Let it be heard in every passing breeze,
And in the sound of shore to shore replying,
Let it be seen in every star that sees
Its image in thee lying!
XI.
And let the moaning wind and sighing reed,
And the light perfume of the balmy air,
All that is heard or seen or felt declare,
“They loved—they loved, indeed!”
THE WANDERING JEW.
(From Beranger.)
I.
Christian, a pilgrim craves from you
A glass of water at your door!
I am—I am—the Wandering Jew—
Chained to a whirlwind evermore!
Though ever young, weighed down with years,
The end of Time my one glad dream;
Each night I hope the end appears,
Each morning brings its cursed gleam.
Never, never,
Till this earth its race has run,
Shall my goal of death be won.
II.
For eighteen centuries, alas!
Over the dust of Greece and Rome,
I’ve seen a thousand kingdoms pass,—
And yet the end delays to come.
I’ve seen the good spring up in vain,
I’ve seen the ill wax strong and bold,
And from the bosom of the main
I’ve seen twin worlds succeed the old.
Never, never,
Till this earth its race has run,
Shall my goal of death be won.
III.
God gives me life to punish me;
I cling to all that hopes for death,
But ere my soul’s desire I see,
I feel the whirlwind’s vengeful breath.
How many a poor, sad man of grief
Has asked from me the means to live!
But none from me has gained relief,—
My hand has never time to give!
Never, never,
Till this earth its race has run,
Shall my goal of death be won.