Poems

by John L. Stoddard

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."