Again we noted the
wonderful blue bloom, like a tropical sea, on which a million
points of light were glinting; now we found a delicate shell and
marvelled at its exquisite colors; we turned again to look at
the sea-birds to learn what the unusually loud clamor was about.
At last the shore was gained and we reluctantly turned away from
those rocks where Undine dwells in the silvery stream and
melodies sweeter than those of the Lorelei still called to us
across the waves.
We passed the old Jewish cemetery which gave Longfellow his
theme, "The Old Jewish Burial Ground at Newport." What exiles,
what persecutions have been theirs, yet here we repeat by the
sounding sea the sad history of their race:
How strange it seems! These Hebrews in their graves;
Close by the street of this fair seaport town,
Silent beside the never silent waves,
At rest in all this moving up and down!
The trees are white with dust that o'er their sleep
Wave their broad curtains in the south wind's breath,
While underneath these leafy tents they keep
The long, mysterious exodus of Death.
And these sepulchral stones so old and brown,
That pave with level flags their burial place,
Seem like the tablets of the Law thrown down
And broken by Moses at the Mountain's base.
Gone are the living, but the dead remain
And not neglected, for a hand unseen,
Scattering its bounty, like a summer rain,
Still keeps their graves and their memories green.
How came they here? What burst of Christian hate,
What persecution, merciless and blind
Drove o'er the sea - that desert desolate -
These Ishmaels and Hagars of mankind?
Pride and humiliation hand in hand
Walked with them through the world where'er they went;
Trampled and beaten were they as the sand,
And yet unshaken as the continent.
For in the background figures vague and vast
Of patriarchs and prophets rose sublime,
And all the great traditions of the Past
Then saw reflected in the coming Time.
And then forever with reverted look
The mystic volume of the world they read,
Spelling it backward, like a Hebrew book,
Till life became a Legend of the Dead.
But ah! What once has been shall be no more!
The groaning earth in travail and in pain
Brings forth its races, but does not restore,
And the dead nations never rise again!
Leaving this quiet abode of the dead we were surprised to find
multitudes of people strolling about the town. Of all that
motley throng we met with no one save a solitary fisher out on
the rocks, from which such glorious vistas of the sea may be
had. Then we recalled how few there were who witnessed the
wonderful pageant of the dawn.
