| |
| I REMEMBER in my childhood | |
| From my grandfather I heard | |
| Charming tales of gone-by ages | |
| That my soul so deeply stirred. | |
| |
| Charming tales of ancient sages | 5 |
| That I felt, I knew were true; | |
| Stories of the hoary ages | |
| That remain forever new…. | |
| |
| Of the Pesach-days he told me, | |
| Days that joy and sunshine bring; | 10 |
| Of the Festival of Freedom, | |
| Of Revival and of Spring…. | |
| |
| Of the slave-people in Egypt, | |
| Whose hot blood so rashly spilt, | |
| Soaked into cold bricks and mortar | 15 |
| Of the fortresses they built. | |
| |
| How on them, the God-forsaken, | |
| After gloomy wintry days, | |
| Shone at last the rays of freedom, | |
| Heaven’s bright and cheerful rays. | 20 |
| |
| How among them rose a leader, | |
| Star-like in a gloomy night, | |
| And he pleaded for their freedom, | |
| And he crushed a tyrant’s might. | |
| |
| How he taught the fettered people | 25 |
| Not in vain their blood to spill, | |
| Turning bondmen into freemen, | |
| Men of honor and of will. | |
| |
| How the people’s march to Freedom | |
| Could no despot’s might restrain, | 30 |
| Till before their will resistless | |
| Stormy ocean oped in twain…. | |
| |
| “Then it was our people’s Spring-time, | |
| After which a Summer came, | |
| Followed by a golden harvest, | 35 |
| Free from yoke and free from shame.” | |
| |
| “Grand-sire, dear,” I asked enraptured, | |
| “How long did that Summer last?” | |
| But he sadly gazed and pondered, | |
| And he answered me at last. | 40 |
| |
| “Child, it was a long, bright Summer, | |
| But a winter came again, | |
| Came with cold, and snow, and showers, | |
| With its gales of grief and pain. | |
| |
| “Frost and tempest-strife, contention— | 45 |
| Raged once more in every part, | |
| Stealing into souls and freezing | |
| Will and hope in every heart. | |
| |
| “Furious storm once more dispersed us; | |
| Israel rendered free and great, | 50 |
| Into lands of cruel despots | |
| Went to face a bondman’s fate….” | |
| |
| “Grand-sire, dear, why does this Winter | |
| Seem so endless, then?”—I sighed— | |
| And two crystal tears were trembling | 55 |
| In his eyes, when he replied. | |
| |
| “Yes, my boy, it seems so endless, | |
| But it cannot, will not be; | |
| Israel will not slave for ever, | |
| One day, child, he will be free. | 60 |
| |
| “In his soul will re-awaken | |
| Courage, will, and pride, and might; | |
| Freedom’s sunrise must needs follow | |
| Israel’s starless exile night. | |
| |
| “But till then, ere Spring’s arrival— | 65 |
| For the winter’s steps are slow— | |
| Pesach is a sweet remembrance | |
| Of a spring of long ago….” | |
| |
