'

i

PURCHASED FOR THE

University of Toronto Library

FROM THE

Shoshana and Milton Shier Fund

FOR THE SUPPORT OF

Jewish Studies

SONGS FROM THE GHETTO

SONGS FROM THE GHETTO

MORRIS ROSENFELD

With Prose Translation, Glossary, and Introduction.

By LEO WIENER, Instructor in the Slavic

Languages at Harvard University

BOSTON COPELAND AND DAY

1898

-pj

COPYRIGHT, 1898, BY COPELAND AND DAY

INTRODUCTION

YIDDISH, or Judeo-German, is a group of dialects spoken by the Jews of German origin in Russia, Austria, and Roumania. Originally not differing from the local dialects of the Middle Rhine, it has incor- porated in the diaspora a large number of Slavic and Hebrew words so as to become unintelligible to the average German reader. To neutralize this diffi- culty to a certain extent, Mr. Rosenfeld's language, which belongs to the Lithuanian variety of Judeo- German, has been presented in this book as far as practicable in the orthography of the literary German. The apparent discrepancy in the rhymes thus pro- duced will disappear if the following is observed : —

The consonants have all their German values, and I is like French/. The vowels are nearly all short, so that u, ie, i are equal to German // similarly <z, 0, eh, ee are like G. short e. The G. long e is represented by e, oey and in Slavic and Hebrew words also by ee. Ei and eu are pronounced like G. ei in mein, while ei is equal to G. ee ; a and o are G. short o; au sounds more like G. ou, and au and o resemble G. oi. The Slavic and Hebrew words are spelled phonetically, and the latter differ consequently from the transliter- ated forms in scientific works.

The Judeo-German literature had its beginnings in the fifteenth century, but previous to our own times it has produced nothing noteworthy from a literary standpoint. Since the fifties the Russian Jews have developed a great activity, and there has arisen a long series of folk-poetry, ranging from the mere rhyming of the wedding- jesters to the elaborate pro- ductions of Frug, who has also made a name in Russian literature. This poetry has, however, re- ceived its highest perfection in America by the con- summate art of Mr. Morris Rosenfeld.

Mr. Rosenfeld was born in 1862 in a small town in Poland, where his ancestors had been fishermen. He has received no other education than that which is allotted to all Jewish boys of humble origin. While well read in German and English literature, he masters only his native Yiddish. He went early to England, to avoid military service, and there learned the tailor's trade. Thence he proceeded to Holland where he tried himself at diamond grinding. He very soon after came to America, where for many weary years he has eked out an existence in the sweat-shops of New York. It is there he has learned to sing of misery and oppression. His health gave out, and he had to abandon the shop for the pre- carious occupation of a Yiddish penny-a-liner. In the meantime he has developed Judeo-German ver- sification to unknown proportions. Of the merits of his poetry let the reader judge himself.

L. W.

vi

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PAGE INTRODUCTION . v

SONGS OF LABOR

3n Sd?ap. In the Sweat-Shop 2

Der blether 2Jpreter. The Pale Operator 6

21 Cratjr anf 'n €tfen. A Tear on the Iron .... 8

irtetn 3ftngele. My Boy 10

Dar3tt>eifhmg. Despair 14

Die Kale run Me 3erg. The Mountain Bride .... 16

Da§ arcme (Seftnb ! The Beggar Family 20

IDuhm? Whither? 26

Die Zlacbttgall 3um 2Irbetter. The Nightingale to the

Laborer 28

IDas tf bte IDelt ? What is the World ? 30

2Illf 'tt Cotengarten. In the Garden of the Dead . . 32

NATIONAL SONGS

Sftre. Sephirah 42

^elbmeften. The Measuring of the Graves 46

Ktbefd7=£eroone. The Moon-Prayer 48

Die erfie dtptle. The First Bath of Ablution .... 52

Der IHamfer. The Bastard 56

vii

PAGE

Der jfibifd)er mat. The Jewish May 58

Der jiibifd?er Solbat. The Jewish Soldier 66

2luf 'n Bnfem tmn 3<*nt. On the Bosom of the Ocean . 70 Die £id?t»ar!auferin. The Candle-Seller 76

MISCELLANEOUS

Dcr BeffoIentsSfoIoroei. The Cemetery-Nightingale . . 86

gu Me Slltmen in l^erbfi. To the Flowers in Autumn . 88

Die ^retfyeit. Liberty 90

Der Kanarif. The Canary 94

gu bte IDeltparfcfylittcjer. To the Fortune-Hunters . . 94

<EItlI=meIobten. September Melodies 96

UTaiffe^B'reefd^is. Creation of Man 100

3" &er ITTibber. In the Wilderness 104

GLOSSARY 109

viii

SONGS OF LABOR

raufdjen in (Sdjap afo nrilt tie

oftmal sargeff id) in SRaufd), as idj bin ; — n?er' in tern fdjrerflidjen Xnmmel sarloren,

3d) n?ert tort botel, idj »er' a arbeif, un' arbeif, un' arbeif, o^n'

Un' far roemen ? 3d) foeij? nit, id) frag' nit, — 2Bie fummt a 9ftafd)ine gu tenfen a Sftal ? * * *

9W ta fein ©efuljl, fetn ©ebanf, Kin SSarjlant gar ; — Die bittere, bhttige Arbeit terfd)Iagt )ad Steljle, @d)6npe un' S3ejie, tag S^eic^jle, tag v^^fie, tt>ag Seben tjarmogt* (Eg fd)minten ©efnnten, SO^innten nn' ©tnnten, ©ar fegelfcfynelf Idufen tie ^ac^f mit tie Jag' ; — 3d) treib' tie 9ftafc()itt', gleid^ i^ nrifl fee terjagen, — 34 jag' ofyn' a ©fee^el, i^ lag' ofyn' a 33reg»

X)er (Saeger in SBorffc^ap, er ru^t nit aftle, Sr meifl aflg, nn' ttappt aflg, nn' mecft nadjanant ; — (9efagt l>at a SSftenfdj mir a 5Rat tie 33eteutung : (Setn SBeifen nn' SBerfen, tort liegt a 23arftant ; 57or etn?ag getenft f!d) mir, pnnft tvie »un Sfyolem ; — T)er ©aeger, er mecft in mir Ceben nn' (Sinn, Un' no4 eppeg, — tdj ^ab' ttargeffen, — nit fragt eg ! " nit, idj toetg nit, i^ bin a Sftafdfyin' ! » * .

In the Sweat-Shop

THE machines in the shop roar so wildly that often I forget in the roar that I am; I am lost in the terrible tumult, my ego disappears, I am a machine. I work, and work, and work with- out end ; I am busy, and busy, and busy at all time. For what ? and for whom ? I know not, I ask not ! How should a machine ever come to think?

There are no feelings, no thoughts, no reason ; the bitter, bloody work kills the noblest, the most beautiful and best, the richest, the deepest, the highest, which life possesses. The seconds, min- utes and hours fly ; the nights, like the days, pass as swiftly as sails ; — I drive the machine just as if I wished to catch them : I chase without avail, I chase without end.

The clock in the workshop does not rest ; it keeps on pointing, and ticking, and waking in succession. A man once told me the meaning of its pointing and waking, — that there was a reason in it ; as if through a dream I remember it all : the clock awakens life and sense in me, and something else, — I forget what ; ask me not ! I know not, I know not, I am a machine !

3

Un' geitenwets, roenn tdj ber^bY fdjon tern Jaeger,

tdj gang anberfdj fein 2Betfen, fein (Sprad)' ; ba$t, as e$ nufet mtdj borten tier Umruty', 'dj fott arbetten, arbeiten met)rer aftad) ! 3$ $&Y in fein Son nor bent Soft's feflben 23oefer, (5ein ftnflern ^ndf in bie SBeifer bie gtoet ; — Der @aeger, mir ffruc^et, mir bac^t, as er treibt mic^ Un'ruftmtc^: ,,9ttaf$ine!" un'f^reitsumtr: .

bann, »enn 's if (litter ber nrifber ©etummel,

if ber 9ttefjler in ^ittagjeitpunb', D, bann tjebt in ^opp Bei mir gleicfy an git tagen, 3n £erjen 311 jie^en, — i(^ fitfjP bann metn SBttnV ; Un' bittere Jra^ren, un' fttbige Jra^ren S3ene^en mein mageren Sftittag, mein 33rot, — Ss wergt mtc^, ify fann nit mefyr eften, ic^ lann nit! D, f^red U(%e ^)raje ! D, bittere

'S erfdjeint mir bie (Sc^ap in ber Sftittagjeitjhmbe 21 blutige ©c^Ia^tfetb, wenn bort »erb geru^t : Slrum un' arum fe^ t^ liegen J^arugim, @S laremt »un b'r Srb' bas »argoftene 93lttt» , » Sin SBetle, tin' balb merb gepattft a Srerooge, !Die Xote erroaAen, es lebt auf bie @^(ac^t, Ss fampfen bie JrnpeS far ^rembe, far grembe, Un' (Ireiten, ttn; fatten, un' (In!en in

fn<f auf bent ^ampfpla^ mtt bttteren f, mit ftetome, mit ^ettifc^er 5)

e^t ^6r' i(^ i^m ri^tig, er toecft eS : „% @fof ju bte ^ne^tfcbaft, a @fof fott eS fetn I" Sr muntert in mir mein 25arftonb, bie ®efufyfett, Un' wcifl, tute e3 laufen bie ©tunben abin : 2ln Stenber bteib' icb, tote tang id) wett f^weigen, SSarloren, n?te lang ic^ ^arbteib^ raaS it^ bin* » * 4

And, at times, when I hear the clock, I under- stand quite differently its pointing, its language ; — it seems to me as if the Unrest (pendulum) egged me on that I should work more, more, much more. In its sound I hear only the angry words of the boss ; in the two hands I see his gloomy look. The clock, I shudder, — it seems to me it drives me and calls me "Machine," and cries out to me : "Sew !"

Only when the wild tumult subsides, and the master is away for the midday hour, day begins to dawn in my head, and a pain passes through my heart ; I feel my wound, and bitter tears, and boil- ing tears wet my meagre meal, my bread : it chokes me, I can eat no more, I cannot ! O horrible toil !

0 bitter necessity !

The shop at the midday hour appears to me like a bloody battlefield where all are at rest: about me I see lying the dead, and the blood that has been spilled cries from the earth. ... A minute latter — the tocsin is sounded, the dead arise, the battle is renewed. The corpses fight for strangers, for strangers ! and they battle, and fall, and dis- appear into night.

I look at the battlefield in bitter anger, in terror, with a feeling of revenge, with a hellish pain. The clock, now I hear it aright, it is calling : " An end to slavery, an end shall it be ! " It vivifies my reason, my feelings, and shows how the hours fly ; miserable

1 shall be as long as I am silent, lost — as long as I remain what I am. . . .

5

£)er 2ftenf$, wetter fcpft in mir, tje&t an

Der £ne(H wetter n>a$t in mir, fcfylaft tort ft* ein ;

Sljitttt) if We ridjtige ©tunbe gelummen !

21 @fof su bem ®fenb, <* @f°f f°a c* feitt ! * * * ptu^Itng — ber 2Bi(fel, ber S5of«, — a Xrewoge ! »er' an tern ©fee^el, »argeg', nju i^ bin, — tummelt, men ISmpft, o, mein 3$ if sarloren,— wet§ nit, mid) art nit, id) Mn a ^afc^in' ! » . .

2)ct Blei^et «|itei(t

fe^ bort a btet^en Sfyretet

in ber Arbeit, a ©c&rerf! Un' feit ic^ gebenf i^m, att^ nae^t er Un' legt feine ^raften

(£s tveren S^abof^tm ijarflogen,

g^ laufen bie

Un; no<$ (l^t ber

Un' lampft mit 'n ro|en

; Betrad^t bort fein 3

un

Un' fii^F, as ba arBeift fein ©wure, nor

$)odj fatten bie Xropfeng fejfeeber, SSun 5lnfgang bis lintergang fpat, Un' fappen jlc^ ein in bie ^letber, Un' trinfen PC^ ein in bie 6

The man that sleeps in me begins to waken, — the slave that wakens in me is put to sleep. Now the right hour has come ! An end to misery, an end let it be ! ... But suddenly — the whistle, the boss, an alarm ! I lose my reason, forget where I am ; — there is a tumult, they battle, oh, my ego is lost ! — I know not, I care not, I am a machine ! .

The Pale Operator

I SEE there a pale operator all absorbed in his work. Ever since I remember him, he has been sewing, and using up his strength.

Months fly, and years pass away, and the pale- faced one still bends over his work and struggles with the unfeeling machine.

I stand and look at his face : his face is be- smutted and covered with sweat. I feel that it is not bodily strength that works in him but the incitement of the spirit.

And the tears fall in succession from daybreak until fall of night, and water the clothes, and enter into the seams.

7

3$ fcef ettcfj, ttrie fang wet notf) jagen £)er <5$road)er bent blutigen SRab ? O, t»er tann fein (Snbe mir fagen ? 2Ber weifj ienem fdjredttidjen ©fob ?

D, fdjwer, fefjer f(^n?er ba^ ju fagen, $0$ iin^ if feettJit§t un' befc^eibt : SKenn t^m wet tie Arbeit @i^t teefef a

31 Irafjr auf 'n

itn' ftnjler if tie Jalf tern (Eifen, fle^ un'

wac^, ic^ frays' un' ^uj faum meiu Iranfe 53ru(L

3* M$f un' ^ufF, wn' pref «n; War',— ^etn Slug' n?erb feucfct, e^ faflt a Slra^r ; £)er @ifen gtii^t ; — ba3 Xra^rel mein, — n; fWt nit ein»

3* ffiW fetn ^raft, e« tf; £)er Sifen faflt mir »un bte Un' boc^ ber Xraljr, ber (Summer 2)er Srafyr, ber Sra^r fo(|t me^r un'

@5 rauf(%t mein tf opp, es bred^t ntein 3* frag' mit 8Befc i4 frag; mit ,,O, jag', mein greimb in 5^ot un' D, Xra^r, far foas (feVjl bit nit ein? 8

Pray, how long will the weak one drive the bloody wheel ? Who can tell me his end ? Who knows the terrible secret?

Hard, very hard to answer that ! But one thing is certain : when the work will have killed him another will be sitting in his place and sewing.

A Tear on the Iron

OH, cold and dark is the shop ! I hold the iron, stand and press ; — my heart is weak, I groan and cough, — my sick breast scarcely heaves.

I groan and cough, and press and think; — my eye grows damp, a tear falls ; the iron is hot, — my little tear, it seethes and seethes, and will not dry up.

I feel no strength, it is all used up ; the iron falls from my hand, and yet the tear, the silent tear, the tear, the tear boils more and more.

My head whirls, my heart breaks, I ask in woe : " Oh, tell me, my friend in adversity and pain, O tear, why do you not dry up in seething ? 9

,,33tfl effcfyer gar a $imer, <5agfl an mir, as es htmmen metyr? 3$ motif e$ woflen nriffen, fag': SCenn entugt fldj fcer grower

3$ tt)oW gcfragt nod^ ntel§r im' nte^r 53efm Umru^ bet tent nrilben 2)5 fyaben (Ic^ berlangt a ©og ra^ren, Xra|rett o^n' a

^ it^ ^ab' fc^on ijarjtatt'ett g

ttef if tto<$ t>

pb' a Heincm 3itngele, (5it^nc(e gar fein ! SCenn i$ berfetj' ijrn, tat^t (!$ rnir, £)te gan^c SCelt if mein*

fetten, fetten fe^ ic^ i$m,

(^oenem, tt?enn er treff^ i^m immer ftfylafenttg, e im nor fcei

Arbeit treibt mi$ rii^ arau«

, fremb if mir metn eigen Seifc I , fremb tnein $int>'$ a S3Ucf !

' juftemmtertyeit a^etm,

mir

SMe fein t>a^ ^int) PC^ fpfeft, 10

" Are you, perhaps, a messenger, and announce to me that other tears are coming? I should like to know it : say, when will the great woe be ended ? "

I should have asked more and more of the Un- rest, the turbulent tear ; but suddenly there began to flow more tears, tears without measure, and I at once understood that the river of tears is very deep. . . .

My Boy

I HAVE a little boy, a fine little fellow is he ! When I see him, it appears to me the whole world is mine.

Only rarely, rarely I see him, my pretty little son, when he is awake ; I find him always asleep, I see him only at night.

My work drives me out early and brings me home late ; oh, my own flesh is a stranger to me ! oh, strange to me the glances of my child !

I come home in anguish and shrouded in dark- ness, — my pale wife tells me how nicely the child plays,

ii

SBte fug eS reb't, toie flug e$ fragt; ,,D, Sftama, gute 9fta, SBenn fummt un' brcngt a $emt9 tnir 3)cr guter, guter

S« ««' eiF — e« a, a, c« mu^ gef^etjn ! Dte SaterlteBe fladert auf : (£3 mud mein ^tnt mid) fcfyn !

34 (le^ Bet fein ©cla^ercl

51 Srattnt bewegt bie frD,»tttF» »ttif

34 fuf4' bie btoe (See offnen (14 — //£),

fe^en mi4, fee fe|ett ' f4Iiegen P4

,,T)a (le^t beitt ^apa, Seuerer, 21 ^enntle bir, na I11 21 Xraum Bewegt bie

34

bit ertua4(l ci 5)^51, meftt Il bu mi4 nit meljr." . . „

12

How sweetly he talks, how brightly he asks : " O mother, good mother, when will my good, good papa come and bring me a penny?"

I hear it, and I hasten : it must be, yes, it shall be ! The father's love flames up : my child must see me !

I stand by his cradle, and see and listen, and hush ! A dream moves his lips : " Oh, where is, where is papa? "

I kiss the little blue eyes, they open : " O child ! " They see me, they see me, and soon close up again.

" Here stands your papa, darling ! Here is a penny for you ! " A dream moves the little lips : "Oh, where is, where is papa?"

I stand in pain and anguish, and bitterness, and I think : " When you awake some day, my child, you will find me no more ! " . . .

men nit rufyen djotfdj ein £ag in $ Sag me$r nit frei fein ijun fdjrerfltdjen 25argejfen tern 23ojf$ bem sarMfienem <5ein finftere Sftiene, fein fcfyrerflidjen 23argeffen bem @djap un' bent SSargeffen tie ^nec^tfc^aft, ttargeffen bent SSargeffen [!$ nrifljt bu un' ru^en bergn ? 9ttt forg' flc^, ot balb t»e(l bu ge^n in bein

Ot Balb tyafcen S3aumer un' 53tumen Ot enbigt ber SSoegel ber letter fein Sieb, Ot 16alb if 23ejfolem3 arum un; arnm ! O, ttrie ttjottf i$ ttoflen a (S^ntetf t^on a 23Ium, 51 pt)I t^on, c^otf^, eber e« (iarbt a^ bag ®ra3, 3luf gelber tegriinte bent SBintele'S S3Ia^ ! — 3n getb fein ijartangjl bit, wn luftig un; gritn ? ^ef men t»et bi(^ ft^on brengen afyin 1

Xeic^ if bejtlfcert un' gtan^t afo fd&oen, £>ie SBellen Befpreit mit a tjtmmlifc&en S|een, O, bort jld) ju Baben n?ie gnt mn£ e^ feinl 2Bte moUf id) mit 2u(l in bent SBajfer arein ! SJJein ©uf if mtn f^redfli^e Arbeit uarf^mac^t, 2Bie njoHten bie S3aber midj frift^er gemac^t ! — O, baben f!$ miUji bu, ft$ tuaf^en in

t^, men met bi$ arumn?af(^en

2)ie @d)»tfc*@d>ap if ftnfler unj rau^ig un' Hetn, O, tt)te foU mein SBIufe bie weige fein rein ? 3« fd^mu^igen <5d)ap if bie JReinfeit mir fremb ; 2Bte jiert e$ a ^lenf^en a flarwei^e £emb ! 14

Despair

IS it not allowed to rest even one day in the week and to be at least one day free from the dreadful yoke ? To forget the angry growl of the boss, his gloomy mien, his terrible look ; to forget the shop and the cries of the foreman ; to forget slavery, to forget woe ? — You wish to forget yourself and be rested? — Never mind, you will soon go to your rest !

Soon the trees and flowers will have withered ; the last bird is already ending his song; soon there will be cemeteries all around ! Oh, how I should like to smell a flower and feel, before the grass is dead, the breath of zephyr in the green fields ! — You wish to be in the fields where it is airy and green ? — Never mind, you will be carried there soon enough !

The brook is silvery and glistens beautifully ; the waves are covered with a heavenly grace. Oh, how good it is to bathe there ! How I should enjoy leaping into it ! My body is weakened from the dreadful work, — how the bath would refresh me ! — Oh, you wish to make your ablution in the brook ? — Be not frightened, you will soon receive your ablution !

The sweat-shop is dark and smoky and small.

How can my white blouse be clean there? In the

dirty shop cleanliness is unknown to me. How a

pure, white shirt adorns a man ! How proper for

15

2Qie pa§t e3 a nobeten ©itf, 311 fein fret,

3u arbetten menfcfyltd) un' rein fein berbei ! —

ant^on in tt>ei§en »arlangjl bit ajihtb ?

feet bidj fcfyon anttyon un' ant^on gefdjwinb !

3n SBatb if e3 Ittftig, in

2Bte gut if e^ borten $u t^olemen flifl !

J)ie 2$oegela$ jlngen met^ajebig fein,

Die £oner bie fitge, fee fc^taferen ein ; —

3n (Sc^ap if es aber a 0lauf(^ itn' e^ (ltdft, —

£), n?te n?oUf ber SBalb mt«^ getitfyU un^ gequidt ! -

D, fit^Ien ft^ wittjl bit ? 2Ba$ taitg' bir a SBalb ?

57it tang wet e$ ne^men, un' bit roejl fein fait !

21 tfjeiteren Gnawer 311 ^a6en if gitt, — 3n 9lot gf t er ^offnitng, in Slenbfeit 21 ttyeuerer S^awer ^arfiijt bir bein @ein, (Sr gi't bir a (£f)eefd)ef in Seben arein ; — Un' i(^ bin ttarjoffemt un? ic^Jbtn a ©tein, 97it ba fein S^anjeertm, bin (Siner aflein» — SBefl ^aben (£fyatt>eerim balb gar o^n' a (Sdj (See roien flt^ fdjon, itn' fee marten aitf bir !

2>ie ^ak bun fate

bie Sltteg^an^berger

* a 0luine ; — Morten liegt an eingefaU'ne, 2l(te

Un' nit wett »nn biefer Sinfam un' sarlafen, a ©tiibele a ttetne en tt)ilbe ©rafen* 16

a noble body it is, in order to be free, to work humanely and be clean withal ! — You wish now to dress yourself in white ? — They will dress you, and dress you quickly enough !

The woods are breezy, hi the woods it is cool. How good — to dream there quietly ! The little birds sing pleasantly; but in the shop there is a noise, and the air is suffocating. — Oh, you wish to be cool ? Of what avail is a forest to you ? — It will not be long before you will be cold.

'T is good to have a dear companion. In adver- sity he gives hope, in misery — courage. A dear companion sweetens your being, and he gives you a zest for life. And I am orphaned, alone like a stone, there are no companions, I am all by my- self. — You will soon have companions without end : they swarm already, and are waiting for you !

The Mountain Bride

UPON the Alleghany mountains is to be seen a ruin : — there lies an old, caved-in coal mine.

And not far from that ruin, lonely and deserted, stands a small hut among wild grasses.

Shorten pflegf ter alter S3ergmann $4' fcei 9t<u$t geftn'en ; Morten pflegen ©ufeen fltngen, ©title Srafjren rinnen.

tie nwjh $olenmtne — Sort if 23Iut geflojfen : Unten liegt ter alter Reiner mit fein Softer'* S^ojfem

Un' fein frumme, fdjoene Softer, 2lcfj, tt>a$ tann fein arger ? SBantelt mit a ©eifl a franfen 5luf tie flumme S3erger»

Sinfam Tebt fie swiften (Stetner, £)^n^ a Jrofl, o^n; >£>offen 5 (Spat oei Wafyt nor, anf ter 9ftine, SBert fte flttt antfc^Iafen*

n?ie gt(^ fie fdjtaft nor etn bort,

t>te ^te^morim, Un; i^r Slate, un' i^r S^offen Dffenen tie

Un' mit fee tie ©ra'Ber atte, SlUemit^efangen — Un' nit meit tort i?un tern £ort men tumjjfe ^langen*

(Stumm antf$tt>fea,en, tt)ie ter

un' blut^egojfen, in 3trem fein ©eliefcte £)er sarfu^lter S^ojfen* 18

There the old miner used to find rest at night : there sobs were heard and quiet tears flowed.

But the desolated coal mine, — blood has flowed there: underground lies the old miner and his daughter's affianced.

And his goodly, beautiful daughter — oh, what can be worse ? — wanders with unsound mind over the silent mountains.

Alone she lives among the rocks, without conso- lation, without hope ; only late at night she softly falls asleep upon the ruin.

And as soon as she slumbers, musicians begin to play, and her father and her affianced open up the graves.

And with it, all the tombs are opened, all a-sing- ing, — and not far away, from the cloister, muffled bells are rung.

Silent as the grave, covered with black gore, the stark, dead body of the affianced takes in his arm his bride.

'9

©lei* treft $u tier alter State, £)ur$g,efcrenttt mit SBunfcen, SBeint un' fcenfc&t tie Winter feine, un' tt>ert>

£)a ijarfhtmmen tie $Ie3morim aUe; — un' ^weit e0 HeiBen

nit

? fee fcletfcen, ttn^ fee tan^en , Reiner Port nit, a,Ft a 2Bun! »u Un'ber eoen mert) nit

£)a fprtngt auf bem ,,D, tie ^enfc^ Un^ »arfd)tt>tnt>et auf tie Merger it a n?ilt> ©ela^ter*

oremc ©effnb*

(le^t eitt areme

3n Sort^au^ »ar bent 9ttc(jter, SSarmatterte, »un SeBen ntagere ©efi^ter* SSater if a franfer S)ie gutter — fc^ttja*, ge^ro^en t £)te Dfeta*, bie Bibne »ier, — t>arre ^>aut un

20

Her old father, with gaping wounds, approaches them ; he weeps and blesses his children, sobs and disappears.

Silenced are the musicians and all the bells : all disappears, and all is mute; only the betrothed remain behind.

They remain and dance quietly, — no one dis- turbs them until, when beckoned from afar, the bridegroom vanishes.

Then the dead man's bride leaps up : " O you butchers of men ! " and she disappears upon the mountains with wild laughter.

The Beggar Family

A BEGGAR family stands in the courthouse before the judge. They are worn out and tired of life, and their faces are thin : the father is a sick man, the mother — weak and broken down ; the four poor little creatures are nothing but dry skins and bones.

21

D, (ejer <Stnt if fetjer grog, 3f groalttg, gum (£r(taunen ! (See fjafcen metyr fein £eim far j!$, $ein £>ire, KM gu tootjnen. (See fuel en aitf tern Sftidjter {efct, — (See fennen tie ©rimajfen, — (See toeijfen fc^on tern n?tlten $faf gar SBanblen in tie ®afetu

gg treiBt fee f^on tie ©'redjtigfeit 21U Settler, 55agafeunt)ett, SSun T)orf git £)orf, \?un (Statt gu @tabt, ^imat a 3afyr a runten* (See fennen jete XpflTe ft^on, (See n?eiffen fd)on tie 5flore^ ; — jkrfcen aber flarbt (IdJ nit,

5Der ?JWutter^ 3ung; if fete gelafjmt, 2)er 3Sater fra'gt gutragen : ,,2Bu_tenfjl tu, £)gotg, un0 setter je TOtOfela^ gu jagen? D, Ia« un^ ta ! Die @tatt if grof, SDttr feeflen eff^er friegen 21 Sftatjlgett ergej »u gef^enlt, 5ln Drt, atru gu liegen,

,,Un? ofc i^ feef a SWal gefunt (Set ©ott !ann 5ltte3 mer'en), SQBell i$ mein SBeib un' Winter Wlit SartU^feit ernatyren, £), la^ un^, Dgotg, o, Ia^ nn^ ta SSarHetBen gttrifdjen ^enfc^en ! D, gieB, anftatt gu fluc^en ti(|, ©elegen^eit gu fcenfdjen \"

22

Oh, their crimes are very great, of unheard-of magnitude ! They have no home of their own, no place where to live. They now look at the judge, they understand his mien, they know the terrible punishment for wandering in the streets.

Justice has been driving them as beggars and vagabonds from village to village, from town to town, almost for a whole year. They know every jail, they know all those dark holes ; in spite of all that they did not die, but lived on for ever new troubles.

The mother's tongue is almost paralyzed, the father asks in fright : " Whither, O judge, are you going to drive us now with our little creatures? Oh, leave us here ! The city is large, — we will somehow manage to get a meal, and a place where to lie down.

" And if ever I get well again (with God every- thing is possible), I shall tenderly care for my wife and children. Leave us, judge, oh, leave us here among human beings ! Oh, give us an opportunity of blessing instead of cursing you ! "

£>er £>5ob)j Betradjt bem franten Sftatm

,,D, nein, i$ mefl eud) afle fedjs 25un batmen mefjr nit fdjidett, 3fjr fceibe nor wet mufen gefjn, £)ie $fnber wetten BteiBen ; 3$ tt)ea far fee in 21 freten

£>er 5Sater n>crb »ar ©direct ijarfhtmmt, £)tc Gutter ^ebt an fdjreten t ,,D, netn, ba^ met in ^>immel ©ott @uc^ fetn Wai nit ijaraei^en* Un' nemmt i|r meine ^inber guf So nemmt ijareint mein Seben ; — £), nein, i^ foefl bie ^tnber euc^ !ein fc^um §att nit geben !

mit S3tut gefogen fee, (Srgogen ti^ a^iinber, — 3$ wett auc^ tueiter fcettten ge§n Un* fpeifen meine $inber* 3^ jveif, o X)aobJ, ba$ fann nit fein, 2)u ladjjt e«_nor, bu fpieljl nor, D, tag bie JDfeladS Bei mir Un' treib' m&f n?u bn anfljl nor!"

|, — er entfert nit a SBort, farttg bie ^apieren : — 3^m art bie ^uttefg Sorter nit, 3t)m !ann ifjr 2Ce^ nit rii^rem 2)er TOfdjpet, er if1 au^gerebt, — Un' !ann er fetn no$ milber ? 51 boppelt Stw^ auf ber f^afftafol^e 23itber! 24

The judge looks at the sick man with a sharp glance : " No, I shall no longer send you all six away from this place. Only you two will have to go, the children will remain, — I shall get a free place for them in the orphan asylum."

The father grows dumb with fright, the mother begins to cry : " Oh, no, God in heaven will not forgive you that. And if you take away my chil- dren, take at once my life ! Oh, no, I shall never give up my children to you !

"I fed them with my blood, and raised them until now; I shall keep on begging, and feeding my children. I know, judge, that cannot be, you are only jesting and playing with us. Oh, leave the creatures with me, and drive us whither you please ! "

The judge answers not a word, and gets ready the papers. He cares not for the words of the mother, her woe cannot move him. The sentence is passed, and can it be more cruel? Doubly cursed be the system that makes such pictures possible !

SBuljtn?

Sn a 2Jtoebele

, ttwtjut, bu fronted tftnb?

£>ie SBelt if no* nit offen ! £>, fe|', toie JW ba if arum! SBar £ag — bie ©ajfen pe^ett fhtmm, SBufjin, wu^in afo gef^tmnb ? 3e^t,if bo$ gut 311 f^Iafen : 2)ie S3Iumen traumen boc^ noc^, — @$ fc^meigt no(^ jieber SSogelneji, — SBufjitt fort treibt eg bid) ajitnb ?

taufjl bu, fag', e »arbienen !"

, wu^in, bu f^oettes (So frat Bet ftad&t fpa^ieren ? 5lUein bur$ ginflernig un? Utt' m& rujt, eg fd^meigt bte SBu^in fort tragt eg bid) ber 3Cinb ? £)tt ftjefi bod^ noc^ uarirren I * * »

j^at ber Xag bir nit fann bir tyelfen benn bie if bod^ pumm un' taufc un' biinb !

mit letdjten ©innen ?

26

Whither?

To a girl

WHITHER, whither, pretty child? The world is not yet open ! Oh, see, how quiet it is all around ! 'T is before daybreak, the streets are mute. Whither, whither do you hurry ? 'T is now good to sleep, and, do you see, the flowers are still a-dreaming ; every bird's nest is still silent. Whither, pray, are you driven now? Whither do you hurry, tell me, and what to do ? — " To earn a living ! "

Whither, whither, pretty child, walking so late at night? Alone through the darkness and cold ! And everything is at rest, the world is silent. Whither does the wind carry you? You will yet lose your way ! Scarcely has day smiled on you, how can the night help you ? For it is mute, and deaf, and blind. Whither, whither with easy mind ? — "To earn a living !"

27

jum

(Summer if $eunt, f$on (Summer if tyeunt Du $6rj*, ttie i$ pfetff btr a ftigen? 3n ttefbfoen £immel tie <Sunn' golbig f^eint, @$ fingen in 2Balb meine htfttge greunb', £g fummen in ©ritngras bie gliegen ; &3 plaubert ter Quatt' un' e3 murmelt ber Xei(^, @^ iliUjen un; f^medfen bie SBliimela^ ret$, — ©enug in gaBrtl bir gu Uegen ! (Ste^ aitf, bie 9latur pt btc^ audj gar nit feinb, — (Sdjon (Summer if §eunt, ft^on (Summer if SStel Sujttgteit, ttiel SSergenitgen @in 3ebwebe0 attjemt, ein 3ebeS genie^t, — £3 fragen nor Sltte, n?u bu ergej bijl : Dein Stjeefet if ba {fi, bein 3$etl if »aran,— 5^u, nemm e0f o, nemm ba^; bu Slrieitermann !

@6on (Summer if i£t, ft^on ©ummer if i^t ! 2>er (Sc^metterHng tanjt auf bie 23Iumen, 2)er ftlberner ^tegenbel m^ajebig S3 fle^en bie S3erg afo griin un; Die Sitft if gemif^t mit ^arfumen ; Die (Sc^afelac^ fpringen in Blumigen Der 5)a3tuc^ ber|ort f(^on ber Die fyetltge 3^it if ge!ummen ! 9lu, m&tif nit fein <S$tie$ ! ba3 SeBen <Sd)on Summer if i^t, fdjon ©ummer if i^t ! Der SRab mag auf a SCeite ijarflummen, — Du p(l afo tang, afo Bitter gefdjafft, SSartoenb't afo narrif^ bein eiferne ^raft O, reb' $$ nit ein, as ba$ 2eBen if <Stug, $W auf mit a S^eef^e! bem ^og ^jun ©enuf

2S

The Nightingale to the Laborer

SUMMER is to-day, summer is to-day! Do you hear how I warble a song for you ! The sun shines golden in the deep blue sky ; my airy friends sing in the forest; the flies buzz in the green grass; the spring babbles, the brook mur- murs ; the little flowers bloom and shed their rich perfume. Enough your lying in the factory ! Get up, Nature loves you also ! Summer is to-day, summer is to-day ! Everything breathes joy and pleasure, everybody enjoys himself, — all ask where you are. Your part is there, there is a share for you, — so take it, oh, take it, you working man !

Summer is now, summer is now ! The butter- fly dances upon the flowers ! the silvery rain drizzles delightfully; the mountains are green and clearly outlined against the sky ; the air is mingled with perfumes ; the sheep frisk in the flowery vale ; the shepherd hears the shepherdess's call ; — the holy time has come ! So do not delay, for life passes like a flash, — Summer is now, summer is now! Let the wheel be silent for a while ! You have worked so long and so painfully, you have so foolishly used up your iron strength. Oh, do not think that life is worthless, lift up with pleasure the cup of enjoyment !

29

(Sdjon (Summer if ba, f$on (Summer if ba !

3dj mett es bir eoig nit jlngen,

£)enn enblidfj met fummen auf mir au$ a

3mefg met sarneljmen bie ftnjhre tyetltge Sieb met ijarfhtmmetu

n?ie id^ ffng' bir arab »un bem S3aum Sun grei^eit un; Siebe bem golbenem Slraum, Xo ^eb' bidj un' Ias3 bic^ nit btngem * * * £immlen ijarHeifcen auc^ ebig nit Ho,

©ummer if ba, frfjon (Summer if ba !

fann men tu(lig i>arBringen, £)enn ri(%ttg n>ie bu, welder tuelft ^e SSarn?e(!t enblid^ 2We$ un1 tragt jl(^ Sftomenten nor bilben ba^ £eben, bie SSarfe^n a foment, if Darloren ber (Streit !

if bte 2Mt?

if unfer 3BeItcI a (Sdjfafefmmer nor, Un' if nor a (£§olem ba^ SeBen; £)ann fotten mir, mitt id^, audj meine paar 3n gute

J)ann mill id) S^alomeg »un 2Bte jiene gro jartige ^erren j 5Dann mitt id^ in (£$olem a UeBIi^en Un' mitt nit me$r traumen »un £ratjren.

Un' if unfer SBettel a @f!md)e, a 33att, 2Qu mir feinen 5ltte »arBetten ; Dann mittt f!(^ mir au$ ft£en orettlic^ in @aal Un? ijafren a S^eete! a fettem 30

Summer is here, summer is here ! I shall not sing it to you eternally, for finally my hour, too, will strike, — a dark crow will occupy my branch, the holy song will cease. As long as I sing to you from the tree of the golden dream of freedom and love, — rise and let me not urge you any longer ! The heaven will not remain eternally blue ! Summer is here, summer is here ! Now one can pass a merry time, for just like you, who are now fading at your machine, everything will in the end wither and be carried away. Life is composed but of moments, and a moment unused is a battle lost !

What is the World?

IF our world is but a sleeping room, and life is only a dream, — then I wish my few years should flit away in good dreams.

Then I wish dreams of freedom and happiness like those the great gentlemen dream of; then I want to see pleasant sights in my dream, and I do not want to dream oi tears.

And if our world is a feast, a ball, and we the invited guests, then I, too, wish to be seated com- fortably in the hall and have my own good share of the banquet.

fann t$ uarbauen a <5a<$, was if gut, 21 23iffen a red&ten sartragen; 3$ pb' in metn_®uf au$ biefelfcige 33Iut, 2Bie bie, fceldje D^reS sarmogeiu

Un' if nor a ©artcn ajunb unfer SBelt, 2Bu '$ wad^fen aitd^ atter^anb 0lofen, S)ann wit! ic^ frajieren t>ort, fcit mir gefaflt, Un' nit, urn bie Slei^e mir lafem

£>ann witlt f!(^ mtr tragcn Dim SBtumen a

3^ hrifl fl(^ mit Corner nit $teren ; —

£)ann wittt |i$ mir ait(^ mit mein Siebjtc in ©tana

25un SO^^rten un' Sorbecr fpajieren*

Un' if unfer SBett a ^tl^ome ajunb,

2Bu @tarlc un' ©c^ma^ere flretten ;

£>ann art mi(^ fein (Sturem, tein SKeib un' fein $tnt>,

3 bteib' nit mit flattlett »un 2Beiten»

warf i$ in geuer fl$, ttJcr" Un' lampf fete a £oeb' far bem Utt' trefft mi* We tf aul, — ic^ fatt? tot auf 'n gelt, 5Dann fann i

Sluf 'n ^otengarten

91 Xraum

^3S ?fla*t if a jHfle, e« leu^f t tie Sewone,

S^ fitnflen tie ©teren in ^)immel ; — SDfad) tragt ber S3al=(^olem burt^ Jot im' tur($ Seben, Un' $ort, wa^ mir ^olemt in Drimmel! 32

I can, indeed, digest a thing that is good, I can stand a dainty morsel ; I have the same blood in my body as those who possess great fortunes.

And if our world is but a garden where all kinds of roses grow, — then I wish to pleasure myself where I please, and not where the rich permit me to walk.

Then I want to wear a wreath of flowers, and do not wish to adorn myself with thorns ; then I want to walk with my beloved one in the splendor of myrtles and laurels.

And if our world is now a battlefield where the strong struggle with the weak, — then, in spite of storm, and wife and child, I shall not stand coldly aside.

Then I thrust myself into the fire, become a hero and battle like a lion for the weak ; and if the bullet strike me, and I fall dead on the field, — then I, too, can die laughing !

In the Garden of the Dead A Dream

NIGHT is silent, the moon shines, and the stars twinkle in the sky. The angel of dreams carries me thro1 death and life, and hear what I dream in my slumber ! 3 33

#n alter SBeffolem, surcorfene tfworim, SBegraoene (SHucfen un' 3<w* ; Da liegen tie ®ute, ta Uegen tic <5d)!edjte, Da rutyen tie £ned)f tt)ie tie <5rore3.

Dt mu nit ttju d^olemt a SBerfce a jtiflc,

21 Sintele wtegt ifyre 3»^Ben ; —

3* (le^ tort 0efcr0<%en un' W nit lem Shorter,

Die £ote, tie Sotc, fee fd)tt>eia,ett.

3c^ (Icy un' Betra^t' arum ntir tie Die tjmtterte S3ergta(^ tie (iumme ; 3$ fc^ torten ^worim, un^ lenntig au^ SSun Ireme, 3Rei$e, un' grummc.

gg tragt fid) a 2Bintel un' tafc^tf^et tie ©ritfcer, @d ttJiegen P4 often tie 8Iattla<$ : 0lu^e auf eu* in tie 0luy in tie

3$ (ley, un? ed grautt mi4 1 &* teVt ter ,,3n Dorem=feit fe^ un' in Boffe »un tie @eiten swei jli tu fee ? <Saa/ e^ mir offen 1"

fey, wie sarfcfyieten e^ feinen tie ie lann ta 3Sarf(^ieten^eit lummen ? >

r wa^ if ot ter S3ergel nefte^ a tyofjler,

lummt auf tern at»eiten tie S3Iumen?

tu, fag', SDtenfd), far n?a6 ta wac^fen Slumen, ? torten if; <Samt nor un' @teiner?" t mi^ ter 23al*djolem gefragt, un' gef^woren, er weig tern ©fob un' me^r Reiner, 34

An old cemetery, scattered graves, buried happi- ness and sorrows : there lie the good, there lie the bad, there rest the slaves and the oppressors.

Here and there an old willow dreams, and a soft wind rocks its branches ; I stand in anguish and hear no words : the dead, the dead, — they are silent.

I stand and look at the tombstones around me, at the hundreds of silent mounds; I see their graves, and 't is evident — graves of the poor, the rich, and the pious.

A zephyr blows and passes over the little hills, the leaves above them rock to and fro : " Holy peace be unto you in the graves, holy peace in your little beds!"

I stand and shudder! The angel of dreams speaks : " Look to the South, and to the North ! Look there at the two quiet restingplaces ! Do you understand their meaning? Tell me openly ! "

I look : how different the two graves are ! Whence comes here a difference? Why is this mound here entirely bare, why are there flowers on the other?

" Do you understand, O man, why flowers grow there, while here there is sand and rocks?" the angel of dreams asked me, and he assured me that he alone knew the secret thereof, and no one else.

35

,,Dt to", unter tiefen Bemacfyfenem Sergei, — Der Sfftenfdj tyat Befangt 511 tie (Sdjtnter, $flegt marteren <Sdjma$e un' peinigen Bitter Die areme SlrBeiterftnter,

,,(£r fjat a 9fta( SlrBetterBInt nor gefattgen, ©epeinigt tic aremc (Sffa^en ; — S)er&im ))flegen queUen Bet ttjm feinc ©tieber, Dt tad $at i^m gettfeft gef^affcn*

wUn' ijt if JJUtt STrBeltert arcmc $3ad er l)at varfreffen, ttarnummen, Der taftger ©artelc oBen geroot'en, — fetnen tern 2lrBeiter'g

/;Dn tort 311 tern nadcten Sergei Belangt e3 ! )ad fetnen tent SlrBetter'S Sweeten !

tua^fl mm fein 9ftar$, »nn fetn 33fat, fetne Stra^ren, er Kjat ijartoren tnrd^

gd Bfafl fl^ a SBintele (lit! tnr$ tie

(55 ^b'ren flcfy Shorter in ©arten:

,,X)ie 53(nmen tie fc^oene, fee feinen gegantoet,

£)t torten Betangen fee, torten 1"

Un' ^eftiger tragt ffdj ter SBinb tnr(% tie ©ritBer tln; rattfc^t mit a Boefe ^e^nme, — (S3 l)oren fld) 2Borter; gar f^redfli^e Sorter : ,,$artanft ed tie grumme, tie grumme !"

Da gtei(^ ijat tern SlrBeiter^ ©rnB (!$ gefpalten, 2)er 33?eg I)at getnnnert mit 3oren : „£), nit nor tie S3Inmen atlein fetnen nteine, — Die S3retter fogar »nn fein £)ren, 36

" Here, under this thickly grassed mound — the man who lies there has been a flayer : he tortured the weak, and tormented bitterly the poor working children.

" He lived on the blood of the laborers, and tor- mented the poor slaves, — and that gave sustenance to his limbs and brought forth fatness.

" And now, from the strength of the poor working men, which he has devoured and used up, there has grown up that little garden above him : those are the flowers of the working man !

" They belong to the bare mound over yonder ! They are the laborer's blooms ! They have grown from his marrow, from his blood, from his tears which he shed in chains ! "

A wind softly blows over the graves, and the words are heard in the garden: "The beautiful flowers, they are stolen flowers, they belong over yonder, over yonder ! "

And stronger grows the wind that passes over the mounds, and it howls in anger. Words, terrible words are heard : " You may thank for it the pious, the pious 1 "

Suddenly the working man's grave clove open ; the dead man thundered in anger : " Not only the flowers are mine, nay, even the boards of the coffin are mine !

37

,,Un' ntt nor bte 23retter aflein Dim fein Dren, £ac(jrt$im, ait$ i$r feib nit feine ! $)a$ pt er burdj mtr, burc^ mein areme £5, mt$ un7 Sitter if meine I"

if ber Xoter arauf in ber Suften WD5« wet eitcfy no(^ !open !" Un? ^at feinc ginger in gcwjhn ftarfcroc^en, Un' pt anf ber 2BeIt f!^ »armo(lem

SSar (Scfyrecfettig pb^i(^ emat^t »un ntein potent,

Hingt mtr in Dtyer bie Xaine : , nit nor afletn if bie 23htmen geganwet, un' «tte« if meine!"

" And not only the boards of the coffin, — you shrouds, you too are mine ! He has it all through my work, my poor work, — oh, all and all is mine ! "

Then the dead one passed away in the air with cries : " You will pay for it yet ! " and he clenched his fist and threatened the world.

Frightened I awoke from my dream, but there still resound in my ears the words : " Not only the flowers have been stolen, nay, all and all is mine ! "

39

NATIONAL SONGS

5ft"

, ba$t jldj, tooflen je£t fceten mein fott etroag ladjen — eg ge^t a&er nit 35, 23ruberla$, erjleng if jefet feet ung (gftre, Un' (lam eppeg, fagt mir, tute la^t eg a

IDi, Sate, tit f ad$ ? ;g if a tflag' a«^ ®elad^ter ! 3n jutif^e great)' if t>enn ba eppeg 0lec^f g ? 2)er jiibtfdjer Sac^ if tenn eppeg a renter ? fc^ bo4 nor »un a Siift un; a

pt a Xam gar bag jitbifdje SeBen !

pt ber iitbif^er ^afe( a (£f)een ! 3n >immel bie jtlfcewe SBoIfenblac^ fc^me^en, 3n gelb if a S^ijeg, bu — fife' nor im; t»ein !

£)er SBatb if gett)urgig, im' griin if ber ©arten, 3n grueling ber SBintel, mie frtfd) un; tt)ie fii^I 2Bag art eg bit^ 3"bel, tr-ag art eg bi(^ borten ? 33ei bir if boc^ ©fire, bu filfe' in ber

X)er lieBH^er (Summer, ber Xrojlung »uu @r Iduft gar in (Sitfjen, in $rad)$en »ar;6ei :

!ann er bem 3iibett far ^ojfnungen gefcen, 3iiben, — tvag troeft't i^m a ©ummer, a 42

Sephirah

MESEEMS I should like to ask my Muse to laugh a little, but it is all in vain, for, to be- gin with, we now have Sephirah, and, besides, tell me : how can a Jew laugh at all ?

Oh, God, you laugh? What a pitiful laughter! Is there anything real in the pleasures of a Jew? Is the laughter of a Jew at all real ? No, it is but a mixture of sighing and groaning !

Jewish life has no flavor, Jewish happiness has no grace ! In the heavens float the silvery clouds, the woods are full of life, but you sit down and weep !

The forest is redolent, and green is the garden ; the breezes of Spring — how refreshing and how cool ! What concern is that to you, Jew, what con- cern to you ? You now have Sephirah, so sit silently and weep !

The lovely summer, the consolation of life, passes away in sobs and in sighs. What hopes can it give to the Jew? What consolation to him is summer, and May?

43

21 Settler, toad $at nit fein «plafc, ttw gu liegen, 2Ba3 3ebmeber tvarft fld) ntit tfym itor arum : — 9?u, if eppes fdjajW far ifym 23argenitgen, 21 ©arten mit Sfomim, a Saunt, 511 a Stum ?

Un' Homerfdjt ber 3itt>, Nenn cr (tngt (!^ fattanber, 3f\ metnt ijr, a groe^Hftleit ba in fein Steb ? 3c^ |or^ in fetn SWfjen nor : ,,2Bant>er un1 iuanber!" 3n jebweber 9^ote berfenn' id) tern

J)em jiibif^ett Steb, wenn ed fott nor berfyorett 2ln emejfer ^eemtn, t»ad fteig »un ©efattg, X)ann mu^ er nit rotflenbtg gief en mit Xrdfyren Un1 wer'en eraittert »un Jetweber

21 jittrige X?ij[e, a £rue, a C ba^ tp ajiinber ber jitbif^er ©ujl, 21 ©uft h?a« ewetft nor ©efulten'gu a

21 Xftle^Ieoni, a 3ape, a

D ba^ tp bie jiibif^e fitfjle

@eit bort, in fein ^eilige 33fomim*mebine,

SSarjiort tp gemor'en fein greub' un1 fein ©tiicf*

D, feit in fein Slempel guf^mettert, @ein ^einb pt bie fiiffte ^lefemer, if nor X)em 3itbet ber Haglic^er ©c^of ,2luf tt>e((^en er t^tipet nor em %flal in

SSun 3iro&frn, i5un ^aufen, sun ^arfen, »un gieblen, Sun Drgten, ^larnetten, ftaftol un' @ittar\ 3P me^r nit geMieben bem aremen 3ublen £>er ftnjlerer (S^ofer, jutrudfent un* barr, 44

A medicant who has no place where to rest him- self, with whom everybody has his sport, — say, is it, then, proper for him to think of pleasures, of gar- dens, of balsam, of a tree, or of a flower?

And if even the Jew at times breaks forth into song, do you imagine his song to be full of mirth ? I hear in his melody only : " Wander and wander ! " by every note I recognize the Jew.

If one who is well versed in music were to hear a Jewish song, he could not abstain from shedding tears or from being deeply moved by every sound of it.

The ram's-horn's call to repentance and attrition of spirit, — that is now the favored Jewish melody, a melody that wakens only feelings for the grave, a melody that shatters a breast of steel.

The Suppliant's Psalm, the Song of Atonement, and of the Destruction of the Temple, — these are the sweetest music of the Jew, ever since in his holy land of balsams his joys and his happiness have been disturbed.

Oh, ever since his enemies have shattered and broken the sweetest instruments of music in his Temple, there has been left to the Jew nothing but the plaintive ram's-horn, upon which he sobs but once a year.

Of cymbals and drums, of harps and lyres, of organs and clarinets, flutes and guitars, there is nothing left to the poor Jew but the gloomy ram's- horn, withered and dry.

45

Un' n>a3 er fott flngett, un' n>ie er foil Ia$en, Un1 nrie er foil fpielen gar froetylidjttg fiijj,

men in Stet feinem plujjltttg ermadjen t" — ta$ £erj gft a

3$ wottf, ta^t fl<$, tvotfen je^t ^eten mein Styre, @te fott etn?a^ ta^en, eg gefyt a6er nit ! 3a, Sriiberla^, erjlen^ if je^t 6ei utt^ (Sftre, Jpeunt (lam eppes, fagt mir, tuie lat^t e$ a 3iit> ?

fjcttmtcflcn

— ijaraus Me alte SDfine

n?eint un^ fagt tie Sdjitte, ^ tie 3n?eite legt bem

Un' t$ tetflen (1$ tie Xra^ren ©till im1 n?arem auf ter nor laum gu ijarflemmt tie alte

,,@tarfer ^>arr &tm aUe SBelten ! 3^, tein 2)ienjlmoit, fc^n?ac^ un' arem, T tie ru^ige ©egeltett, 'g (litte

,,5lde 33ergela^ tie fhtmme 5D7eflr id&, guter @ott, a^itnter, 2Bu e3 ru^en teine ^rumme, X)eine (eif getiebte Winter, 46

And whatever he may sing, and however he may laugh, and however joyously he may try to play, one suddenly hears awakening in his song the Suppliant's Psalm, which painfully touches the heart.

Meseems I should like to ask my Muse to laugh a little, but it is all in vain, for, to begin with, we now have Sephirah, and, besides, tell me : how can a Jew laugh at all?

The Measuring of the Graves

SEE ! In front is old Minneh and behind Pessyeh-Tsvaitle ! Minneh weeps and says her prayer, while the other lays the yarn.

And the tears roll, silent and hot, on the prayer- book; sobbing, but scarcely audible, old Minneh says, with oppressed heart :

" Strong Lord of all the worlds ! I, thy handmaid, weak and poor, measure the quiet abodes, the still graves of the just.

" All silent mounds I now measure, good God, where there rest thy pious, thy warmly beloved children,

47

jhtgen torten <5djtre tefn (Stufjl in t)o$en £immet, 3eter (Siner iwn fein £>ire, £>urdj fein e&tg fugen 2>rimmel,

,,Un' ijun bem gelegten 2Cet mit gorc^tigfeit un' 9fta$ett Sid^t t>ein 5)ef jc Urn 311 lenten, ©ott, bein Xore,

,,Um $it fceten tit

Dae! tn fofljl ft^on fort ter^oren

3ajn!etu^ eme^tige Xftte

Un' terfe^n 3t«r0JeF« 2:ra^ren !" »

j9l bent lafurnem Sitft^jiam Die (Si(^erwol!ent)Ia^ arum ; ie (Steren fitnHett, ©teren leben, )ie ^wonc nor if Metc^ itn' (litmm

rit^t bcr 2Batt> in ttefcn e S3aitmer jle^en fc^a, SBintele ^ewegt tie (£3 fd^Iaft tie @rVf eg (lummt tie

weit in 2BaIt un^ in (Sfafone £>er Sitter (le^t tort mit fein (Sr if mefatefd) tie Sewone, (Sr bet't e$ for i^r St^t agunt : 48

"Who sing the Hymns before thy throne in the high heaven, each one from his habitation, through his eternal, sweet dream.

"And with this measured yarn thy Pessyeh- Tsvaitle will make candles in awe and fear, in order, O God, to study thy Law by it,

" And to ask thy forgiveness, that thou mayest, at last, hear Jacob's fervent prayer, and accept the tears of Israel."

The Moon-Prayer

IN the azure aerial ocean the silver clouds hover; stars twinkle, stars are merry, but the moon is pale and silent.

The forest rests in deep silence ; the trees stand hushed in meditation; not a breeze moves the branches, — earth sleeps, night is mute.

Only deep in the awful forest an old man stands with his child : he is blessing the moon and prays now for its light.

49

,,D, ®ott, id) fcet' fcei bir mit Xro^ren, £)er$oY mein gttterbigen $ol ; (£$ foU ifyr ©djein sarboppelt mermen, <5te foil no$ leudjten nrie a Sftal,

,,2Bie tein S3egIaitBtcr ^at gefdjrteBett t — X)te grofe 3tt?ei un; gl £), ®ott, n?ie BIei$ if fie

O, Wte auHingt e^ (l(^ in 3n tiefen 2BaIt>, fein ^ei 2Bte gief en flc^ bag bte ©efitfjlen ! tt>enn er reb't!

@etn $tnb nor fudt, tuer lann erflaren,

SBa^ oben, in bem fclauen 3am,

@g glan^en »iele tjefle (Steren,

Un; mantle f^munften, fdjmiinHen fam ?

$tnb Betra^t e^ oben Un' fragt bem 5llten, nit gej^ort: „£), fag^ bod^, SSater, mag men glaufcen 3n bem, wa^ idj pb; oft geprt ?

fagt, bem Sflei^en^ ©teren fimWt, 3f immer §ett, if fianbig grof, 2)em 2lremen^ ijarfe^rt, er biinfelt, SSarlof^t (id^, lofd^t fl$ itn' ge^t au0»

,,(5(3 feinen tale ba O borten ? @agr bo$, ja 311 nein ? SBebeuten fee i 9tu^ i ©oleg, 3 greitb', i Slenb, i ©et»ein? 50

"O God, I pray to thee in tears, — hear my trembling voice ! Let its light be doubled, let it shine as of yore.

"As thy Trusted one has written: the two great and equal lights ! O God, how pale it has become, look at its mortal face ! "

Oh, how his warm prayer resounds in the silence of the deep forest ! How his feelings flow ! How all is silent when he speaks !

His child looks on and wonders why above, in the blue ocean, many stars are shining bright, while some barely, barely twinkle ?

The clever child looks on high and, without being interrupted, asks his father : " Oh, tell me, father, can we believe that which I have often heard?

" They say the rich man's star sparkles, is always bright, always large, while the poor man's star grows dimmer, dimmer, and finally goes out?

" Are there, indeed, stars of destiny above ? Tell me, yes or no? Do they stand for peace and oppression, pleasure, misery and weeping ?

,,Dn fefjji tort jienent ffetnem (steren ? 3f unfer9ftafelernit? <3aa/! SBeit unfer Sefcen trieft nor Sratyren Un' flnjier if nn$ jeter Slag, * „ „

,,Un' fann noc^ fein, a^ er fott glanjen, S3ic iene tort, in golb'nem ^rac^t ? 3u loftfyt er f!c^ ba^ au^ in ©angen, Sluf eMg tectt Qm gu tie

filter fneetf($t tern ^ot^en <5teren, Wart an Sntfer far tas ^inb, — lummen <Sitfsen, lummen SBorter nit afo

2)tc crftc f^netb't ter grofl, ter <5htrem fejt,

3n fatten

,,9Ht f^reif f!$ ^inb, o, nta<$' Die 3^tt tjat angewunfen t

if todj f^on tie Sunn', mug (1$ itntertunfen,"

Sore's Stjfotim feinen grog, — •ftifcfyfofdje, ma^ fein Slnue ! £>u fpringjl arein wn' frringjl aratts, Un' loWer, su mefite." 52

" Do you see over yonder the small star ? Is it not ours ? Tell me ! For our life is heavy with tears, and all our days are dark.

" And can it be that it will shine some day like those others, in golden splendor ? Or will it en- tirely go out, and will eternal night cover it? "

The old man wrinkles his high brow and thinks of an answer for the child ; there come sobs, there come tears, but words are late in coming. . . .

The First Bath of Ablution

THE frost cuts sharply, the storm rages, and Basheh and Tsilleh lead now the fisherman's daughter to the cold bath of ablution.

" Be not frightened, my child ! 'T is but a small matter. The time has approached ; for, you see, the sun has gone down, and you must dive under."

" The mercies of the Lord are great ! Do not tarry, be quick ! You leap in, you leap out, and you are ritually pure."

53

Un' fey, e3 aurft taS garte 2etB, 3n milten grojl iw' ©turem. 21, ttittfl tu fete a Siiten'S SBeifc, ti$ gu Seffurtm ! . . .

(Sic frringt arein, (le frrtngt aruf, Umfiip, umfiijl ^e^ome I Dort (le^t utt; futft ter X>u fctjl ge^ticBen tome*

Un? mteber ^a^en (1(6 gctutft SJiit (Sc^recf tie fc^oene ©lieter ; sun terweiten fte()t un' fudt

(larler wert ter groft er Brennt! Die Gutter un7 tie (Sc^^eene, (See fcredjen tie gitfror'ne ^>ant'; Un' blei^er wert tie ©c^oene*

se wie ter Din i«, if f^on ter 0tofc^e, — 2freitt aunt tritten $Jlal, gefc^mint ! tfetn Soef, Rte S3oef, nif$f ofte 1"

Die SBIeit^e wei^t »un £)in nit ab Un' tfjut, »ie ^ Wt gef^rieben : @ie if arein, fie if arab, Un' if f^on tort

54

And behold, the tender body shivers in the se- vere frost and the storm. Ah, you wish to become the wife of a Jew, so get used to suffering ! . . .

She leaps in, she leaps up ; — in vain, in vain, my dear ! There stands and looks a Gentile, — you remain impure.

And again the beautiful limbs dive under in terror, but the uncircumcised still stands at a distance and looks on.

The frost grows stronger and more biting. The mother and the neighbor, they rub their frozen hands, — and the beautiful one grows paler.

" Now, do as the Law requires, my child ! The evil man has gone away. Go in for the third time, quickly ! It will not hurt, do not mind it ! "

The pale one does not break the Law, and does as is written. She leaped in, she went down, and she remained below. . . .

55

SWcmfer

S^ceber^finbcr fciflen ftcfy mit mir nit fpielen, £>er $efce ftedjt midj bnrdj mit feine 33lirfen ; t ba far mir !ein £er$ mit menfcfylidje ©efiitjlen, — feoflten geren midj berjhrfen. , » »

SSun ^it>efc^=6ec6er, ttw t)ie ^inbcr atfe fitp^en, jagt mit toilten ^ag an>eg ber @cbame3, ' ,,9ftamfer", tor gum Dren!obef(^ fiti) nit SSarf^oIten feinen meine ,,t>aleb

_ gum ;,£eienen" tic ©ofertore, ; 3eber litter fttfc^t i^r mit a £tufd)e : jlefl* tic Stypen att^, men fttdt attf mir, a fe^r' (tc^ ab mit 2Ce§tag un' mit

trac^fun' trad)f,tm' !ann mein S^et (!(% nit ertla'ren;

t§t a 9ftamfer ? @agt, far tt>a« mid) Un' frag' i$ e« mein Gutter, n?eint fle bitfre @ie fuf(^t midj feeif un' »iH e^ mir nit fagem

Oar anb're Winter ^at a Jate t»as gtt fagen, Un' far a 3offem fleflt flc^ 3eber liner : —

^ Bin tjef!er, »ie a S3Iatt ^un SBinb getragen, etn fc^n?ac^e0 SBeifc, o, liebt micb Reiner !

Un' nw if boc^ mein 2ate ergej ^inge!ummen ? 9ttt ba fetn (Sntfer far bem 57att>enabten. 3P ^ geflorben ? £at ber ^)immel t^m genummen? fag' ic^ !ein ^abefc^ nac% mein Jaten ? 56

The Bastard

THE school children do not want to play with me; the teacher pierces me with his look; there is no heart with human feelings for me, — and even the best would fain strangle me. . . .

The beadle drives me away, in wild anger, from the cup of benediction, from which all children sip. I am called " bastard," am not allowed to approach the Holy Ark, cursed are my " four cubits."

The Precentor carries around the Scroll before its reading, and everybody kisses it with ardor : I pout my lips to kiss it, they look at me in terror, — I turn away in pain and shame.

I think, and think, and cannot understand my transgression. What does it mean — " bastard " ? Say, why do they plague me ? And if I ask my mother, she weeps bitter tears, and kisses me fer- vently and will not answer me.

Other children have a father for their protector, and everybody takes the part of an orphan, — but I am forlorn, like a leaf carried by the wind, — ex- cepting a weak woman no one loves me !

And what has become of my father ! There is no answer to the outcast. Has he died? Has Heaven taken him ? Why do I not say the Prayer for the Dead after my father?

57

3d) frag' bem 2Binb* Die SBelt if fhtmm ju meine

©djmerjett,

3$ fyoY fein (Sntfer, tyor* fein @inem reben, Dem (SmeS nor »arne^m' ic^ ttef Bet mir in S3in unf^ulbig un' leib umfiijle Seiben*

if fcer 9Hai gelummen fetn SauBcr, mit fein Sltfe ©rafen, aUe S3Iumen £aben micber aufgemac^t SBieber btu^t e$ auf t»te §ctt>er, 2Bieber grunt e$ in tie SSalber, SBieber glanat eS SBieber flngt tie

SBieber ncmmt bcr grueling maten 3Kit fefn 3>tnfel ; »ie er f^miert, SBer'en Merger, wcr'en 2Berb trie SrV mit ©riin SBieber lat^t bie (Sunn' arunter 3u ber 2Belt unj mad^t iljr muntcr : i^r @4met$el, ntit i^r (!e grett i

fangt an gu griinen,

SBunberfc&oene ^antajlen Sie^en burd^ 'n £erjen jliU ; ©olbenc (E^atome^ fdjwefcen Un' fee njeten 9leue $immten, Un' fee ttjeden

58

I ask the wind. The world is mute to my suffer- ings ; I hear no answer ; I hear no one speaking, — I only hear the truth deep in my heart : I am in- nocent, and suffer vain sufferings.

The Jewish May

A GAIN May has come with its charm, with its .I\glory: All grasses, all flowers have again awakened from their slumbers. Again it blooms in the fields, again it grows green in the woods, again there is splendor everywhere, again the night- ingale sings.

Again Spring begins to paint with its brush ; as it paints, mountains, and valleys, and the whole earth clothes itself in green. Again the sun smiles down upon the world and makes it merry : with its smile, with its kiss it prepares it for pleasures. . .

At once every human feeling begins to grow green and bloom, wonderful melodies pass quietly through the heart. Golden dreams hover and weave new

59

Sefcen, Utt' e$ flerfeit

®litcfett,

erqutrfen.

iljr fe$t tort Sittem treteit, tfitdenbtg 3« b'r <£tb' arab ? 2luf t)te gritne SJlaita^etett ©iiftt er, f^ollentig tern $opp, Sinfam mit fein fdjweren Summer ©c^t er, abgelebt un' mitt>, — @ein gef^matfer SJZat, feitt Summer lang fcfyon, lang

SBeigt i^r, lennt i^r jettem 2Beld)er SWit a f^recflic^en ©ebanfen Un' a fhirmifdjen ©emitt ? Unfer SHter, unfer 3itb ! ^eine fiigc ^tjcmtajlen Un' Kin ^offnung itt feitt feitt

alte, — SReefiim, 2Weef(!m, Xrupeg falte,

3et>er S3(um^ utt' ieber Dorett Ireibt mit i§m a »tlben T)er (Stafwit fudt 5tt tnit Un' bte ^ra^e ft^reit mit 60

heavens, and call forth new life, and there are a thousand happinesses to quicken every heart.

But, behold, you see there one treading with downcast looks ! Upon the green tapestry of May he sobs and shakes his head. Lonely, with his heavy sorrow, he walks, worn out and tired, — his pleasant May, his summer, has faded long, long ago !

Do you recognize, do you know that sick one who walks, where everything blooms, with a terrible thought, with a stormy spirit? Our old acquain- tance, our Jew ! No sweet fancies, no hope in his look ; through his heart pass sorrows, old wounds, that bring back old recollections : corpses, corpses, cold dead bodies, — old youth, old happiness.

Every flower and every thorn has its sport with him : the onion stalk looks gloomy, and the crow cries in anger. Strange are to him the flowers, 61

ftremb bie 23Iumen, fremb bte flatter, gremb bie SBett, a frember mail ffrembe SSoegel, frembe ©otter, grembe 5ftenf$en, — TO sat&et! . •

nit, 33Ittmen, nor nit fpotten ! feit) f(^oen; — gewip, gen?if ! »iel ft^onere gutretcn ber 3u*> ntit feinc gu§', » « » i)itU mit ^omeran^en in fetn Sanb geglangt, ©etne wunberf^ocne J^at fetn ©ott aflein i

Bragt bie

gragt bent (Sc^oren^ gritne SJJtyrt'!

D, fee rotten no(^ ber!onnen abgelebten SBtrt bem fdjoenem ^ar^afeefjlm, bem ^armel, — jeben S3aum, bte atte ft^oene ^eefftm bem fdjoenem alten Xranm» « <

3n fetn ^eiltger S0?ebine £at ©aneeben^luft gefd^metft, 3n fetn Sentpel Jat bte ©c^^ine ©tanbtg |Idj jn i|m entpledft STaufenb Snget |jflegen fptelen 3n fetn tyeiligen ©ejelt, laufenb grenben ^flegt er fittjlen, Breuben »un an anber 2Qelt 62

strange the leaves, strange the world, a strange May ! Strange the birds, strange the gods, strange the people, — all that is not for him.

Laugh not, flowers, do not scorn ! You are beautiful, no doubt, no doubt ! but much more beautiful ones the Jew has trod under his feet. . . . Fields full of oranges have gleamed in his country, and his beautiful plants were planted by God him- self. .

Ask the cedars of the Lebanon, ask the green myrtle of the Sharon ! Oh, they will still recog- nize their wearied host, — ask the beautiful Olive Mount, ask the Carmel, and ask every tree : ask all those dead beauties for that old and beautiful dream ! .

In his holy land there breathed air of Paradise, in his Temple the Godhead has always manifested itself; thousands of angels used to play in his tents ; he experienced thousand pleasures, joys of another world.

Morten $at a 9ftal ber 3ubel SSun a wunbemic^e giebel 2fu3getufd)t tie fdjonfh Sieber, SBetdje flatten tHn SRat tweber 9fttt bemfelfeen fitgcn 3auBer, Sftein un' §etltg, rein un? fauber, — Sluf a 2Berfcc*baum, a (lummc, ber potent »un metn Ume*

iener potent,

tit d^otemt »un fcas 9leu — bu, 3iit> ? SSun »eiten«. Sfluft stt bit a neuer ^ai. SBetn' nit, fctft noc^ nit »arlorcn, bu Mjl »un ?eiben miib,

gute 3af)ren SBtnfen fd^on ju bit, tnein 3iib ! ^)or(l bu btttdj bic SBoIfen jie^en SJMobien,

bu, tyorjl bem neuen Sieb ?

35Mebet wet betn @frcg fdjmetfen, ©langen n?et bein Sl^^etpn' ; SBtcber wet fld^ ©ott eriverfen Un; wet brengen bid^ a^in* » » » n?ejl bu ^irtentieber, od^ beine <5$af ;

wejl bu, tefcen trieber,

ebig, ol)n' a @fof»

bein fdjretflicfyet

bu axemen mit Untet'm (lummen S3arg

64

There, at one time, the Jew drew out the sweetest songs from an instrument of wonderful sweetness, songs which never sound again with the same sweet charm, pure and holy, pure and chaste : upon a willow, silent, hangs the dream of my nation. . . .

Yes, that dream is passed, but you dream anew, — do you hear, Jew, from afar a new May calls out " Peace " to you? Weep not, you are not yet lost, though you are faint with sufferings, — new years, good years already beckon to you, my Jew ? Do you hear passing through the clouds heavenly rich melodies, sweet harmonies of Cherubim ? Do you hear, do you hear the new song?

Again your lime will be fragrant, and your orange will gleam, again God will awaken and bring you thither ! You will sing shepherd songs as you will herd your sheep ; you will live again, live eternally, without end. After your terrible wanderings you will again breathe freely; there will again beat a hero's heart under the silent mountain Moriah.

Werner feet bi$ nte^r nit treikn Sftit (silfulim otyn' a Qa^l ; 3n ber £eim feejl bit sarfcletoen, @tttt un' rutjig, feie a 9ftaf. £ref fananber nor bie ©tefdjte SSitn bcin alien SBaterlanb, '$ glit^t nodj bort ein ^alemefc^f S3ei ber eingefalFner SKanb ! « .

jitbifrfjcr

feett »itn ^tetuno, nor a Jjitnbert fitfgtg Xrttt, 3f ba a ^eemer, aber Reiner fefyt i^m nit ; — Der Ort if einfam un' sarlafen un' allein ; X)ort liegt fetn ^ranj, bort (le^t fetn S^amorftein ; 2)ort wac^ft fein ©rafele, Icin Slitmete, fein 33Iatt; 2)ort ru^t a toter £elb, a jitbif^er (Solbat, — 21 jiibifdjer ©olbat, gefatlen ba in $rteg, SluJIanb ^at gefeiert jlolj i^r gro^ten

21 ttefe, tote ©ttflfeit ^errf^t bort runb arum;

if efngefcfylafen, ru^tg, (litl nn7 ftumm ; faum f(^Iagt au0 ber Xurem^faeger ^alB 21 flarter ^i^rat^-jlurem bte ^tnuf ern?ac&t, Un' eg getirittert, nn' e0 fhiremt, nn' e0 fc^recft, S^ laremt un e^ gilbert, gewalbewet un7 werft, Un' »un bem (Sturem fpalt't f!^ auf bie flumme Der ^)e(b jh$t auf »un ^eetver mit 'n blanfen

@r (letlt f!$ auf ber ^ejlung mit a wilben Un' »un ber SBunb' oei i^m in Bergen giegt ftc^ 33Iut; @« fleijt fein reine S3(ut, — bie SBunb' in £er$ if grog, Un' er $e&t auf fein fc^arfen <5$wert un' bunnert au^ : 66

No one will drive you, with oppressions without end, you will stay at home, quietly and peacefully as of yore. Walk along the bypaths of your old fatherland, — there is still a spark of life left in the brand near the ruined wall !

The Jewish Soldier

NOT far from Plevno, but a hundred and fifty steps away, there is a grave, visible to none. The place is lonely, lost and lorn ; no wreath lies there ; there stands no marble stone ; there grows no grass, no flower, no leaf, — there rests a dead hero, a Jewish soldier, fallen there in battle, where Russia has proudly celebrated her greatest victory.

A deep, dead stillness reigns there round about. Everything has fallen asleep ; all is quiet, still and mute. As soon as the tower clock strikes at mid- night, a strong east wind begins at once to blow and it thunders, and it storms, and it wakes, it clamors and it clatters, roars and calls, and from the storm the silent earth cleaves open, and the hero rises from his grave with his drawn sword.

He stands upon the fortress with grim courage,

and blood flows from the wound in his heart. His

pure blood flows freely, for the wound in his heart

is great, and he lifts his sharp sword and thunders :

67

auf, i$r $rfeg$*c(jaweerim, gum ©eridjt e @agt, @ebe$, pfc' id) treu genug gefampft in <SdjIad)t ? <5agt, otn i$ nit far ^uflaub'S <£l)re, SRugtanb'3 Sftetdj, ©efaflen auf tern $lafc mit afle £elben

Un' n?ie fein SDort sarfltngt, ermad^en nttt a

e(, tt?ie @amb bei 'm 33reg i)itn flttten 3am ; ganjc ^riegewolf jle&t auf 311 fein SSartang, — SSitn na^nten wn' »itn metten fummt bet f(^n?erer ©ang @3 n>erb a Xupperei, eg tvert a ^lingerei, SI ©efjeret, a X)re^erei, a ©pringerei, Un' jeter (Sottner fc^reienbig ^e^t auf feiu Jpanb tin' fc^wort : ,,£>u ttjl geftorien e^rli^ far bein Sanb !

Un' balb merb »ieber jliU, fein $0$, tern SaineS nte^r ; 23arf$nwnben tuerb bie gauge 9ftacf)ne fWtltt&r ; auf ber gejlung jle^t ber fitbifc^er ©olbat, jebe^ SBort if bort a glit^enber ©ranat : „£), 3fluglanb! ^afl mi$ »un mein SBeiB un' ^inb

gefc^etb't !

©eftorfcen Bin ic^ far bein (Sfjre Junger^eit ! — »arjag(i bu meine (Slenbe agiinb ? a tiefen, fdjtueren ftlufy bir burdj bem SDinb I"

Un' faum »ar$ilc(jt bem @$ilter'« ^lote, ttutl mit Jragt i^m ber ©turem in ber falter ©rub' aretn, Un' 5^a^t nac^ 5^a*t, ot ri^tig gu berfelber 3eit, SCerb bort biefelbe (Scene sun ba$ 5^eu beneu't Dem <S6ttner'3 tiefe, W»ere ^toleg HeiBen fl*, a Un7 mel)ren jl<$, un? me^ren f!$, un' tragen fld& ameg 2(uf S^ugten tnm bem @turem mit a tmlbe 3n ©atfc^tna, un' fpretten (l^ bort au0 auf a 68

" Arise, comrades of war, arise to the judgment ! Say witnesses, have I fought faithfully in the battle ? Tell me, did I fall upon this spot, together with other heroes, for Russia's honor, for the country of Russia ? "

And as his words are silenced, in anger an innu- merable host awakens, like sand on the shore of a quiet ocean, — the whole army arises at his request. From near and from afar comes the heavy troop : there is a tramping, clanging, marching, whirling, galloping, — and every soldier lifts his hand and swears : "You died honorably for your land? "

And soon all grows quiet again ; there is no tur- moil, no sound is heard ; the whole host of soldiers disappears, but the Jewish soldier still stands upon the fortress, and every word of his is a glowing grenade : " O Russia ! You have separated me from my wife and child ; I died young, defending your honor. Why do you now drive away my wretched family? I send a heavy curse to you through the wind ! "

And scarcely has the curse, freighted with pain, been uttered, the storm carries him back into the cold grave. And night after night, exactly at the same time, the same scene is renewed. The soldier's deep, heavy curses gather awfully, and grow and grow, and are carried away on the wings of the storm in wild haste to Gatchina, and are there scattered over the palace. 69

5(uf 'n HBufen bun 3am

f$red(idjer SBinb, ber gefci§rHd)er ©turem, @r rangeft fid) t»ort mit a ©cfyijf auf 'n Sfteer ; (£r mitl fie subredjen, un' fie tnit 3effurim ©cfyneib't burdj afle Xiefenig,

@« tref^tf^et t>er ^a^aum, ber @egel, er stttert, 2)er raufdjenber SBajfer if morebig tief ; — £3 fdmpfen mit 3«>^en/ e$ flreiten »arbittert Sot un' auf Se^en ber SBtnb mit ber ©djiff,

£)t mug ffe ftc^ tegen, ot mu3 fie ftcfj flellen, Dt tretbt e3 auritcf i^r, ot treiit e$ ijarau^, — 51 ©pielc^el if ifcter bie @$ijf bei bie SGeUen, fc^Ungen fie ein un' fee fpeien fie au$,

gg taremt ber 3am; un' es ^eben fi @$ ^uget, e^ pilbert mit (Sdjrerf un' mit ®raul ; — $)er ©turem, ber ®a$Ieu, will umbrengen £)er Sfyom offent auf fein »arfc^Iof ene Want.

$3 ^oren ft(% ©ufjen, e3 ^ort M ein >$ if grog bie ©fafone, '$ if f^recflic^ bie UrC 3eberer bet't 6ei fein ©ott, er foU retten, S3efreien bie SO^enf^en »un fic^eren Jot,

metnen bie ^inber, ea flagen bie S3eiber, fc^reit un' men if ftc^ mi^mabe ajitnb : S^ flatteren @eelen, e3 sitteren Seiber SSar ©c^recf »ar bem boefen, ijarnid^tenben 2Binb* 70

On the Bosom of the Ocean

r I ^HE terrible wind, the dangerous storm, is J_ wrestling with a ship on the ocean ; it is trying to break her, but she in distress cuts through the deep, groaning heavily.

The mast cracks, the sail trembles, frightful is the depth of the roaring waters ; the wind struggles desperately with the ship in a life and death com- bat.

Now she must lie down, now again she must rise, now she is driven back, now forward ; — the ship is a plaything of the waves that swallow her up and spit her out again.

The ocean roars, the billows rise, and lash, and thunder in awful terror, the murderous storm wants to destroy everything, — the abyss opens up its closed jaws.

There are heard sighs and prayers. Great is the danger and dreadful the calamity, — and everybody prays to his God that He may save and liberate the people from sure death.

Children weep, women wail ; the people cry and confess their sins ; souls flutter, bodies tremble in terror of the angry, destructive wind.

unten, in 3wif(|enbe(f, flfcen gmei Scanner rufytg, fee titfcrt ntt ber mtnbejhr (See fudjen fein SHettung, fee Haren fein 2Bie TO woflt' fein jl$er un' pill arum fee*

taremt bag 2Bajfer, bfe SBeflen, fee fcfjaumen, n?ojet, e^ ntoiet mefdjwte ter 2Binb ; ffappet ber ^ejfet, e0 ^ujet ber ^omen; unten tie S^ei, fe^t, fee f^weigen

<5ee fucfen ntit ^attfeit bent Slot in bie (See ritfyrt nit bem (Sturem^ gefa^rli^e S^ fc^eint, a^ ber £ot pt atlein nor eqogen (See 53eiben, in (S^red un' in ftnjlerer

,,2Der feib i$r, Ungliitflt^e, — lafjl a3 fonnen »arfc^tt?eigen bie gmalbtgfle pben fetn Sufsen, un? fyafcett fetn 3lft(e bei'm f^rerfttdjen J^oer Dun Jot?

t, tjaoen euc^ tafe nor ^mortm gefcoren ? 3^r lafjl gar fetn (Stteren, SBeib ober 3u tueinen auf euc^, ttjenn_i|r tuerb't ba 3n tiefen, in f<$recf licfyen ^bgrunb

,,2Bie ? Saffl i^r nit $einem, n?a^ i^m fot( t>arbrieffcn, 2Ba3 er fott toenn Baenfen, 311 lafen a Jra^r, SGenn eudj wet ber najfer S3ej|o(em sjargieffen, SBenn i^r wet ba fein Sftat aurittffe^ren me^r ?

,,ffile? Wt i^r fein 3Satertanb gar, fetn ^etn ^eim, aw gu fummen, fetn freunblt^c 2Ba3 i^r prt be^alten in ft* afa (Bjlne Sum Seben un7 wart't auf ber finjhrer 72

But below, in the steerage, two men sit quietly ; no pain assails them ; they seek no salvation, they make no plans, just as if all were safe and calm about them.

The water roars, the billows foam; the wind whines and howls insanely; the boiler gasps, the chimney buzzes, — but the men below, behold, they are silent now !

They look coolly into the eyes of Death; the dangerous might of the storm touches them not; it seems as though Death had reared the two in terror and dark night.

" Who are you, wretched ones, tell me, that you can suppress the most terrible sufferings, that you have no sighs and no tears even at the awful gates of Death?

" Say, have, indeed, graves brought you forth ? Do you leave behind you no parents, no wife, no child who will lament you when you are lost here in the deep and dreadful abyss?

" How ? Have you no one to be sorry for you, to long for you, or shed a tear, when the wet ceme- tery will cover you, when you will no more return to this earth?

" How ? Have you no fatherland, no country, no home where to go to, no friendly house, that you bear such a contempt for life, and are waiting for the dark grave ?

73

,,3fyr p't gar nit tfeinem in £immel bort often, 3u »emen ju fcfyreien, feenn ityr feib in 3« ? 3$r $a't gar fein SSott nit, i$r $a't gar fein ©lauben? 23ariorene, aa* if mit eu$ far a ©far?"

(£$ ganejt ber iBgrunt>, eg Braufen bie @g !rad^en bie Setter^ »un ©c^iff, un? e^ tragt, @g ^ulet ber ©turem, e0 pfeifen bie SBinben, Un? iiner tyat enbli^ mit Xra^ren gefagt :

,,Der f^roarger S3e(folem if nit unfer Gutter, 9Zit if unfer SBteget ber ^een?er genje'n ; — (£$ pt nn^ gefcoren a ^ala^ a guter, 51 teuere Gutter, mit Ciebe

,,@^ |at un^ gepjejlet a SDtame, er^ogen 21 jartlit^e, mareme, freunbli^e S3ru(l ; ©eftc^ett tin' ftanbtg gefucft in bie 2lngen un^ au(| a SSater, un' Utility gefufjl,

ifja&en a ^>au^ nor men tjat (ie Un; unfere ^etUgfie ©ac^en ijarbrennt, 2)te SieBfle un' 33e(le uarwanbelt in £)ie fie^te »arjagt mit gebunbene

fenn^ unfer 2anb, o, fie lajt fify berfennen : £>itrd) 3agen, bur^ ©t^lagen nit roerenbig mitb^

twilbe $)ogromen, burc^ Srec^en, bnrt^ S3rennen, (Suc^en bem Xot far bem elenben 3iib«

,,Un' mir feinen 3uben, tjarmogelte D^n'greunb un'ofjn' ^reuben, o^n'^offnung auf©lii(I,- 9lit fragt me^r, o, fragt nit, o, fe^t, lafft gufrieben! 2lmerifa treibt uns na

74

" Have you no one in heaven above to whom to cry when you are in trouble ? Have you no nation, have you no faith? Miserable ones, what is your destiny?"

The abyss yawns, the waves bellow, the ship- ladders crack, the storm rages madly, the winds whistle, — and finally one said in tears :

"The black cemetery is not our mother, the grave has not been our cradle ; a good angel has borne us, a dear mother, endowed with love.

"A mother has fondled us, a tender, warm, friendly breast has nurtured us ; a father, too, has stroked us and looked into our eyes, and kissed us tenderly.

" We have a house, but it has been destroyed, and our holy things have been burned ; our dearest and best have been turned into bones, and those who survive have been driven away with fettered hands.

" You know our country ; it is easily recognized by its unceasing baiting and beating, by its cruel riots, its ruthless destruction, and dealing death to the wretched Jew.

" Yes, we are Jews, miserable Jews, without friends or joys, without hopes of happiness. Oh, ask us no more, ask no more, oh, leave us in peace ! America drives us back to Russia,

75

ftuglanb, sun ivannen mir fetncn antloffen, Sftufjlanb berfar, n>a$ mir fyaben fein ©elb ; 2Utf n?a$ bteibt uns itgter gu marten, gu tjoffen? taua; un3 ba$ 2eben, bte ftnfiere SBelt ?

,,3§r Ija't n?aa gu njeinen, i^r ^a't n?a^ au Brummen, 3|r $a't t»a0 ju fc^rciJen P(^ t^t far tern Jot, 3^r fca't gewtg 5ltle a $eim, n?u gtt fummen, Un; fa^rt »un 5lmerifa auc^ nit au^ 9tot

mir feincn Slcnbe, gletdj s« t)ie ©tetner : £>ie (SrV if git f^te^t, im$ 311 f^enlen an Drt — 9Jttr fa^rcn, boi.leiber, e^ tuart't auf itn^ Reiner, SrHdrt mir, tdj M eu^, tuu reifcn mir fort !

jhirmen ber 2Binb, foU er fcrummen mit fteben, foU !oc^en, foil rauf^en ber ©runb ! 2)enn ^ fei tine '$ fei feinen mir 3iit)en »arloren, £)er 3am nor uarlofcfyt unfer orennenbe

ic Si^tdarfdufcrtn

^57 ^eflerjlrit, leoen a

din areme grau jt^t bort a,lei$ 311 a 51 fcetnerner ^)onim un' blei(^ tote ber £ot, fenntig, bie S3adfen gewe'n a 3Jial rot ; SKottag, un' greunbfdjaft, un' Siebe, un' (See Ija&en getuig ba^ nit djorero gemac^t @ie (l^t bort, bie 23teidje, »un SBeinen ^atb fcttnb, 3^r S3rufl gie^t a barr'3, a ijarmoreteg ^inb, — Das faugt, un' ba^ tueint, un' ba^ f^taft, un' mit SBelj (Sprtngt auf ba^ <5felettel »un ^ame*0 ©efd^rei : r,^duft, 2BeiberIa$, Si^telac^, awet far brei 3luf mir afa S'lafeT, tvie Udjttg bas brennt!" 76

" To Russia, whence we have run away, to Russia, because we have no money. What is there left for us to expect, to hope for? Of what good is life, and the gloomy world to us ?

" You have something to weep for ; you have rea- son to murmur and to be afraid of death ! You have, no doubt, a home where to go to, and you have left America not from necessity.

" But we are forlorn and alone like a rock : Earth is too mean to give us a resting place; we are voyaging, but, unfortunately, no one waits for us. Explain to me, pray, whither we are bound !

" Let storm the wind, let it howl in anger : let the deep seethe, and boil, and roar ! However it be, we Jews are lost, the ocean alone can allay our burning wound. . . ."

The Candle-Seller

IN Hester street, near a telegraph post, a poor woman sits like unto a corpse : her face is bony and as pale as death, and it is evident that her cheeks have once been red, but ease and friend- ship, and love and glory are certainly not the cause of their desolation. The pale one sits there, half- blind with weeping, while a weazen, half- starved child tugs at her breast : it suckles, and weeps, and sleeps, and with pain the little skeleton awakens from mama's crying: "Buy, good women, some candles, two for three cents ! May my star shine as brightly as these ! "

77

3fjr (S-^ore if winjifl, itjr JWrBete — Hetn, Dodj fianbtg ernafyrt ftd) bie <Sc()n?adje atlein : 3n 8djnee un' in Sftegen, in grofl un' in Die areme 3itbene fi£t mit iljr $inb ; @ie fyanbeft un; fyanbelt in 3a* un' in Doc^ pt fie fefn ^eint, un? fetn $ieit>, un' fein 33rot; tin' auf er bem @Iu|), o tern fhtmmen, mir f^eint, 5Sarmogt (!e fein $orem, fein ^a^nteren ^eunt) ; £)o$ c^otf^ (te if elent>, ijartafen un? franf, SSartangt fie »un ^etnem, un' bet't fein ©efdjanf, — Wit @^aBe«4i(^t tyantelt PC, fo mie i^r fetjt, Diefeibe au faufen, if ads, tva^ fie

Sefoweb bem <2>$aBe3, tem.^eiltgen

Sanft 3et>er in 3Karft, mit a <3ftm<$e, mit

@3 tummlen fic^ SJlenfc^en a^er un' a^in,

2)o(^ Itegt tie 33ard)ofd)ec(jte ^'einem in

2Ber barf tfjre areme Si^tla^, bie $aar?

57ac^ ^leifc^, unj nad^ gif$, nn' nat^ SBein lauft men

£)te ©c^rna^e flettt aus i^re magere ^anV:

t, SBei&erladj, St^telac^, gtrei far brei (Sent I" »er prt i^r Steben? SSartoren tuerb bort (Stimme bie fd^mac^e ; men tyort nit a SBort,

bie 3epme bie Heine in ©djoof, — prt ?Wame^ (Scfyreien, boc^ m$ fummt

, t»ie fang wet bort t)<wblen in Die elenb ©eHieBene, franfli(| nn' blag ? 2Bte lang fann fie letben noc^ hunger nn' @i^ rangtenbig ra! mit bem f^redti^en Slot ? 2Bte (ang, o, tuie lang »et bie areme SBetfc fpeifen bem 5^efef^ tva^ liegt M bem Wai pflegt ba^ ^tnb ^otf$ berfcfytingen a

i^t, fame's Sugen, fee tveinen nit meljr. . . , 78

Her wares are few, and her basket is small, but the weak woman earns her sustenance through this alone. In snow and in rain, in frost and in wind, the poor Jewess sits there with her child ; she trades and trades in sorrow and in pain, and yet she has no home, no garment, and no bread ; and besides that silent post, it seems to me, she has no relatives, no near friend ; but though she is miserable, for- lorn, and sick, she begs from no one, and asks no gift : — she sells Sabbath candles, as you see, and all she asks is that people should buy them.

To honor the Sabbath, the holy visitant, every- body hurries to the market place, with joy in his heart. People swarm in all directions, but no one thinks of the wretched woman. There is no time to care for a few of her candles, while they are all hastening to buy meat, fish, and wine. The weak woman stretches out her lean hands : " Buy, good women, candles, two for three cents ! " but who hears what she says? Her feeble voice is lost there ; no one hears a word but the little orphan in her lap, — she hears mama's crying, but that is of no avail.

Pray, how long will that wretched, sickly, and pale woman trade there in the street ? How much longer can she suffer hunger and privations, strug- gling all the time with terrible death ? How long, oh, how long will the poor woman feed the being that nestles to her body? Formerly the child used to swallow a tear, but now, mama's eyes weep no 79

9Ut ba metjr tetn Xra^ren, bet Sttoadj if lefjr, £>a$ £er$ if gu&roc&en, ber 2lttyem if fitter ; £)ie Stppen nor mnrmlen no$ faum an$ mtt ,,flauft <Sdja6e3*Iic&t, 2Beifcerta<$, tauft $otfd> a jroet ! "

3n £ejhrjrrtt, fttfl «n' ttarlafett, atlein, 21 3ojfemct jle^t fcort, a ^orfcele Hein, 2)erbei jl£t a fatter, ttargtiwerter Xru)), — £>ie arcme ©joc^crte, tctcn a <5lup. 2)ertt>eirc ^at Reiner fcemerft not^ tern (£3 feinen bte JReid^c ttartpn tntt tern ^eunt t»cr reb% bie frumme, tie fofdjere @ee pben gen?ig @re»*f$ci6e$ fein 2lfo if bie Scene at»eg nit betra^t't, 23t$ tangfam un' (liK if gefummen bie ©efummen if au<^ »itn bent plige

men in

if i^t Itfttig, un'

£)er Safen fingt fitg, $fle pren p ein ; — Do(^ feas if bie 5^'nore afo n?ie in 2:raum ? 2)te Sicfyt, tt>e(c^e fletfen bort, fc^miin!(en fi$ faum ! « £)ie 2t4tfa4 — fee feinen bod), n>eift bu ed nit? — £>er grau^, »a^ if fritter geftorfcen in @trit X)a^ ^a^en bie SRet^e, bie gritmme gar ityr mit i^r ^inb ba gu Brennen bie £)ie SReic^e, bie grnmme, fee weiffen bie (See gunben ba^ an ber ©eftorfcener^ £)ie 3tetc^e, bie grumme, n?a^ art fee a ©uf ? , ba$, fe^t i^r, ba^ ^e&en fee ttf* « ,

D, ^eiltge 8i$t ! 3^r fefb (£ebe$ ajiinb, W* «R5t $5t berf^lagen ba Gutter un' 21^ ba, wu ^tUionen fcarnu&t men ^um (Spa§, I)a lajjt men ^ar^ungeren ^enfc^cn in ©ajf ; 80

more. . . . There are no more tears, the brain is empty, the heart is broken, the breath is heavy ; the lips barely murmur in pain : " Buy Sabbath candles, good women, buy but two of them ! "

In Hester street, quiet, forlorn, and alone, orphaned stands there — a basket small ; close by sits a stark cold body, — the poor candle- seller, near the post. No one as yet has noticed the corpse, for the rich are now busy with their feast- ing, and as for the good, pious, people, — they certainly have no time on the Sabbath eve. And so the incident passed away unnoticed, until, slowly and quietly, the night came, and with it, from her holy abode, came also Princess Sabbath, — now people go to the Synagogue. . . .

In the Synagogue all is light, and clean, and solemn ; the cantor sings sweetly, all listen in de- votion ; but why does the chandelier look as if in a dream ? The candles that are placed on it barely twinkle ! The candles, do you not guess it, are those of the woman who but lately died in the street. The rich and the pious have bought them, that they might burn that night for her and her child; the rich and the pious, they know their duty, — they have lit the candles of the dead woman ; the rich and the pious, — what care they for the body? Souls, you see, they have to save. . .

O holy candles ! You are now witnesses that misery has killed mother and child, that there where millions are spent for pleasure, people are allowed to starve in the street; where money is

6 81

, aitf SuritS n?u (Mb toerb 3f far bent ®ebrudten »arfc$Ioffen bie Se^alft euer glamm', o, i^r tyeilige Si 53ig jenem attmat^tigen £ag ttun ©eric^t! Un; bann, fear ©eredjtfgteft'S ^immlif^en 3^r reine ^efc^omeg^Ii^t, bann gitnb't ft(^ an ! Un' foil euer ^lamrn' fagen (Sebe^ auf bent, Un' foU er »arbammen bie falfc&e

82

lavished on honors and luxury, the hands are closed for the oppressed. Keep your flame, O holy can- dles, up to the terrible day of judgment ! And then be lit again, you pure lights, for the soul, before the heavenly throne of justice, and may your flame bear witness, and condemn the false system ! . . .

MISCELLANEOUS

J

jene 23ergla$ fcorten, '3n an itmettgen £l)al, Siegt an alter Sotengarten,

2l(te ^njorim, flummc ©tetner, 2)t(! mtt SSftodj bema^f^n, gritn; — ©tiff if fcorten, felten (Siner SBagt ftdj no(^ gu ge|n a^in*

Sllte 2Bcrbe3, t>arre Saunter

trauerta, an^eg, —

, f^meigen, fiifle Jraumer, SBarfen ©raul »un ftd^ mi'

ijargmeifelt warft fein Sleugel t>ie S3erglac^, mtt a Se^, £>er gef^madfjler @inger*»oegelf

j

Jrauerlteblac^ f!ngt er, @prtngent>ig fcun @fen! gu ©fetil t — Bar bte flitmme ^)effer flingt er SWit a gottlic^en ©elenf. 86

The Cemetery Nightingale

T)ETWEEN the hills of a melancholy valley JD there lies an old garden of the dead, with tombstones without end.

Old graves, silent stones, thickly overgrown with moss, and green ; — all is quiet, seldom one ven- tures to show himself there.

Old willows, withered trees look around in sad- ness, — stand in silence, still dreamers, and spread awe and terror around them.

In despair and in pain the sweetest singing bird, the cemetery nightingale, casts his eyes upon the hills.

Sweet songs of sorrow he sings, flitting from branch to branch, and attunes his divine instru- ment for the silent dreamers. 87

21$, fete jtttren fetne Sreflen 3fetf$eit Jene $n>orim bort ! £)a»!e t)ort if ifjm gefaflen (stngen, auf bem ®uten*£)rt

9tit »un Srityltng'S fiifj en SBetter, 9ttt &un @ngel, nit *wn ©otter (Singt ter e^rlic^er ^)oet ; 9ltt »un gelber, nit sun

»un $wortm, t»a^ er

(Stenb fefjt er, 57ot un' SBunben tragt er tief in £er$en, 9lit getinbert, nit geflittt; — »em grogen

er trauertge ©timmt er an fein Jparf un' fpielt

git bie tinmen in

8eBen'« Wonjie Winter, (grbrt Sprung, ' gelufc^t, gewebt »un (Stfyer un' eingige »artraute ^ameraben ! f was feib al^ gru^UngggajV t>a eingelaben,— 3ufrtetene nor fummt ttyr in S3erii^rung, oleiot i§r bem, wa^ feert in 9lot »arfatten.

Suer ©lanj nor f<$mef$elt gu tie fatte 33rwim, 2Ba3 ber ^afel ^at befc^onfen nor mit ®Iiirf en : £>em, wa0 ber lafurner ^tntmel djanfet, glan^t i^m, ^ummt i^r djeenetobfg nod^, S3(umen, itn; befranjt itjrn ; fjremb ^aroleibt i^r aber bem, n?a^ in 3nuim 23aVt (ic^ bort, l»u 2eben^ fdfyroere Saflen briiden, 88

Oh, how his trills vibrate among these graves ! Of all places he has chosen this, the " good place " in which to sing.

Not of spring's balmy weather, not of angels, not of Gods the honest poet sings ; not of fields, not of rivers which now belong to the rich, but of graves which he sees.

He sees misery, oppression and pain ; he carries wounds deep in his heart, which are not soothed, not staunched. Upon the great cemetery of the world he groans sad psalms, attunes his harp and plays upon it.

To the Flowers in Autumn

FLOWERS, most beautiful children of life, orna- ments of earth, sun-kissed, woven of ether and sunbeams, only trusty comrades of love, who are hailed here as guests in spring, you come in contact only with those who are contented, you remain strangers to him who has fallen into adversity.

Your splendor smiles only upon well-fed people on whom destiny has showered fortunes; you, flowers, come with gracious smile and adorn him whom the azure sky flatters with its sunshine ; but you remain strangers to him who is drowned in sor- row where the heavy burdens of life oppress him. 89

S)ort, nw Curus, Sfjuspe un' ©emeintjeit £eben bie mit (£tyrlt$fett gefarfcte gliigel, Dort fcejlngen eudj ber Diane's fiige £oner, @atte grauen patfttyen SBramo, fatte banner; Dorten gtanst i^r auf tie S3rufl »un freeze ©c

nem (Ste

5Darum art mid^ f£t nit, tuenn i(^ fe^ eu$ flarBen, ^iimmert mi4 nit, wetm i« ^or' bem ^erBjlmtnb fcrummem 9lit far mir Ja't itjr geblii^t in liekn (Summer, «mt gu mir ^a't i^r a,ef$met<$elt in mein Summer,— '$ fei nrie '« fei nor feinen fremb mir eu're garden,— SBelft ! 3^ iaV far eu<$ lein STra'^r, i^r f^oene 23htmen !

l Xraum

if jHtt arum, jtorben, (lumm,

tfein @*orc^, lein Diep«, fein

3n Xieffeit »un t>er

2Bte burt^ a 3^^

Setueifl fie |l^ »ar mir.

31 Honbe, f^oene SBeiB, 2Bie ©djnee if weig i^r sftor blag bie S3ato, Hag ; — £>ie ©gutter fe(l un' ?(ar, SSargiert mit golb'ne £aar, nag bie 3lugen, nag* 90

There where luxury, impudence, and vulgarity raise their wings that are painted in colors of hon- esty, the sweet sounds of the piano sing of you, while well-fed men and women applaud ; there you shine upon the breasts of impudent beauties, and crown the polished mirror of wantonness.

Therefore I do not care if I see you dying now ; I do not care, — hearing the howling of the autumn wind. You did not bloom for me in lovely sum- mer, you did not smile on me in my sorrow ; in- deed your colors are strange to me. Fade ! I have no tear for you, beautiful flowers !

Liberty A Dream

WHEN everything is quiet all around, as silent as if dead, and there is no rustle, no sound, no stir, — in the depth of night, as if by magic, she appears before me.

A beautiful blond woman, her body is as white as snow, but pale her cheeks are, pale ; her strong shoulders are clearly defined and adorned with golden hair, but wet her eyes are, wet.

(ste furfi mi4 an un' f4»etgt, £e&t auf fcie £anfc' un? jetgt: (£$ ^angt a $etf arab ; — 34 fttW i4 Un' enbUd^ mit ©ewein SSarlangt fle: ,,

ttterb lauf mit fd^nelle Srltf

51 ©^lang', — i lang i tidf,

SDod) f^recflt^ if tier a Styraperet :

, macfyt Me grei^eit fret!"

afletn a

@« riUjrt (14 nit »nn gled. £>, ruf fee ja su nit, @0 §ebt fi4 nit a Sritt, e« nemmt fein @fof, fein

er !ann fe^n ta« S5ilt> Un; foU nit wet'en »ilb ; — SKsfoffottfetn, a@fof!

3)5 fc^reit e3 : r,2Citt»er 34 4<*W' P4 tt

92

She looks at me and is silent; she raises her hands and points wit^ Lhem : A chain hangs down from her ; I am sure, I understand her meaning, and finally, in tears, she asks : " Untie me ! "

My heart is burning, and I rush with rapid steps, and seize the chain. Alas, I fall back, — a ser- pent, long and thick, is twined about it.

I cry, I call, I chide, but terrible is their sleep, I hear but snoring. " Rise, oh, rise quickly, and let there be light ! Come, make liberty free ! "

There is a silence. Only I alone exert myself, but as soon could I wake stones. No one moves from the spot ; whether I call them or not, not a foot is raised, — there is no end, no cessation (to her suffering).

But who can see the picture and not grow wild ? Let there be an end, an end ! I throw myself into the danger, and I hear a voice : " Senseless fool ! " and I awake from my sleep.

93

\

s

triUert ber tf anartf 3n freten SBalb aflein,— SBer fann fein (Sflmdje fit^Icn ? 2Ber fann fein greW

@g trtHert ber ^anari! 3n reic^flen ^olaj fcfyoen, — 2Ber fann fein SBefjtag fii^ten? 2Cer fann fein ©djmerj ^

§u bte 2Beituarfci}Hngcr

e^r, a ®i(fcl fnapper,

^abewejl bit,

^ wilbe 3aa,en, SBenn ba^ ijarBteitt bem $eett>et'$ Un' 3lfle^ tt>a« bu pfl erworbcn, SBet me^r fein Jag fcetagen !

fdjttwrjer ^o([e*mann tt»et fnmmen Un' toet bie Corner mie bie 33Iumen SSun Se^en^fetb varf^neiben ; £>u magfl wie fejl (t(^ gegen jietten, X)er 2ot mug ^oren 3eit^ S3efel)fen Un' ^ein'm un' ^einem meiben* 94

The Canary

THE canary warbles alone in the free forest : — Who can feel his joy, who can understand his pleasure?

The canary warbles in the richest palace sweetly : — Who can feel his sorrow, who can understand his pain?

To the Fortune-hunters

A LITTLE more, a little less, — why do you hunt in vain after shadows? Wherefore this wild chase? All that will become the possession of the grave, and all that you have gained will not last a day.

The black reaper will come, and he will cut down the flowers as well as the thorns on the field of life. You may oppose yourself with all your main, Death must listen to the commands of Time, and cannot leave out any one.

95

'& »arlafen

£)ein 9ftut, bein $raft un; bein

falter <S$aum fcegief t tie Sippen, —

fummt Me £)em Se6en'g le^te

rufjl urn $tlf un; Btei^fl fcetrogen, fe^ji t>ie Snte ijun betn Sagen, pjl bit ba ermorben ?

2Cu if beta ®IM ? D, armer 3ager !

S^ fummen falte 9Wite*trager,

21 Settler if gejiorkn!

21 S3i(fel metyr, a SBtjfel fnapper, @^ geijt arum an alter 2Ba$ offent atte ©c^Io Un' d&appt au 2lEg wn; Un' marft e^ in bte (lumme

berlangt a

fattt a triifceS SBetter, @g welft in gelb bag twn Der 23aum ijarltert bie flatter*

<£rV flel)t ^o^I un^ naclet Balb,

£)er $oea,el [Ingt in grofen SQalb Un' wecft ju b' erjle

96

In the end, broken down, your courage, your strength and your glory leave you, O terrible sedi- tion ! A cold foam covers your lips, — Death comes to unravel the last enigma of life.

You call for help, and are deceived, — you see the end of your chase. What have you earned? Where is your fortune ? O poor hunter ! The cold pall-bearers come, — a beggar has died !

A little more, a little less, — an old robber goes around who opens all locks ; he seizes everything, and everything, and throws it into the silent waves of the Stygian waters.

September Melodies

The ram's-horn man has blown his blast, there falls a dismal weather ; the young grass withers in the field ; the tree loses its leaves.

The earth soon becomes naked and bare, — there is an end to its glory. The bird sings hi the large forest and calls to the first prayers of mourning. 7 97

fmgt fo umetig, fo fug, ®'fegnen*Iieb, mijiome ;

a ftemm, ba3 tyut a &etber«Kefd)ottte!

rauft^t ber SBart), e^ fcefjt ter 2Btnt>, ©c^recf nemmt an bie Xraumer ; — fummt a Som^ctbtn agiint> nj au

0, 50?enf^en ! Saunter in bent SBalb J 3^r fyort tie (Sturent^ fnatfen ? 3it iung su alt, su frat a t»et eu$ 3lUe §atfen !

n

D, laltlfdj im' toinbig, 2)er @fof »nn bent (Summer! (5^ mellen bte 33lumen in 2)ie (Sd^oen^eiten fcfyttnnben ; 3n totlid^en (B^Iummer 3P 5ltte0 »arwiegt mit a

£>er (Sturem, er fc&Ieubert £)ie trucfene flatter, 3ntragt bas ttarjloroene 3tott ; £)er SBalb raufd^t a SCibut, — 21 2BeiUn!e fpater SSarjlummt aud| bag ^efligfle 98

He sings so sadly, so sweetly, — no doubt a song of parting, and that touches and tears your heart.

The woods rustle, the wind blows, terror seizes the dreamers : the day of judgment has come now on little trees and big trees.

O people ! Trees of the forest ! Do you hear the howling of the storm ? Whether young or old, late or soon, you will all be mowed down ! . . .

II

Oh, 't is cold and windy, there is an end of sum- mer ! The flowers wither in the valley ; all beau- ties disappear, and suddenly all is rocked into slumber of death.

The storm hurls down the dry leaves, and dis- perses the dead flowers. The forest rustles its last confession, and a little later even the holiest song will cease.

99

SSoegetad) flngen

Un; wenten gum 3am fejer SBlfrf,

(Mie&te, nwfnefjti^r?

$3ie wett fort, an (Sredj ?

Un; fagt mir : SBemt fummt i$r gurutf ?

S^ giefen p$ fcttter SBe^melobien, Sntfcr fcerfcmgt afa Drudf: njeiffen nor Sltte, mufen »arflte^enf ©ott weig »ittt ^ummcn gururf!"

ber S3ore ^at oeft^affen Unfer wunberf^oene SBeft, Sr nit gefragt i>et

nac^ fein eignem fcitt etgttem tylan @r fyat lang genug

Un' (Er i)at cs gut

SCcnn Sr if gum 5D^enf$ gefummen, 3f eg n^ 9^9<^gcn gTatt, — W Sr pt gunaufgerufen @etn geflitgeltcn @cnat :

,,£ort mt^ aug, i§r meine ©botim!

F id^ a^cr gefcradjt, foUt mir au (£qe geBen, 2Bic ter 23^enW [off feitt gcma^t

100

The birds sing their song of passage and turn their eyes towards the ocean. Beloved, where do you fly? Pray, tell me how far away? and tell me when will you return?

The woeful melodies are poured forth in bitter- ness, and the painful answer is : " We all know only, we must fly away, but God knows of coming back ! "

Creation of Man

WHEN the Lord created our wonderful world, He asked nobody's advice, and did as He pleased, —

All after His own will, in accordance with His own plans : He worked at it long, and He did it well.

When he was about to create man, things did not go so well with Him, and he summoned His winged Senate :

" Listen to me, you my mighty ones, I have called you here that you may proffer me your advice how man is to be made.

101

,,$elft mir, Winter, itym fcef^affen, Sfcer fudt flcfy gut arum ! (£r mu$ fein in imS gerat^en ;

,,£)entt idj Iron' ifym far a £errf$er, Un' idj fd^enf i^m »un ntein (5r fott frei be^errfd^en fontten 2uft un? Srb' un' au^ tern 3a

,$attett foH i?ar i^m ber 3n ter Suften, »ar fein @ott ber gtfdj in Baffer fallen, Un' t>er filter Soeb in

<2>enat pt ftd^ berfc^rotfen;

SBenn er fott bic Suft fce er no$ in £tmme!

; fee §aBen ©ott ge^entfert : ' t>em 9ftenfdj nac^ unfer i$m ©fee^el, gieB i^m fein Bluel ie& im nit

,,9letn, er tor !ein Sr wet flie^en mtt tern 9ltt fcetreten fott bent

errfd&t auf biefer

/' fat ©ott ge-entfert, SRif^pet, er if fein ; ein 3lu^na^m^ n?itt i^ nta^en, ein 2Ut$nam', — ort lc ein!

102

" Help me, children, to create him, but take good counsel. He must resemble us, and he must be without faults and without blemish,

" For I shall crown him as a ruler, and I shall give him of my flame : he shall freely rule over air, and earth, and ocean.

" Before him shall fall the bird in the air, before his might shall fall the fish in the water and the wild lion in the chase."

The Senate became frightened : " If man, who is nothing but foam and smoke, were to rule the air, he would soon enter heaven."

And they answered God : " Make him in our image ; give him reason, give him power, but give him no wings !

" No, he shall have no wings, for he will fly with his sword ! Let him not enter heaven who rules upon that earth ! "

" You are right," God answered, " your decision is good ; but one exception I shall make, but one ex- ception ! Listen to me 1

103

,,£)er $oet fofl fein geflitgelt, (£r fcefummt mein Jjocfjfhn £)ffnen nrifl t$ nteine £tmmlen gar bent Siftetjier »un ©efang,

,,Un' i(^ wae^r ijun eudj a @r [off greit fein 2:ag un' 3§nt bte glitglen an^it^eften, SCenn fein $e% 2ieb erwarjt"

3n bet SKtWcr

in meiten Soegete afletn Un* fudft (tc^ urn ijarumert, Un1 jlngt a Stebel fc^oen.

©ein §immel*fuf e ©timmc 2Bie retnjler ®tna,otb fltef t, Un1 toedft bte latte ©tetner, tueit

@r toedTt We tote gelfen, X)te fiumme S3erg arum, — Heiben tot tie Sote, @tumme Het&en (lumm*

wemen, fitger (Singer, £>, flina.t teitt Better Xon? 2Ber tjort Wd& nn1 tver fu^It Un' wemen ge^jt bu an? 104

" Let the poet be winged ! He shall get my highest rank ! I will open the heavens to the master of

songs.

"And I shall choose an angel among you who shall be ready day and night to attach the wings to him whenever his holy song will rise."

i

In the Wilderness

N a distant wilderness a bird stands alone and looks about him sadly, and sings a beautiful song.

His heavenly-sweet voice flows like the purest gold, and wakens the cold stones and the prairie wide and deserted.

He wakens the dead rocks and the silent moun- tains round about, — but the dead remain dead, and the silent remain silent.

For whom, sweet singer, do your clear tones re- sound ? Who hears you, and who feels you ? And whose concern are you !

105

£)u rnagjl bein gcm^e <5eele 2lreintf)0tt ttt bein Sieb, — 3n l^arten ©tetn, in falten bertueclft bu nit

lang weft bu ba flngett,

un'

25un

Umfiijl if tt?a^ bu flei £)a^ fann nit l^elfen, nein ! 5ltlein Mjl bu gefummen, Un' n?el ailein

106

You may put your whole soul into your singing, you will not awaken a heart in the hard, cold rock.

You will not sing there long, — I feel it, I know it : your heart will soon burst with loneliness and woe.

In vain is your endeavor, it will not help you, no 'f Alone you have come, and alone you will pass away !

107

GLOSSARY

ABBREVIATIONS.

.£. — English. F. — French. G. — German. H. — Hebrew. Lat. — Latin. /'. — Polish. ^. — Russian. .S/. — Slavic.

besides. H.

afile, even. H.

antloffen, run away. G.

atttf<J)lafen, fallen asleep. G.

antfrfjtoiegen, grown silent G.

amoeren, lose. G.

^Ipreter, operative in sweat- shop. E.

arcn, care; c§ art mtd& nit, I do not care. G.

arumroafdjen, wash (the body). G.

a§, that. G.

ofa, such a. G.

ofo, so. G.

offad), much. H.

aufdjappen fid), be startled, awaken. SI.

auSfpreitcn fid), be scattered. G.

ajtinb, now. G.

ajUnbcr, now. G.

99aenfen, long for. G. SBal^olcm, genius of dreams. H.

G.

5?al:t)aguf, male person. Safemalfc, princess. //. belangen, belong. G. benfdjen, bless. F. bcfd^cibt, certain. G. bef$onfen, presented with. befprcit, covered. G. 33cffolmcn, cemetery. //. Skjjofcm, cemetery. H. bcttcifcn ft^i appear. bibnc, poor. P. btflrc, quick. R. »Ia8, breath. G. 93ocferr anger. G, SBore, Creator. //. Soft, boss. E. botcl, empty. H. brcitli$r comfortably. 53ruimf creatures. 33fomim, spices. H. shame. H.

//.

(7.

, months. //. , armies. //. , dreams. //. d^anfcncn, flatter. //.

109

, seize. SI. fid), rush at. SI. , kidnapper. 67. (£I)af en, cantor in synagogue. If. Gfiatoer, comrade. /£ (£&att>eerim, comrades. H. Gfieebet, elementary school. H. gheelef, share. ^. Sheen, grace. H. djeenetobtg, graciously. H. Gfieefdje!, zest. H. (£fiefd)i)en, number. H, (Pet, sin. ^. ibe, riddle. H.

_, life. ^. (£I)ir0ne§, faults. H. djlipen, sob. ^. Gfiolettt, dream. ZT. cf)0tett), destroyed. H. Sljojjen, bridegroom. /K (£&ofjen=!ale, bridegroom and

bride. H.

djotfd), although, at least. SI ©fitoperei, snoring. JR. Sfjfobint, mercies. H. e, ruin. H. e, insolence. H. (£timleS, billows. ,57. Gort^auS, courthouse. E.

S)ad)t ftd^, it seems. G.

boleb s^lme§, four cubits. H. No one may approach an excommunicated person within four cubits.

barfen, be obliged to. G.

barr, withered. G.

bafiger, ber, that very. G.

barofe, by all means. H.

berfonnen, recognize. G.

berlangen a Stemm, get hold of. G.

bertwn tnadjen, pay no atten-

tion. G.

£)ienfttnoib, handmaid. G. SDin, custom, law. H. bingen, haggle, urge. G. £)ire, residence. H. ®orem, South. H. S)rtmntel, light sleep. R. , Judge. E.

©big, eternal. G.

<$d, end. G.

(£ebe§, witnesses. H.

©eje, advice. H.

effd)er, perhaps. H.

ein|oren fi(^, listen attentively.

G.

einf jaMen ftd^, soak in. P. eintrinlen fi(^, drench. G. (£lui, sixth month in the Jewish

calendar. H. Gmte§, truth. H. emeSbtg, real. H. emeffer, true. H. ©ntfer, answer. G. entfern, answer. G. entpledfen, reveal. G.

, somewhat, somehow. G.

, approximation. H. @rett);fd)abe§, Friday evening.

H. erge3, somewhere. G.

, lime. H.

, flute, fanonberfingen fid), burst out

singing. G. [ancmbertreten, walk along. G. far, for. G.

ftetfjen fid), endeavor. G. fleijen, flow abundantly. G. Q-ord)tigfeit, awe. G.

no

t^ornton, foreman. E. fort, indeed, I pray. G. ftrefe, gluttony, G. froeblidjbig, merrily. G.

©aneeben, paradise. H. gffnejett, yawn. G. gantoenen, steal. If. @a§Ien, murderer. H. ©bolim, magnates. H. gefinnen, find. G. ©eljerei, marching. G. ©elagerl, couch. G. ©efdjanf, present. G. gefdjmacf, sweet. G. ©eftttb, family. G. gettmlbetoen, shout. G. gidf), quickly. G. ©tngolb, pure gold. G. gletd), as if. G. ®ofc§, exile. If. ©ojj, downpouring. G. ©raul, horror. G. grett, prepared. G. ©far, decree of fate. If. ©'fegnenlieb, song of parting.

G.

©fijfe, death. If. @uf, body. If. ©lift, taste. P. g'toalbig, terribly. G. ©mure, strength. If.

, seek eagerly. P. balbe ftac*)t, midnight. G. £aletoefd)fe, brand. X. ^ar-bafccfftm, Olive Mount. H.

, killed bodies. H. , abandoned. H. , to-day. G. , roam wildly. P. , buzz. ^7.

3 — t,both-and. R. impct, incitement. Lot. 3nben, billows. anuim, affliction. //. itjtcr, now. G.

, chase. G. 3ttjle, Let there rise I If. Be-

ginning of prayer on the

eve of Atonement. 3am, ocean. //. jcbercr, every. G. jebtoebe§, everything. G. Seffome, orphan. H. Seffurim, pain. //. 3io>§, pride. //. 3om:habin, judgment day. H. jungcrheit, in youth. G.

flabefd), prayer for the dead

(parents). H. Rale, bride. //. flaltfeit, coldness. G. faltlitt}, cool. G. tfanartf, canary. P. $a§, anger. //. «aul, bullet. G. Jfbufdje, religious fervor. H. ffeetoer, grave. II. Fciflcn fid), roll. G. fcnntig, evidently. G. fcffccbcr, in succession. If. ficln, tickle. G.

d)crf cup of benedic-

tion. //. * G.

wonc, benediction of

the moon. //. ftntat, almost. //. tfine, dirge on the Day of

the Destruction of the

Temple. //. Happen, strike. G.

in

Ilfiren, think. G.

flecfett, suffice. G.

fleibett fid), gather. G.

JHef enter, instruments of music.

If.

JHeSmotim, musicians. H. $littQeret, ringing. G. flottierft, for example. H. JHole, curse. H. htacfen, roar. G. fnoW, little. G. fnetfdfjen, wrinkle. G. ftnoetel, wick. G. $0(f), excitement. G. , strength. H. l, voice. H.

, voices. H. $or&en, victim. H. Jforeto, relative. H. fofrfjer, ritually pure. H. 80$, cup. H. floffe, scythe. R. $otoebr honor. H. Jhrci&e, crow. G. $rutoim, cherubim. If. Jhtcf, glance. G. lurfen, look. G. fufd&ett, kiss. G. $toeet, flower. SI. $toortm, graves. H.

Saremett, be in uproar. G. Iafrf)ifd)enf stroke gently. R. lafurtt, azure. R. leben, near. G. lejenen, read. F. lefotoeb, in honor of. H. Setoone, moon. H. Setooncn, Lebanon. H. Soeb, lion. G.

, army. If. aRoie=S5'recfd)t§f Genesis. H. 3Rafo($, angel. H. Ramjet, bastard. H. 9Jlarrf)f marrow. G. SJiafel, star, luck. H. 9ftafole§, stars, destinies. H. SJiajcetoe, tombstone. H. mecfjajebtg, delightfully. H. 50lC(^iler forgiveness. H. SO'lcbinc, realm. H. 9Jlccffitnf dead bodies. H. 5Rceh)inr connoisseur. H. 9Utefiumef consternation, ff. 9JJein, opinion. G. 9Keitterr miner. E. tnefabefd) fcin, consecrate. H. 2Kcnf^enfd)fid^ter, butcher of

men. G. & If. 3Kertbe, sedition. H. mefd^unc, wonderfully. H. 2ttefe, corpse. H. tneften, measure. G.

f wilderness, ff. c war. H.

, judgment. H. 3Jtt§ta$, East. H. tntStotnc, no doubt. H. miSttmbe fetn fid), confess. H. 2JHte=trfiger, pall-bearer. H.

&G.

, chandelier. ^. , brain. ^.

, moss. R. tnojett, whine. HJlorc, fear, terror, ff. tttorebtg, terribly, ff. 9Jlottc, Mount Moriah. ff. 5fttuf, growl. P. 2ttumr blemish. ^1 muntern, vivify. G.

112

9lad)ananb, in succession. G. nafynt, near. G. nfiljnter, nearer. G. 9latoenab, wanderer. H. 9led)0tne, consolation. H. SRefefd), creature. H. 9lefome, revenge. H. 9letmn, see berlangen. Stefdjome, soul. H. 9leffie, wandering. H. 9ltgen, melody. H. nifd&fofdX never mind. G.

& If.?

9U30(f)enf glory. H. ftore, hole. R. nu, well ! R. nufen, egg on. R.

O (ba§), this very thing. SI. Cfelad), birdies. H. oi, woe! R.

on (bort), over yonder. SL Drcl=tome, uncircumcised. H. Otenf coffin. /f. Orenfobefd), holy ark. H. ot — Ot, now — now. R. ot tou nit IDU, now and then. , fortunes. /T.

, herd. R. «$aftud), shepherd. /?. ^aftuf(^fer shepherdess. R. $|}ejferf sleeper. ^cnnilc, little penny. E. Jrilbern, cause an uproar. G. pieften, fondle. />.

, suddenly. G. , riot. R. 53onim, face. H. ^raje, work. P. prajcwcn, toil. P.

fr decision, sentence. /^.

Quctten, feel pleased. G.

continually. //. ranglcn, wrestle. G. Kebe, teacher. //. 9icf ue, convalescence ; ju — ,

God bless you I //. roien fid^t swarm. A'. DiofcQe, evil man. //.

Sncgcr, clock. G. Samb, sand. G. , hush t A'.

, sabbath, tf. , proper. //. ©djameS, beadle. //. ©d)apr shop. E.

e, neighbor. //. f Godhead. //". ticS, delay. If.

, curser. G. @(^ir, limit. If. ©cfyire, hymns. If. (Sd)mccf, fragrance. G. f^mcden, smell. G. Sd)meid)cl, smile. C7. fd^mcid^Ien, smile. (7.

, twinkle. (7. hour. /T. 6d)ofcr, ram's-horn. H. fd)od Icn, shake. C7. ©t^olem, peace. //. , stir. A*.

wares. . Sharon. If. Sc^rcdcnife, terror. (7. St^ul, synagogue. G. fd)um, fcin — , not at all. H. Sd)»ttHd)ap, sweat-shop. G.

&E. ©djroorim, third blast of the

ram's horn. fee, they. G.

fehten, are. G.

feier, very. G.

(Sent, cent. E.

fetjen, cut. G.

<5fire, forty-nine days after second day of Passover, during which no festivities may take place. H.

©ilfulitn, disgrace. H.

ffrudjen, shudder. P.

(SlicfyeS, prayer preceding the morning prayer on the Sunday preceding the New Year. H.

, pOSt. P.

)erte, saleswoman. H. (Sofertore, Scroll of the Law. H. @rore§, oppressors. H. €>fafone, danger. H, fjapJJCtt, gasp. P. €>feed()el, reason. H. ©fine, hatred. H. ©jenf, branch. P. (Sftmdje, joy. H. ©job, secret. H. ©fof, end. H. (Sfolotoet, nightingale. H. <5tabun, onionstalk. SI. ftom, any way. H. ftattbig, all the time. G. fteflen fid), take one's part. G. <5tefd)fe, bypath. R. <5trit, street. E. ftuppett fid), press forward. G. ©tttfj, nonsense. H. fllbig, boiling. G. .©Ufa, sob. G. fuppen, sip. G. abode. H.

£a<J)rtrf)hnr shrouds. H. ine, discussion. H.

tafe, indeed. R

, taste. ^.

, father. P. tftug, is good for. G. 5ld)ine, prayer. ^". teetef, exactly. H. £etd), river. G. 5£fila§=l)abered), prayer of pas- sage. H.

, prayer. H. leont, io2d Psalm, used

as a prayer in sickness.

H.

Zftffe, prison, jy. X^Otn, abyss. H. Xiefenifc, depth. C. Steffeit, depth. G. %l\\tf first blast of the ram's-

horn. H. 5£ttuer delay. H. tome, impure. H. tor, is allowed. G. Xorc, Law. ^. ttat^ten, think. G. Xrafir, tear. C. tretten, trill. G. trefd^tf^en, crack. R. 5£rett)oge, alarm. R.

, second blast of the

ram's-horn. H. , corpse. R. tuden, submerge. G. Slujtyeret, tramping. G. £tt)ilef (ritual) bath. If.

Uf = ouf .

lltne, nation. H.

umetig, sad. G.

Umtufi, unrest, pendulum. G.

Utnfuft, in vain. G.

imteriimfen, dive under. G.

114

SBar, before. G. tmrbetten, invite. G. toarbli^en, flash. G. Dard)6fd)ed)t, wretched. H. Darflieben, fly away. G. twrglitoert, stark. toariojfetnt, orphaned. H. tmrtlemmt, oppressed. G. twtfodjt, absorbed. G. fcarmattert, exhausted. G. toarmogen, possess. G. barmoren, starve, X. twrtnoften fid), threatened. G. tmrnummen, busy. G. tmrnutjen, use up. G. toarfdjolten, cursed. G. t>arfd)retbenf secure. G. toarfdj»a$t, weakened. G. Darfpiljt, clearly outlined. G. tmrtijdtt, occupied. G. tmrtrad)t, lost in thoughts. G. toarumert, saddened. G. tmrtoenben, use up. G. tmrtmegen, rock to sleep. G. t, neglected. G.

2Bcilin!cf little while. G. toetfeen, know. G. toemen, to whom. G. toct'cn, become, will. G. i, confession. H.

mint fid) tnir, I want. G. rotiMifl, little. G\ iliHjjel, whistle. .£. njojcn, howl. A', roolltcn, would. G.

, well-doing. G. , workshop. E.

beckoning. G.

Sabifim, just. H.

rr, anguish. //. = G. bod). R. ftcitentoeig, at times. G. jitterbig, trembling. G. 3ojfen, North. H. 3ore§, troubles. H. ju = G. jcr. ju, whether. P. judjtig, dean. G. jugliibt, burning. G. jutlcmmt, oppressed. G. juflemmterb? it, with oppressed

heart G.

juflingen fic^, resound. G. junaufrufen, call together. G. 3urc, face. H. jufprtngen ftc^, burst, jutrogen, scatter. G. jutDe^tdgt, full of pain. G. jutoorfcn, scattered. G. Qtoit, bloom. R.

TH,S BOOK ,S PR,NTED DURING SEPTEMBER 1898 BY THE UNIVERSITY PRESS CAM- BRIDGE MASSACHUSETTS

PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE CARDS OR SLIPS FROM THIS POCKET

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO LIBRARY

PJ Rosenfeld, Morris

5129 Songs from the ghetto

R6A42

1898

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