Kalich, Inheritor of Tragedy
KALICH, thou of the dark and brooding face,
Born unto Tragedy by birthright of race,
The sorrows of uncounted years arise
And plead for utterance in thy mournful eyes,
And on thy lips, so poignant sweet with pain,
God's stamp of suffering marks thy calling plain.
So stood Rachel, of thy blood, in her day,
So Bernhardt, of that blood, holds now her sway.
And thou, full sister of these mighty two,
The same blood-heritage claimeth as thy due.
Valid thy claim. The centuries' seal is set
Upon its warrant. Tears and blood have wet
Its ancient and its modern countersigns.
Sorrow unspeakable breathes between its lines,
Where, down to Kishinev's cruel days, is told
A nation's woe that dates from Egypt old.
To thee descended-Lo, how dread the cry
That rises from thy throat! How tense and high
With strain of agony! Not alone the part
That now thou playest thus doth wring thy heart,
But all thy people's grief, accumulate,
Sounds in thy voice, till, with race anguish great,
Thou speakest not even one little, broken word,
But Tragedy's supremest note is heard.
This, then, the price of glory to thy name-
How dire the cost, how bitter high the game,
O, Kalich, on whose soul the forfeit lies
Of genius born from world-old sacrifice!
We yield us to the magic of thy spell,
With our applause the playhouse echoes swell,
We sound the praises of thy tragic power-
Yet still how bare, how empty, thy full hour!
What wonder, then that even at Fame's full flood,
Thy eyes still bear mute witness to thy blood,
Sombre with persecution-its wan sign
Still resting on those piteous lips of thine,
O, Kalich, thou in whom all Israel's woe,
Concentrate, makes the Genius-Gift we know!
To the Memory of Grace Aguilar Author of "Woman's Friendship," "Vale of Cedars," etc., etc.
ND thou art gone, Grace Aguilar,
The "Darling" of the race;
Child of the "hated," thou wert one
E'en any sphere to grace;
And O, like her, proud Hebrew maid,
Thou didst awake a cry,
Pure as the northern peasant was,
Is chronicled on high.
For though destruction's bosom swept
Thy children o'er the earth,
They yet shall worship in the land
Which gave their fathers birth;
And Zion's song shall yet be deemed
Acceptable to God,
And Zion's maidens sweetly dance
On Jordan's hallow'd sod.
And, lovely one, like Wilberforce,
Thou scarce didst live to see
Thy prayer fulfill'd, the fact'ry child
From slavery set free.
Like "Darling" thou didst raise the cry,
The helpless heard thy voice,
And hoping still, thou help'dst them on,
And bade their souls rejoice.
I mourn for thee, my sister friend,
As kindred in that art
Which is Divine-a holy tie
No human pow'r can part.
When first my muse essay'd to sing,
'Neath Wilson's fostering care,
Thou, too didst grace the glowing page,
And Youatt's name was there.
We knew no creed, save that which bound
Our souls in ties as strong
As revelation e'er proclaimed
Or grac'd the Psalmist's song;
Onward we went, one hope in view,
Both pilgrims on the road,
Towards the "everlasting towers,"
"The city of our God."
Peace to thine ashes! May there rise
From out thine ashes now,
A genius of thy race, as bright,
As purely bright as thou.
And when our earthly race is o'er,
O may we meet above,
And join the bright-robed heav'nly throng
Who sing that "God is Love."
ONCE, through a night of darkness and of shadow,
A brilliant star swept softly into sight; It scattered out its beams like silv'ry lances, And, in its pathway, left a streak of light. But, when the rosy blushes of the morning
Broke over earth, the star had passed away; And yet its light still travels down to mankind Through endless dawnings of the golden day.
Once, through an age of mental gloom and shadow, When ignorance and superstition reigned, When only those upon the heights of fortune
A glimpse of light-of grace and culture gained, There dawned for Israel a star of glory
Whose friendly beam through doubt and darkness shone,
And led the gaze of mankind to the hill-tops ;-
This star of light was Moses Mendelssohn.
Poor Israel was then despised-rejected!
For prejudice had built a boundless wall
O'er which no tendril of a common feeling
Could twine itself,-nó ray of sunlight fall;"
Cut from the world,-its gladness and its sorrow-
Poor patient souls, unconscious of their plight,
Submissive with the patience of the sightless,
Whose eyes have ne'er beheld the blessed light.
And then came Mendelssohn; O God, and Father,
We thank thee for this blessing to our race,
We, who to-day, in every art and science
Hold an exalted and an honored place!
For only progress brought to us our freedom,
And only Culture, as she scanned the Jew,
Could see and recognize the kindred spirit
That loves the good, the beautiful, the true.
And Mendelssohn it was who broke the fetters
That tyranny had strengthened year by year;
'Twas he who smote upon the rock of knowledge
And freed for us its water, sweet and clear;
And lifting up our thoughts to vaster issues,
Our fair ideals to heights before unknown,
Stood by our side, a Jew compelling nations
To honor all the race he called his own.
O, when can Germany e'er cease to cherish
The "Nathan Wise" its Lessing's graphic pen
Has drawn in glowing and immortal colors,
And held before the wond'ring eyes of men!
The gentle sage, the friend of prince and poet,
Whose every word ennobled and refined,
Who seemed to stand upon some mental summit
· And smile upon the factions of mankind.
Unsightly and deformed the suff'ring body,
But, from the thoughtful eyes and noble face
The glory of the soul shone out in splendor,-
A glowing gem in its translucent case!
And all the earth appeared to him in beauty,
For o'er his heart-strings trembled, even then,
The heav❜ly melody with which his offspring
Soothed and enslaved the ardent hearts of men.
O, monarch in the realm of thought and reason!
O, high-priest in the temple of the soul!
Thy hymn of progress, tolerance and freedom,—
Through endless ages shall its echoes roll!
Thou couldst not prove to us that mental culture
And Judaism never are at strife,
Nor show us immortality more clearly
Than by the beauty of thy glorious life!
A century has passed on restless pinions.
Since death removed thine image from the earth; An era of enlightenment and progress
Has taught us to appreciate thy worth;
Look down and guide us from thy home in heaven
To nobler deeds than we have ever known;
The purest thought-the broader field of action
Should mark thy people, Moses Mendelssohn!
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