SEPARATION.
And so we twain must part! Oh linger yet,
Let me still feed my glance upon thine eyes.
Forget not, love, the days of our delight,
And I our nights of bliss shall ever prize.
In dreams thy shadowy image I shall see,
Oh even in my dream be kind to me!
Though I were dead, I none the less would hear
Thy step, thy garment rustling on the sand.
And if thou waft me greetings from the grave,
I shall drink deep the breath of that cold land.
Take thou my days, command this life of mine,
If it can lengthen out the space of thine.
No voice I hear from lips death-pale and chill,
Yet deep within my heart it echoes still.
My frame remains—my soul to thee yearns forth,
A shadow I must tarry still on earth.
Back to the body dwelling here in pain,
Return, my soul, make haste and come again!
Thus sings Moses ben Esra;
The shadow of the houses leave behind,
In the cool boscage of the grove reclined,
The wine of friendship from love's goblet drink,
And entertain with cheerful speech the mind.
Drink, friend! behold the dreary winter's gone,
The mantle of old age has time withdrawn,
The sunbeam glitters in the morning dew,
O'er hill and vale youth's bloom is surging on.
Cup-bearer! quench with snow the goblet's fire,
Even as the wise man cools and stills his ire.
Look, when the jar is drained, upon the brim
The light foam melteth with the heart's desire.
Cup-bearer! bring anear the silver bowl,
And with the glowing gold fulfill the whole,
Unto the weak new vigor it imparts,
And without lance subdues the heroe's soul.
My love sways, dancing, like the myrtle-tree.
The masses of her curls disheveled see!
She kills me with her darts, intoxicates
My burning blood, and will not set me free.
Within the aromatic garden come,
And slowly in its shadows let us roam,
The foliage be the turban for our brows,
And the green branches o'er our heads a dome.
All pain thou with the goblet shalt assuage,
The wine-cup heals the sharpest pangs that rage,
Let others crave inheritance of wealth,
Joy be our portion and our heritage.
Drink in the garden, friend, anigh the rose,
Richer than spice's breath the soft air blows.
If it should cease a little traitor then,
A zephyr light its secret would disclose.
—Extracts from the Book of Tarshish or "Necklace of Pearls."
It was not for want of cause that the sedate greybeards of Cordova applied for legal aid to have the passionate love songs of Abraham Ibn Sahal prohibited, for there was not a youth or maiden in the city who could not repeat them by heart. And as to songs of war and wit and spirit, the "Makamen" of Jehuda ben Salamo ben Alchofni, better known as "Charisi" gives ample proof to assure us that the Jews might have become dangerous rivals to the Roman and Greek writers had they fostered that phase of poetry as did these. Thus sings Charisi;