THE ELEGY OF YEHUDAH HALLEVI.
[From the Hebrew Christian Magazine.]
[On entering a Jewish synagogue, on the great Day of Atonement, or on the ninth day of Ab, when the destruction of the temple is commemorated, the Christian visitor sees and hears much which must make a deep impression on him. It is heart-rending to hear pious Jews, on those occasions, mourn over their captivity in most doleful elegies; and to hear these in the holy city, near the only remnant of ancient Jewish grandeur-the only relic of Israel's pride, now in possession of fanatic infidels.
It is a most melancholy sight to behold Jews from India, Barbary, Persia, Turkey, Germany, Poland, Russia, Italy, and even England,-old and young, male and female,-all bitterly lamenting and bewailing, near the few ancient stones which support the western level of mount Moriah-on which now stands the mosque of Omar-the destruction of the temple and of the holy city, and the dispersion and sufferings of the children of Abraham.
None of the elegies recited on those occasions are more highly esteemed than that of Rabbi Yehudah Hallevi. He was born about the year 1100, of very opulent and religious parents. Gifted by nature with uncommon abilities, and educated with great care, he did not confine himself to the study of the incoherent rhapsody of fable which constitutes the Talmud. The philosophy of the Greeks, the learning of the Romans, and the sciences of the Arabs, had all their charms for his accomplished mind. One day he sat, lost in melancholy, contemplating the sad condition of his nation and country, under the ramparts of Jerusalem. Suddenly he rose, loosened his sandals, tore his garment, and loudly recited the elegy he had composed. Altogether absorbed by his subject, he noticed not that his strange and singular behaviour had attracted the attention of an Arab horseman. The revilings and blasphemy of the Beduin were left unheeded by him. Enraged at this obstinacy of the Jew, the rude son of Ishmael spurred his charger, and in a few minutes Zion's mourner expired under the hoofs of the animal, which trampled him to death. Such was the melancholy fate of the famous R. Yehudah Hallevi.]
OH Zion! widow'd queen, we call on thee!-
Dost thou the sorrows of thy children see?
Or, still insensible to all their woes,
While they are exiled, canst thou seek repose?
Their fervent acclamations rise on high;
Oh Zion! dost thou hear their bitter cry?
From every corner of the spacious earth
They look to thee, the country of their birth;
They pant for hope while still oppress'd with fears,
And pay to thee the tribute of their tears.
Our tears fall rapidly, like Hermon's dews,—
Oh! could they thy deserted hill suffuse;
Ah! when I weep o'er thy tremendous fall,
In agony of grief on heaven I call;
But when I dream of Israel's blest return,
How does my heart with holy fervour burn!
I hear the accents of thy harp once more,
As oft in festive days 'twas heard of yore,
Thrilling with sweetest notes in holy lays,
And harmonizing in our songs of praise.
My heart affects the temple of our God;
On Zion's hill Jehovah's foot hath trod.
Were not the gates of heaven open'd here ?—
Did not the majesty of God appear,
And solar and sidereal light seem dim,
Compared with the all-glorious cherubim?
Oh! that my soul could fly to that bless'd place,
Where God descended on his chosen race,—
Where God the Spirit shed his glories round,
And render'd still more holy, holy ground.
Thou wert the seat of the Eternal King,
But now thy palaces with clamour ring.
Oh Zion! slaves pollute thy sacred throne,
While Israel's princes but as slaves are known.
Ah! why, my soul, canst thou not hover near Those sacred spots to mem'ry still so dear?— To where the prophets once, in trembling, heard The awful Deity, the eternal Word?
Give me but pinions like the gentle dove,
To bear me to the distant haunts I love;
Then should the fragments of my broken heart
Rest 'mid thy ruins, never to depart.
Fain would I cling to thy dumb rocks,-nay more,
Thy very dust in sacred awe adore ;
My foot should rest on many an ancient's grave, My mind should contemplate in Hebron's cave, Mine eye might gaze on proud Abarim's steeps, And on mount Hor, where priestly Aaron sleeps: Yes! there the lights of Israel calmly rest, Waiting the resurrection of the blest.
In thy pure air I'd breathe the breath of life,
Yea, e'en thy dust should seem with perfume rife;
And as thy streamlets touch'd my parching lip,
The sweetest taste of honey I should sip.
How should my foot delight in passing o'er
That sacred spot which once the Temple bore!
Bare-footed 'mid whose ruin I should tread,
With holy awe, as o'er the sainted dead.
Near to this hallow'd spot, this honoured dust,
The earth from God received a holy trust,
And, op'ning wide, in trembling fear took in
The ark of glory and the cherubin,
And in her trusty bosom hides them still,
In mount Moriah's consecrated hill.
Ah! from my head in fury I could tear
The bright and flowing locks of raven hair,
And, in my frenzy, curse the mad decree
Which tore thy sons, oh Palestine! from thee.
Yes! from thy breast thy loving children tore,
To cast them on a rude, unholy shore.
Alas! alas! how shall my life be dear,
While daily scenes of sorrow fresh appear!
Dragg'd into dens by dogs, thy sons I see,-
Thy lion-sons to tyrants bend the knee.
Can I endure the glorious light of day,
Which shows the ravens feeding on their prey?—
That prey, the mangled bodies of thy saints!-
My head is sick, my heart with mis'ry faints:
Stay, cup of sufferings! but one moment stay,
Or let me cast some drops of gall away!
My swelling veins with bitterness are fill'd,
My beating heart refuses to be still'd.
One thought, Aholibah, one thought on thee,-
Would it were mine thy future good to see!
Then in my hand the bitter cup I'd clasp,
And hold with firmness in my fever'd grasp.
One moment on Aholah let me think,
And to the dregs the goblet I will drink.
Oh Zion! crown of beauty! dost thou see
The tender love thy children bear to thee?
Thy happiness hath fill'd them with delight,
Thy sorrows plunged them in the depths of night.
See thy lost tribes, from many a hostile shore,
Tow'rd thy loved gates their sad petitions pour !
Fear not! thy flocks, dispers'd on distant hills,
Still long for holy Zion's pleasant rills;
They languish for the well-remember'd shade
Thy spreading palms' light feath'ry foliage made.
Sincar and Pathros are an empty boast,
Or vainly-lying wonders at the most.
Thy Urim and thy Thummim, who shall dare
With these deceiving oracles compare?
Or who compare with Levi's sacred sons,
Or with thy princes, and thy holy ones?
Fear not! though empires shall around the fall,
Thou yet shalt rise, the pride and joy of all.
Thou art the city of th' Eternal King,-
Oh Zion! lift thy drooping head, and sing,
Happy is he, with peace and favour bless'd,
Who 'neath thy shelt'ring walls shall calmly rest;
But, oh! thrice happy and thriced bless'd is he
Who Zion's day of future bliss shall see.
His voice shall mingle with the songs of praise,
Which thy rejoicing sons together raise
He shall behold thee, Zion! in thy pride,—
In beauty deck'd, fair as a youthful bride,
When on thy brow a diadem shall shine,
And joy and gladness be for ever thine!
CARE FOR THY SOUL.
CARE for thy soule, as for thy chiefest stay;
Care for thy bodie, for thy soule's availe;
Care for the world, for bodie's help alway;
Care, yet but so as vertue may prevaile;
Care, in such sort that thou be sure of this-
Care keepe thee not from heaven and heavenly blisse.
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