by the rillside, All the earth is decked with green. Once again the sun beguiles Moves the drowsy world to smiles. See! the sun, with mother-kiss Wakes her child to joy and bliss.

Now each human feeling presses Flow’r like, upward to the sun, Softly, through the heart’s recesses, Steal sweet fancies, one by one. Golden dreams, their wings outshaking, Now are making Realms celestial, All of azure, New life waking, Bringing treasure Out of measure For the soul’s delight and pleasure.

Who then, tell me, old and sad, Nears us with a heavy tread? On the sward in verdure clad, Lonely is the strange newcomer, Wearily he walks and slow,— His sweet springtime and his summer Faded long and long ago!

Say, who is it yonder walks Past the hedgerows decked anew, While a fearful spectre stalks By his side the woodland through? ’Tis our ancient friend the Jew! No sweet fancies hover round him, Naught but terror and distress. Wounds unhealed Where lie revealed Ghosts of former recollections, Corpses, corpses, old affections, Buried youth and happiness.

Brier and blossom bow to meet him In derision round his path; Gloomily the hemlocks greet him And the crow screams out in wrath. Strange the birds and strange the flowers, Strange the sunshine seems and dim, Folk on earth and heav’nly powers!— Lo, the May is strange to him!

Little flowers, it were meeter If ye made not quite so bold: Sweet ye are, but oh, far sweeter Knew he in the days of old! Oranges by thousands glowing Filled his groves on either hand,— All the plants were God’s own sowing In his happy, far-off land!

Ask the cedars on the mountain! Ask them, for they know him well! Myrtles green by Sharon’s fountain, In whose shade he loved to dwell! Ask the Mount of Olives beauteous,— Ev’ry tree by ev’ry stream!— One and all will answer duteous For the fair and ancient dream....

O’er the desert and the pleasance Gales of Eden softly blew, And the Lord His loving Presence Evermore declared anew. Angel children at their leisure Played in thousands round His tent, Countless thoughts of joy and pleasure God to His beloved sent.

There in bygone days and olden, From a wond’rous harp and golden Charmed he music spirit-haunting, Holy, chaste and soul-enchanting. Never with the ancient sweetness, Never in its old completeness Shall it sound: his dream is ended, On a willow-bough suspended.

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