I cherish the murmur of the brook. I cherish the pang of my
lonely heart."
The following lines, which were also dedicated to Doctor
Rachaeles and which were entitled "Night," betray a similar
mood, perhaps, without distinctly referring to the poet's yearnings
"Hush! the night is speaking. Each twinkle of a star is a word from
the world beyond. It is the language of men who were once here,
but are no more.
A thousand generations of departed souls are speaking to us in
words of twinkling stars. I seem to be one of them. I hear my own
ghost whispering to me: 'Alas!' it says, 'Alas!'"
The three volumes were full of Biblical quaintness, and my
estrangement from the language only added to the bizarre effect
of its terse grammatical construction. I read a number of the
poems, and several of the things in the prose volume. His Hebrew
is truly marvelous, and much of the strength and charm of his
message is bound up in it. As I read his poetry or prose I seemed
to be listening to Jeremiah or Isaiah. The rhythm of his lines is not
the only thing that is lost in my translation.
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