And my wee, cooing dear ones, The bright and the clear ones, Were dragged in their slumbers By infinite numbers Of vultures so horrid To cold climes and torrid, Far, far away. And those birds of prey Try to render them faithless, And make them give up Thee, their sole Hope! To turn their affection From Thee, O Perfection! Thou Friend of the Friendless! Thou Beauty endless! Ah, where art thou? My Darling, My One! My foes are near, My Friend is gone. Fainting in sorrow, I'm here all alone. And I know that beside Thee, Redeemer, there's none! IV. Oh, hasten, my Love, To Thy poor, timid dove! They trample with their feet me, They laugh when I mourn; There's no friend to greet me, I am all forlorn! My foes in their passion, And wild frantic ire, Employ sword and fire, And all kinds of tortures, And know no compassion They drive from land to land me: There's none to befriend me. The stars there on high Hear me silently moan. And I know that beside Thee, Redeemer, there's none! V. Didst Thou reject me? Dost love me no more? Didst Thou forget all Thy promises of yore? Oh, rend Thy heavens! Oh, come down again! My enemies may see That I, not in vain, Have trusted in Thee. As once upon Sinai, Come down, my sole Dear In Thy majesty appear! Hurl down from his throne, The maid-servant's son! And strength impart To my fainting heart, Ere sadly I wander To the land unknown. For I know that beside Thee, Redeemer, there's none! [30] Translated by Prof. E. Lowenthal. Noble Ha-Levi, poet by the grace of God humbly we implore thy pardon for so feebly speaking of thee and thy glorious work! Would that we had the gift to speak of thee as thou deservest. Fill us thou sweet singer of Israel, with poetic instinct, and fill us, too, with thy religious zeal and fervor. Fill us with such a love for Israel and her cause, that we too might as thou didst toil for the of our people and our God.[31] [31] Translated by Mrs. Magnus. The above poetic translations are for the most part selected from "Songs of a Semite" by Miss Emma Lazarus. "Oh! city of the world, most chastely fair; In the far west, behold I sigh for thee, And in my yearning love I do bethink me Of bygone ages; of thy ruined fame, Thy vanished splendor of a vanished day. Oh! had I eagles' wings I'd fly to thee, And with my falling tears make moist thine earth. I long for thee; though indeed thy kings Have passed forever; what though where once uprose Sweet balsam trees, the serpent makes his nest; Oh! that I might embrace thy dust, the sod Were sweet as honey to my fond desire." CHAPTER XIII. IN PHILOSOPHY.