THE JEWISH SOLDIER
(From the Yiddish of Morris Rosenfeld)
Not far from Plevna, fifty and a hundred steps away,
There is a grave, but where it lies no passer-by could say.
The place is all forsaken, a dreary spot and lone;
No wreath lies on that sepulchre, there stands no marble stone;
There grows no grass, no flower, no leaf—yet there in death’s embrace
A hero rests, a soldier brave who came of Jewish race.
Upon the spot where erst he fell in battle he doth lie,
Where Russia celebrates with pride her greatest victory.
A deep, dead silence reigns around; all things have fallen asleep;
But when the clock upon the tower at midnight boometh deep,
A strong east wind begins to blow; it thunders, it appals,
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