SONGS OF RUSSIA
From near and far, with heavy tread, they gather, one and all.
There is a trampling and a clang, a marching and a hum,
A galloping and whirling, as in a cloud they come;
And of that phantom army each soldier lifts his hand,
And swears, “You died with honor, died for your native land!”
Soon all again is quiet, the night is still as death,
And all that countless army has vanished in a breath.
But still the Jewish soldier on the fortress stands alone,
And every word he utters like a hot grenade is thrown:
“O Russia! from my wife and child you reft me without ruth,
And to defend your honor I perished in my youth.
Why now my wretched family drive forth their bread to find
In distant lands? A heavy curse I send you on the wind!”
Scarce has the curse been uttered—full fraught with pain, alack!—
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