And Jehuda ben Halevy
Was not merely skill’d in reading,
But in poetry a master,
And himself a first-rate poet.
Yes, he was a first-rate poet,
Star and torch of his own age,
Light and beacon of his people,
Yes, a very wondrous mighty
Fiery pillar of all song,
That preceded Israel’s mournful
Caravan as it was marching
Through the desert of sad exile.
Pure and true alike, and spotless
Was his song, as was his spirit;
When this spirit was created
By its Maker, self-contented,
He embraced the lovely spirit,
And that kiss’s beauteous echo
Thrills through all the poet’s numbers,
Which are hallow’d by this grace.
As in life, in numbers also
Grace is greatest good of all;
He who has it, ne’er transgresses
In his prose or in his verses.
Genius call we such a poet
Of the mighty grace of God;
He is undisputed monarch
Of the boundless realms of fancy.
He to God alone accounteth,
Not to man, and, as in lifetime,
So in art the mob have power
To destroy, but not to judge us.
2.
“By the streams of Babylon
“Sat we down and wept, we hangèd
“Our sad harps upon the willows—”
Know’st thou not the olden song?