The Poems of Emma Lazarus Volume II Part 35

SCHNETZEN.

Spectre! do dead men rise?

NORDMANN.

Yea, for revenge!

I swear, Lord Schnetzen, by my knightly honor, She who is dancing yonder to her death, Is thy wife's child!

[SCHNETZEN and PRINCE WILLIAM make a rush forward towards the flames. Music ceases; a sound of cras.h.i.+ng boards is heard and a great cry--HALLELUJAH!]

PRINCE WILLIAM and SCHNETZEN.

Too late! too late!

CITIZENS.

All's done!

PRINCE WILLIAM.

The fire! the fire! Liebhaid, I come to thee.

[He is about to spring forward, but is held back by guards.]

SCHNETZEN.

Oh cruel Christ! Is there no bolt in heaven For the child murderer? Kill me, my friends! my breast Is bare to all your swords.

[He tears open his jerkin, and falls unconscious.]

[Curtain falls.]

THE END.

Note:

The plot and incidents of this Tragedy are taken from a little narrative ent.i.tled "Der Tanz zum Tode; ein Nachtstuck aus dem vierzehnten Jahrhundert," (The Dance to Death--a Night-piece of the fourteenth century). By Richard Reinhard. Compiled from authentic doc.u.ments communicated by Professor Franz Delitzsch.

The original narrative thus disposes, in conclusion, of the princ.i.p.al characters:--

"The Knight Henry Schnetzen ended his curse-stricken life in a cloister of the strictest order.

"Herr Nordmann was placed in close confinement, and during the same year his head fell under the sword of the executioner.

"Prince William returned, broken down with sorrow, to Eisenach.

His princely father's heart found no comfort during the remainder of his days. He died soon after the murder of the Jews--his last words were, 'woe! the fire!'

"William reached an advanced age, but his life was joyless. He never married, and at his death Meissen was inherited by his nephew.

"The Jewish cemetery in Nordhausen, the scene of this martyrdom, lay for a long time waste. n.o.body would build upon it. Now it is a bleaching meadow, and where once the flames sprang up, to-day rests peaceful suns.h.i.+ne."

TRANSLATIONS.

TRANSLATIONS FROM THE HEBREW POETS OF MEDAEVAL SPAIN.

SOLOMON BEN JUDAH GABIROL (Died Between 1070-80.)

"Am I sipping the honey of the lips?

Am I drunk with the wine of a kiss?

Have I culled the flowers of the cheek, Have I sucked the fresh fragrance of the breath?

Nay, it is the Song of Gabirol that has revived me, The perfume of his youthful, spring-tide breeze."

--MOSES BEN ESRA.

"I will engrave my songs indelibly upon the heart of the world, so that no one can efface them."

--GABIROL.

NIGHT-PIECE.

Night, and the heavens beam serene with peace, Like a pure heart benignly smiles the moon.

Oh, guard thy blessed beauty from mischance, This I beseech thee in all tender love.

See where the Storm his cloudy mantle spreads, An ashy curtain covereth the moon.

As if the tempest thirsted for the rain, The clouds he presses, till they burst in streams.

Heaven wears a dusky raiment, and the moon Appeareth dead--her tomb is yonder cloud, And weeping shades come after, like the people Who mourn with tearful grief a n.o.ble queen.

But look! the thunder pierced night's close-linked mail, His keen-tipped lance of lightning brandis.h.i.+ng; He hovers like a seraph-conqueror.-- Dazed by the flaming splendor of his wings, In rapid flight as in a whirling dance, The black cloud-ravens hurry scared away.

So, though the powers of darkness chain my soul, My heart, a hero, chafes and breaks its bonds.

NIGHT-THOUGHTS.

Will night already spread her wings and weave Her dusky robe about the day's bright form, Boldly the sun's fair countenance displacing, And swathe it with her shadow in broad day?