The fragrant, waving reed grows tall
From feeble root and thin,
And uncouth worms that lowly crawl
Most lustrous silk do spin.
Because beside a thorn it grows,
The rose is not less fair;
Though vine from gnarled branches flows,
'Tis sweet beyond compare.
The goshawk, know, can soar on high,
Yet low he nests his brood,
A Jew true precepts doth apply,
Are they therefore less good?
Some Jews there are with slavish mind
Who fear, are mute, and meek.
My soul to truth is so inclined
That all I feel I speak.
There often comes a meaning home
Through simple verse and plain,
While in the heavy, bulky tome
We find of truth no grain.
Full oft a man with furrowed front,
Whom grief hath rendered grave,
Whose views of life are honest, blunt,
Both fool is called and knave.
SANTOB DE CARRION.
Why Should I Wander Sadly?
WHY should I wander sadly,
My harp within my hand,
O'er mountain, hill, and valley?
What praise do I command?
Full well they know the singer
Belongs to race accursed;
Sweet Minne doth no longer
Reward me as at first.
Be silent, then, my lyre,
We sing 'fore lords in vain,
I'll leave the minstrels' choir,
And roam a Jew again.
My staff and hat I'll grasp, then,
And on my breast full low,
By Jewish custom olden
My grizzled beard shall grow.
My days I'll pass in quiet,-
Those left to me on earth-
Nor sing for those who not yet
Have learned a poet's worth.
SUSSKIND VON TRIMBERG.
sweet gazelle! From thy bewitching eyes.
A glance thrills all my soul with wild delight, Unfathomed depths beam forth a world so brightWith rays of sun its sparkling splendor vies― One look within a mortal defies.
Thy lips, the gates where through dawn wings its flight,
Adorn a face suffused with royal light,
Whose radiance puts to shame the vaulted skies.
Two brilliant stars are they from heaven sent—
Their charm I cannot otherwise explain-
By God but for a little instant lent,
Who gracious doth their lustrous glory deign,
To teach those on pursuit of beauty bent,
Beside those eyes all other beauty's vain.
IMMANUEL Ben Solomon of Rome.
And fears upon my spirit heavily weigh,
"Thy poem we have heard," the people say,
"Who like to thee can sing melodious strains?"
"They're naught but sparks," outspeaks my soul in
chains,
"Struck from my life by torture every day.
But now all perfume's fled-no more my lay
Shall rise; for, fear of shame my song restrains."
A woman's fancies lightly roam, and weave
Themselves into a fairy web. Should I
Refrain? Ah! soon enough this pleasure, too,
Will flee! Verily I cannot conceive
Why I'm extolled. For woman 'tis to ply
The spinning wheel-then to herself she's true.
LORD, Thou know'st my inmost hope and
thought,
Thou know'st whene'er before Thy judgment throne
I shed salt tears, and uttered many a moan.
'Twas not for vanities that I besought.
O turn on me Thy look with mercy fraught,
And see how envious malice makes me groan!
The pall upon my heart by error thrown,
Remove; illume me with Thy radiant thought.
At truth let not the wicked scorner mock,
O Thou, that breath'dst in me a spark divine.
The lying tongue's deceit with silence blight,
Protect me from its venom, Thou, my Rock,
And show the spiteful sland'rer by this sign
That Thou dost shield me with Thy endless might.
SARA COPIA SULLAM.
WHAT treasure greater than a friend
Who close to us hath grown?*
Blind fate no bitt'rer lot can send
Than bid us walk alone.
For solitude doth cause a dearth
Of fruitful, blessed thought,
The wise would pray to leave this earth,
If none their friendship sought.
Yet sad though loneliness may be,
That friendship surely shun
That feigns to love, and inwardly
Betrays affections won.
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