A river flowed through a desert land
On its way to find the sea,
And saw naught else than glaring sand
And scarcely a shady tree.
The distant stars looked down by night,
And the burning sun by day,
On the crystal stream, so pure and bright;
But the sea was far away.
Sometimes at night the little stream
Would sigh for the sea's embrace,
And oft would see, as in a dream,
The longed-for ocean's face.
At last one day it felt a thrill
It had never known before,
As it reached the brow of a lofty hill,
And saw the wave-lapped shore.
And it flung itself with a mighty leap
From the crest of the hill above,
Till its waters mingled with the deep;—
And the name of the sea was Love.
* * * * *
RACHEL
'Twas sunset in Jerusalem; the light
Still lingered on the city's walls, and crowned
Mount Olivet with splendor, while below,
Among the trees of dark Gethsemane
And on the Kedron gloomy shadows lay,
As if but waiting for the death of day
To rise and mantle Zion in a shroud.
To one who watched it in that golden light,
Across the gulf between the sunlit hills,
The city seemed transfigured, lifted high
Above the gloom and misery of earth,—
A fit abode for Israel's ancient kings.
The broad plateau, where Abram once had knelt,
And where the hallowed Temple of the Jews
Had glittered gorgeous with its gems and gold,
Now bore, 'tis true, the stately Moslem mosque,
But bore it as a captive bears his chains,
Whose spirit is not crushed, but borne aloft
By thrilling memories of a noble past.
The rays of dying day yet half illumed
A dreary spot outside the city walls
Where sat, apart, an old man and his child.
Beside them rose the cherished blocks of stone
Which once had graced the Temple's sacred court;
It was the "Day of Wailing", and the Jews,—
A poor scant remnant of their outcast race—,
Had gathered there, as is their weekly wont,
To read of all the glories they have lost,
And count their endless list of shattered hopes.
Some moaned at thought of their contrasted lot,
Some plucked their beards in anguish and despair,
Some turned their tear-stained faces to the wall,
And mutely kissed the precious blocks, as if
The historic stones held sentient sympathy.
Their lamentations ended, all had gone
To their poor dwellings, sadly, one by one,
Save these two lingering mourners, who still sat
With downcast eyes and slowly-dropping tears.
At length the old man raised his head, and spoke;—
"Our Fathers' God! whose all-protecting hand
Led us, Thy people, to this chosen land,
Through the cleft waters of a distant sea,
That we might rear a temple here to Thee;
Thou, who on Zion hadst Thy favorite shrine,
And in Thy majesty and power divine
Wast daily by our suppliant race adored
As sovereign Jehovah, peerless Lord;
Why hast Thou cast us off to toil and die
In foreign countries' harsh captivity?
Our race is scattered now the wide world o'er;
Our wailings rise to Thee from every shore;
Baited or banished by the Christian Powers,
Cursed by the Moslem mid our ruined towers,
Like pariah dogs, an execrated race,
We crouch to-day within our 'Wailing Place',
Begging, and paying dearly for, the right
To bathe with tears this consecrated site.
How long, O Israel's God, shall this endure?
Are not Thy promises to Jacob sure?
Oh, speed the day when once again Thy name
Shall here be worshipped, and the sacred flame
Of pure, atoning offerings shall rise,
And smoke ascend from daily sacrifice!"
Tears choked his utterance, and the old man wept,
His meagre frame convulsed with mighty sobs,—
Pathetic tokens of a broken heart.
His daughter crept beside him, drew his head,—
Adorned with thin, white hair,—upon her breast,
And soothed him as a mother might her child;
Then, when his grief abated, took his hands,—
So worn and white,—within her own soft palms,
And chafed them gently with a loving care;
Then pressed them to her lips, and lightly lay
Her warm cheek next his own, while murmuring words
Of tender, filial love in that old tongue
Which once had rung in triumph on this spot,
When poets of her race in glowing words
Had sung their glorious, prophetic strains.
"Father," she whispered, "shall we now despair,
When we at last inhale the sacred air
Of our ancestral glory, and have come,
Despite long years of waiting, to our home?
Didst thou not say, when far beyond the sea,
In our dark days of want and misery,
That thou hadst but one prayer,—to go to die
Upon the hill where Zion's ruins lie?
Now this is granted, and thou hast attained
Thy dearest wish, with ample wealth retained
To keep us here from want, till on the breast
Of Olivet's gray slope in death we rest."
She paused, and faintly smiled, while at her voice
Her father turned his tear-dimmed eyes to hers,
As one who hears soft music with delight.
The sunset glow fell full upon her face,—
A rich, dark oval, crowned with raven hair;
Her lustrous eyes were shrines of tenderness,
Large, dark, profound, and tremulously bright,
And fringed by lashes of the deepest hue,
Which swept the downy smoothness of her cheek;
While her full lips, inimitably arched
And exquisitely mobile, told her thoughts,
Ere their soft motion framed them into speech;
Divinely there had Beauty set her seal;
As who should say,—"Behold a perfect type
Of southern loveliness, in whose warm veins
The blood of good, ancestral stock runs pure,
Maintained through centuries of Spanish suns."
The old man fondly took her hands in his,
And, bending forward, kissed her broad, fair brow;
Then in a faint and weary voice replied;—
"Rachel, my well-belov'd, I have in thee
The only blessing left on earth to me,
The one sweet solace in my dreary life
Of fourscore years of racial hate and strife;
Dear Comforter, 'tis true, our feet now stand
Within the limits of our people's land;
Behind us are the obloquy and pain
Endured in cruel, persecuting Spain,
Yet feel I still more keenly here than there
The degradation which our people share;
Each object here speaks sadly to the Jew
Of all the grandeur which his race once knew.
But let that pass; there is another pain
Which hurts me sorely, Rachel, and in vain
I seek a remedy; it is that thou
Hast now new lines of sorrow on thy brow.
'Tis true, thou art a Jewess, and must know
The shame which constitutes thy people's woe;
But I detect the signs of some new grief
For which the lapse of time brings no relief;
Thy cheek hath paled since our arrival here,
And often on its pallor gleams a tear."
At first she spoke not; but at length her lips
Moved, quivering as in pain, while o'er her face
An ashen paleness came, which whiter seemed
From startling contrast with her ebon hair;
"Father", she murmured, "speak of that no more!
I shared thy coming to this Syrian shore,
And here shall die, for nothing more I crave
Than on these lonely hills to find a grave.
My life, though like a flower deprived of light,
Hath yet known moments so divinely bright,
So full of rapture, that I then forgave
The insults we endured, and still could brave
Existence in Seville, if thou wouldst stay;
But in thy absence how could I betray
My dying mother's trust and farewell prayer
That I henceforth thy lonely life should share?"
She paused, and from her lips a stifled moan
Revealed the torture that her soul had known.
Her father noted it, and with a sigh
Of self-reproach attempted a reply;—
"Dear child, thy love for me hath cost thee much;
For young Emanuel,—shrink not from my touch!—
Was dear to thee; I knew it, and confess
That I, to consummate thy happiness,
Had given thee to him with full consent,
(Who with Emanuel would not be content?)
Had not my vow and purpose of long years
Compelled me to depart despite thy tears.
I knew the struggle, Rachel, in thy heart,
I felt the anguish of thy soul to part
From one for whom thy love was so intense;
In truth, for weeks I suffered in suspense,
Lest thy impetuous temperament might lead
Even thee to leave me, in my hour of need,
Infirm with years, to sail alone from Spain,
Go unattended on the stormy main,
And lay my poor, worn body in a grave
Unknown, uncared for, by a foreign wave.
God bless thee, Rachel, that thy noble soul
Could make this filial choice, and thus control
A love which, though supreme, could not efface
Thy duty, as a daughter of thy race;
Thy ancestors were princes on this hill!
Within thy veins their blood runs nobly still!"
Rachel sat motionless, with outstretched hands,
And fingers interlocked; her steadfast eyes
Had hopeless sorrow in their stony gaze,
As though they read Fate's sentence of despair.
At length she turned her face; the light had fled
From her young features, just as in the west
The glow had faded from the sky, and left
A wintry coldness in the unlit clouds.
She seemed about to speak, when, sweet and clear,
From out the shadow of the ancient wall
Soft vocal music stirred the evening air,
With plaintive passion thrilled,—a proof that love
Inspired the words that floated into song,—
Light of the glorious, setting sun,
Gilding the Syrian shore,
Ere the bright, lingering day be done,
Guide me to her whose heart, well won,
Holds me forevermore.
Moon, that hath spanned the silvered plain,
Olivet's brow to kiss,
Lead her by memory's golden chain
Back to the olive groves of Spain;
Back to our days of bliss!
Star of the evening's darkening sky,
Gemming the lonely hill,
Whisper to her that I am nigh,
Waiting in hope for her reply;
Tell her I love her still!
The song had ended; Rachel stood erect,
Her pale lips parted breathlessly, her head
Bent forward to receive the words, which came
Like grateful raindrops to a drooping flower;
Her slender form was quivering with delight
And sudden rush of feeling; she scarce knew
If this were all a dream, or if in truth
She heard Emanuel's welcome accents there;
Her heart for that brief moment wanted naught
To supplement its rapture; 'twas enough
To stand thus in expectancy, and know
The idol of her soul was drawing near.
At length her father touched her hand, and spoke;—
"'Tis he, my Rachel; thy sweet power hath drawn
Thy lover o'er the sea! Again the dawn
Of love and hope is kindled in thy face;
The concentrated beauty of thy race
Illumes thy features; now alas! I know
That thy self-sacrifice hath cost thee woe
Intenser than I thought; I too rejoice
To hear the music of Emanuel's voice,
Although I tremble lest his purpose be
To lure thee, Rachel, far away from me."
His daughter, even in the thrill of bliss
Which filled her throbbing heart, yet saw the pain
That marked his closing words; and, turning, twined
Her arms about the old man's drooping neck;
"Dear Father, fear not that," she gently said;
"Though it be true that ardent love hath led
Emanuel to this distant Syrian shore,
Thy lot shall still be mine forevermore;
Doubt not thy faithful child, for none the less
'Twill be thy Rachel's greatest happiness
At thy dear side to minister to thee;
For only death can come 'twixt thee and me!"
She paused, and hid her face upon his breast;
Her father clasped her fondly in his arms,
And bent his cheek to hers, his whitened locks
On her dark tresses glistening like the snow.
'Twas thus Emanuel found them; silently
He stood before them in a dread suspense;
His very soul seemed poised upon the word
Which left at last his trembling lips,—"Rachel!"
She raised her head, and their bright, ardent eyes
Exchanged the voiceless language of the soul;
A joy ineffable diffused its flush
O'er both their faces; yet she did not speak,
But only clung the closer to her sire,
As if in fear to lose her self-control.
At length Emanuel spoke in tones so charged
With deep emotion that the very air
Seemed tremulous with thoughts transcending speech;—
"Rachel, my more than life! Canst thou forgive
The momentary thought that I could live
Without thee? See, our separation ends!
Henceforth I know no country, home or friends
Save thine, my love! I gladly leave them all,
Obedient to a higher, nobler call,—
The cry of my whole being to be near
Thee, thee, my Rachel, now so wholly dear,
That life without thee is but lingering death!
Already with thee a diviner breath
Of inspiration lifts my soul to gain
The purest, loftiest heights I can attain!
Not to entice thee from thy father's care,
Have I come hither, but to seek a share
In that dear filial duty, and to give
Love, loyalty and homage, while I live,
To him, the honored hero of our race,
Beside whom here I also crave a place.
Not only do I plead my love anew,
But also thus lay open to thy view
The dearest wishes of my soul, and wait
To learn thy answer. Do I come too late?"
In doubt, 'twixt hope and fear, she raised her eyes
To read her fate in her lov'd father's face;
Who, taking her fair hands within his own,
Advanced with her to where Emanuel stood,
And laid them in her lover's eager grasp.
With softened radiance, from their lonely paths,
The far-off stars beheld their kneeling forms,
While, with his hands in benediction raised,
The old man stood absorbed in silent prayer.
* * * * *
The old, old story, ever new
Alike in Gentile and in Jew;
For Love remains man's sovereign yet
In Eden and on Olivet.
*****
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