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(Dedicated to “Mentor”)
ONCE in my secluded chamber | |
| Late at night I read | |
| Israel’s ancient wondrous story; | |
| How he shone and shed | |
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| Light around him, in his homeland | 5 |
| Thriving free and great… | |
| Then my thoughts passed to his later | |
| Treacherous, cruel fate: | |
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| Israel homeless, footsore, captive | |
| Into exile goes, | 10 |
| And the world has long forgotten | |
| What to him it owes. | |
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| “Gentile world! You have polluted | |
| Springs from which you drank!” | |
| And in bitter, sad reflections, | 15 |
| Tired and weak I sank…. | |
. . . . . . . Stealthily an old man entered | |
| My secluded room; | |
| On his breast a cross suspended, | |
| In his eyes—deep gloom. | 20 |
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| “Fear not,” said he, “vain intruder | |
| I am not, you’ll find; | |
| You accused me, and I came here, | |
| Came to speak my mind. | |
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| “Not defend myself, but tell you | 25 |
| Whom you are to blame | |
| For your homelessness, your downfall, | |
| For your grief and shame. | |
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| “No, not I, but you polluted | |
| Your eternal spring; | 30 |
| Home and faith and pride abandoned, | |
| And to exile cling. | |
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| “Kneel and pray to alien altars, | |
| Worship alien gods, | |
| Even like in cast-off garments | 35 |
| Deal in cast-off thoughts. | |
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| “Gather crumbs at strangers’ tables… | |
| No, your pride is gone! | |
| For you glory that you have no | |
| Table of your own…. | 40 |
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| “Faith, and truth, and pride—all treasures | |
| You have prized of old; | |
| For a lentil-pottage long since | |
| You your birthright sold. | |
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| “You no longer feel the horror | 45 |
| Of a slave’s disgrace. | |
| Do you want me to respect you, | |
| Honour such a race? | |
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| “Once you heroes had and prophets | |
| Noble, great and true; | 50 |
| How much of their daring spirit | |
| Now is left in you? | |
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| “Grandsons of the Maccabeans! | |
| If those heroes came | |
| Saw their servile offsprings—they would | 55 |
| Die again—of shame! | |
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| “Dead is all your pride and valour, | |
| Silent is your tongue, | |
| Tongue of bards, and kings and prophets— | |
| You forsook it long. | 60 |
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| “And your home that waits deserted | |
| Do you e’er recall? | |
| Where are all your rich and mighty— | |
| Mammon’s High Priests all? | |
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| “Like deserters they are sailing | 65 |
| Under foreign flags, | |
| Lackeys that their masters’ mantles | |
| Wear—to hide their rags. | |
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| “Crumbs of bread, and night of lodging— | |
| Dare no more expect! | 70 |
| No, a race that lost its self-pride | |
| No one can respect. | |
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| “This is all I came to tell you! | |
| Now, good-bye … I spoke….” | |
. . . . . . . “Stay!” I shrieked, “I must reply you, | 75 |
| Stay”—and I awoke…. | |
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