 | The poetical works of John Godfrey Saxe |  |
THE WANDERING JEW.
The tradition of the Wandering Jew is very old and popular in every country of Europe, and is the theme of many romances in prose and verse. The old Spanish writers make the narrative as diabolical and revolting as possible; while the French and Flemish authors soften the legend (as in the present ballad) into a pathetic story of sin, suffering, and genuine repentance.
The tradition of the Wandering Jew is very old and popular in every country of Europe, and is the theme of many romances in prose and verse. The old Spanish writers make the narrative as diabolical and revolting as possible; while the French and Flemish authors soften the legend (as in the present ballad) into a pathetic story of sin, suffering, and genuine repentance.
A BALLAD.
Come list, my dear,
And you shall hear
About the wonderful Wandering Jew,
Who night and day,
The legends say,
Is taking a journey he never gets through.
And you shall hear
About the wonderful Wandering Jew,
Who night and day,
The legends say,
Is taking a journey he never gets through.
What is his name,
Or whence he came,
Or whither the weary wanderer goes;
Or why he should stray
In this singular way,
Many have marveled, but nobody knows.
Or whence he came,
Or whither the weary wanderer goes;
Or why he should stray
In this singular way,
Many have marveled, but nobody knows.
Though oft, indeed
(As you may read
In ancient histories quaint and true),
A man is seen
Of haggard mien
Whom people call the Wandering Jew.
(As you may read
In ancient histories quaint and true),
A man is seen
Of haggard mien
Whom people call the Wandering Jew.
Once in Brabant,
With garments scant,
And shoeless feet, a stranger appeared;
His step was slow,
And white as snow
Were his waving locks and flowing beard.
With garments scant,
And shoeless feet, a stranger appeared;
His step was slow,
And white as snow
Were his waving locks and flowing beard.
His cheek was spare,
His head was bare;
And little he recked of heat or cold;
Misfortune's trace
Was in his face,
And he seemed at least a century old.
His head was bare;
And little he recked of heat or cold;
Misfortune's trace
Was in his face,
And he seemed at least a century old.
“Now, goodman, bide,”
The people cried,
“The night with us,—it were surely best;
The wind is cold,
And thou art old,
And sorely needest shelter and rest!”
The people cried,
“The night with us,—it were surely best;
The wind is cold,
And thou art old,
And sorely needest shelter and rest!”
“Thanks! thanks!” said he,
“It may not be
That I should tarry the night with you;
I cannot stay;
I must away,
For I, alas! am the Wandering Jew!”
“It may not be
That I should tarry the night with you;
I cannot stay;
I must away,
For I, alas! am the Wandering Jew!”
“We oft have read,”
The people said,
“Thou bearest ever a nameless woe;
Now prithee tell
How it befell
That thou art always wandering so?”
The people said,
“Thou bearest ever a nameless woe;
Now prithee tell
How it befell
That thou art always wandering so?”
“The time would fail
To tell my tale,
And yet a little, ere I depart,
Would I relate
About my fate,
For some, perhaps, may lay it to heart.
To tell my tale,
And yet a little, ere I depart,
Would I relate
About my fate,
For some, perhaps, may lay it to heart.
“When but a youth
(And such, in sooth,
Are ever of giddy and wanton mood),
With tearless eye
I saw pass by
The Saviour bearing a hateful rood.
(And such, in sooth,
Are ever of giddy and wanton mood),
With tearless eye
I saw pass by
The Saviour bearing a hateful rood.
“And when he stooped.
And, groaning, drooped
And staggered and fell beneath the weight,
I cursed his name,
And cried, ‘For shame!
Move on, blasphemer, and meet thy fate!’
And, groaning, drooped
And staggered and fell beneath the weight,
I cursed his name,
And cried, ‘For shame!
Move on, blasphemer, and meet thy fate!’
131
“He raised his head,
And, smiling, said:
‘Move on thyself! In sorrow and pain,
When I am gone
Shalt thou move on,
Nor rest thy foot till I come again!’
And, smiling, said:
‘Move on thyself! In sorrow and pain,
When I am gone
Shalt thou move on,
Nor rest thy foot till I come again!’
“Alas! the time
That saw my crime,—
'T was more than a thousand years ago!
And since that hour
Some inward power
Has kept me wandering to and fro.
That saw my crime,—
'T was more than a thousand years ago!
And since that hour
Some inward power
Has kept me wandering to and fro.
“I fain would die
That I might lie
With those who sleep in the silent tomb;
But not for me
Is rest,—till He
Shall come to end my dreadful doom.
That I might lie
With those who sleep in the silent tomb;
But not for me
Is rest,—till He
Shall come to end my dreadful doom.
“The pestilence
That hurries hence
A thousand souls in a single night
Brings me no death
Upon its breath,
But passes by in its wayward flight.
That hurries hence
A thousand souls in a single night
Brings me no death
Upon its breath,
But passes by in its wayward flight.
“The storm that wrecks
A hundred decks,
And drowns the shuddering, shrieking crew,
Still leaves afloat
The fragile boat
That bears the life of the Wandering Jew.
A hundred decks,
And drowns the shuddering, shrieking crew,
Still leaves afloat
The fragile boat
That bears the life of the Wandering Jew.
“But I must away;
I cannot stay;
Nor further suffer a moment's loss;
Heed well the word
That ye have heard,—
Nor spurn the Saviour who bore the Cross!”
I cannot stay;
Nor further suffer a moment's loss;
Heed well the word
That ye have heard,—
Nor spurn the Saviour who bore the Cross!”
| The poetical works of John Godfrey Saxe | |