THE PALM BRANCH OF PALESTINE

Palm branch of Palestine, oh tell me,
In that far distant home-land fair,
Wast rooted in the mountain gravel
Or sprung from some vale garden rare?

Once o'er the Jordan's silver billows
Fond kissed with thee the Eastern sun?
Have the grim gales 'neath starry heavens
Swept over thee from Lebanon?

And was a trembling prayer soft whispered,
A father's song sung over thee--
When from the parent stem dis-severed
By some poor aborigine?

And is the palm tree ever standing,
Amid the fierce glare beating down,
The pilgrim in the desert luring
To shelter 'neath her shadow crown?

Perhaps the leaves ancestral shiver
In unappeased parting pain,
The branch conceals a homesick longing
For desert wilderness again?

Was it a pilgrim who first brought thee
To the cold North, with pious hand?
Who mused upon his home in sadness,
And dost thou bear his tear's hot brand?

Was it Jehovah's favored warrior,
His gleaming head transfigured bright,
For God and man true-sworn, devoted
Unto the victory of light?

Before the wonder-working image
Thou stand'st as heaven's defence divine,
O branch from out that holy country,
The sanctuary's shield and sign!

It darkens, golden lamp light splendors
Enveil the cross, the sacred shrine--
The peace of God is wafted o'er us
From thee, oh branch of Palestine!

LERMONTOFF.

THE DISPUTE

Once 'mid group of native mountains
Hot dispute arose,
Elbrus, angry, did with Kasbek
Argument propose.
"Now beware!" the hoary Elbrus,
Warning did exclaim--
"To enslave thee and enthrall thee
Is man's evil aim!
Smoking huts he will be building
On thy mountain side,
Loudly through thy clefts resounding
Ring his hatchet wide!
The swift swinging iron shovel
Breast of stone will part,
Of thy bronze and stone will rob thee--
Pierce thee to the heart.
Caravans, e'en now, are passing
Through thy rocks afar,
Where before the fogs were swimming--
And the Eagle Tsar.
Ah, mankind is bold and fearless!
Dreads no lifted hand,
Guard thee! populous and mighty
Is the morning land!"
"Threatens me the East?" then queried
Kasbek with disdain,
"There eight centuries already
Sleeping, man has lain.
See, in shadow the Grusine
Gloats in lustful greed,
On his many coloured raiment
Glints the winey bead!
Drugged with fumes of his nargileh,
Dreams the Mussulman--
By the fountains on his divan