Leopold Zunz

TO thee o’er whose fresh-closed tomb

The early violets and snowdrops bloom,

With these, for thee, I interweave

This votive wreath of laurel leaf.

Thine was a spirit of an earlier age,

When nobler triumphs graced the stage,

Whereon our country’s heroes moved,

Who gloriously their guerdon proved.

And thine it was to flash a clearer light

O’er the tragedy of an age-long night,

And trace, in living words, the story

Of Israel’s virile thought and former glory.

Wakening the echoes of a far-off time,

In strains scarce less sublime,

Than those the halls of Zion rang,

When, o’er the land her minstrels sang.

Leaving to Israel a lingering ray,

A promised dawn of a brighter day,

Long o’er thy mem’ry a nation’s love will dwell,

Nor soon nor yet will bid a last farewell.