of his art. Jehuda Halevi was, indeed, dissatisfied with his life altogether. “My heart is in the East, but I am sunk in the West,” he lamented. He was unhappy because his beloved was far from him; his lady-love was beyond the reach of his earnest gaze. In Heine’s oft-quoted words,
She for whom the Rabbi languished
Was a woe-begone poor darling,
Desolation’s very image,
And her name—Jerusalem.
The eager passion far one sight of Jerusalem grew on him, and dominated the third portion of his life. At length nothing could restrain him; go he would, though he die in the effort. And go he did, and die he did in the effort. The news of his determination spread through Spain, and everywhere hands were held out to restrain him. But his heart lightened as the day of departure came. His poems written at this time are hopeful and full of cheery feeling. In Egypt, a determined
