light had fled From her young features, just as in the west The glow had faded from the sky, and left A wintry coldness in the unlit clouds.

She seemed about to speak, when, sweet and clear, From out the shadow of the ancient wall Soft vocal music stirred the evening air, With plaintive pa.s.sion thrilled,--a proof that love Inspired the words that floated into song,--

Light of the glorious, setting sun, Gilding the Syrian sh.o.r.e, Ere the bright, lingering day be done, Guide me to her whose heart, well won, Holds me forevermore.

Moon, that hath spanned the silvered plain, Olivet's brow to kiss, Lead her by memory's golden chain Back to the olive groves of Spain; Back to our days of bliss!

Star of the evening's darkening sky, Gemming the lonely hill, Whisper to her that I am nigh, Waiting in hope for her reply; Tell her I love her still!

The song had ended; Rachel stood erect, Her pale lips parted breathlessly, her head Bent forward to receive the words, which came Like grateful raindrops to a drooping flower; Her slender form was quivering with delight And sudden rush of feeling; she scarce knew If this were all a dream, or if in truth She heard Emanuel's welcome accents there; Her heart for that brief moment wanted naught To supplement its rapture; 'twas enough To stand thus in expectancy, and know The idol of her soul was drawing near.

At length her father touched her hand, and spoke;--

"'Tis he, my Rachel; thy sweet power hath drawn Thy lover o'er the sea! Again the dawn Of love and hope is kindled in thy face; The concentrated beauty of thy race Illumes thy features; now alas! I know That thy self-sacrifice hath cost thee woe Intenser than I thought; I too rejoice To hear the music of Emanuel's voice, Although I tremble lest his purpose be To lure thee, Rachel, far away from me."

His daughter, even in the thrill of bliss Which filled her throbbing heart, yet saw the pain That marked his closing words; and, turning, twined Her arms about the old man's drooping neck; "Dear Father, fear not that," she gently said; "Though it be true that ardent love hath led Emanuel to this distant Syrian sh.o.r.e, Thy lot shall still be mine forevermore; Doubt not thy faithful child, for none the less 'Twill be thy Rachel's greatest happiness At thy dear side to minister to thee; For only death can come 'twixt thee and me!"

She paused, and hid her face upon his breast; Her father clasped her fondly in his arms, And bent his cheek to hers, his whitened locks On her dark tresses glistening like the snow.

'Twas thus Emanuel found them; silently He stood before them in a dread suspense; His very soul seemed poised upon the word Which left at last his trembling lips,--"Rachel!"

She raised her head, and their bright, ardent eyes Exchanged the voiceless language of the soul; A joy ineffable diffused its flush O'er both their faces; yet she did not speak, But only clung the closer to her sire, As if in fear to lose her self-control.

At length Emanuel spoke in tones so charged With deep emotion that the very air Seemed tremulous with thoughts transcending speech;--

"Rachel, my more than life! Canst thou forgive The momentary thought that I could live Without thee? See, our separation ends!

Henceforth I know no country, home or friends Save thine, my love! I gladly leave them all, Obedient to a higher, n.o.bler call,-- The cry of my whole being to be near Thee, thee, my Rachel, now so wholly dear, That life without thee is but lingering death!

Already with thee a diviner breath Of inspiration lifts my soul to gain The purest, loftiest heights I can attain!

Not to entice thee from thy father's care, Have I come hither, but to seek a share In that dear filial duty, and to give Love, loyalty and homage, while I live, To him, the honored hero of our race, Beside whom here I also crave a place.

Not only do I plead my love anew, But also thus lay open to thy view The dearest wishes of my soul, and wait To learn thy answer. Do I come too late?"

In doubt, 'twixt hope and fear, she raised her eyes To read her fate in her lov'd father's face; Who, taking her fair hands within his own, Advanced with her to where Emanuel stood, And laid them in her lover's eager grasp.

With softened radiance, from their lonely paths, The far-off stars beheld their kneeling forms, While, with his hands in benediction raised, The old man stood absorbed in silent prayer.