Joseph Friedlander, comp. The Standard Book of Jewish Verse. 1917.
By Judah Ha-Levi (Trans. Nina Davis)Ode to Zion
Z
The remnant of thy flock, who thine have sought!
From west, from east, from north and south resounds,
Afar and now anear, from all thy bounds,
And no surcease,
“With thee be peace!”
My tears fast welling forth like Hermon’s dew—
O bliss could they but drop on holy hills!
A croaking bird I turn, when through me thrills
Thy desolate state; but when I dream anon,
The Lord brings back thy ev’ry captive son—
A harp straightway
To sing thy lay.
At Bethel and Peniel, triumphs won;
God’s awesome presence there was close to thee,
Whose doors thy Maker, by divine decree,
Opposed as mates
To heaven’s gates.
God’s countenance alone illumined thee
On whose elect He poured His spirit out.
In thee would I my soul pour forth devout!
Thou wert the kingdom’s seat, of God the throne,
And now there dwells a slave race, not thine own,
In royal state,
Where reigned thy great.
Where God to missioned prophets showed His grace!
And who will give me wings? An off’ring meet,
I’d haste to lay upon thy shattered seat,
Thy counterpart—
My bruised heart.
Thy stones caress, the dust within thy gate,
And happiness it were in awe to stand
At Hebron’s graves, the treasures of thy land,
And greet thy woods, thy vine-clad slopes, thy vales,
Greet Abarim and Hor, whose light ne’er pales,
A radiant crown,
Thy priests’ renown.
With honey run the rivers of thy land.
Though bare my feet, my heart’s delight I’d count
To tread my way all o’er thy desert mount,
Where once rose tall
Thy holy hall.
Close-curtained, guarded o’er by cherubim,
My Naz’rite’s crown would I pluck off, and cast
It gladly forth. With curses would I blast
The impious time thy people, diadem-crowned,
Thy Nazirites, did pass, by en’mies bound
With hatred’s bands,
Through unclean lands.
And dragged; thy strong, young eaglets, heav’nward borne,
By foul-mouthed ravens snatched, and all undone.
Can food still tempt my taste? Can light of sun
Seem fair to shine
To eyes like mine?
My loins are weighted down, my heart and brain,
With bitterness from thee. Whene’er I think
Of Aholah, proud northern queen, I drink
Thy wrath, and when my Aholibah forlorn
Comes back to mind—’tis then I quaff thy scorn,
Then, draught of pain,
Thy lees I drain.
Hath ever favor won and fond caress.
Thy faithful lovers’ lives are bound in thine;
They joy in thy security, but pine
And weep in gloom
O’er thy sad doom.
And each in prayer, wherever he may be,
Towards thy demolished portals turns. Exiled,
Dispersed from mount to hill, thy flock defiled
Hath not forgot thy sheltering fold. They grasp
Thy garment’s hem, and trustful, eager, clasp
With outstretched arms,
Thy branching palms.
With thee compare? Or their idolatry
With thy Urim and thy Thummim august?
Who can surpass thy priests, thy saintly just,
Thy prophets bold,
And bards of old?
Thy might alone stands firm without decrease,
Thy Nazarites from age to age abide,
Thy God in thee desireth to reside.
Then happy he who maketh choice of thee
To dwell within thy courts, and waits to see,
And toils to make,
Thy light awake.
The bliss of thy elect shall glad his sight,
In thy felicities shall he rejoice,
In triumph sweet exult, with jubilant voice,
O’er thee, adored,
To youth restored.