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
  Slumbers Teheran. 
See!  Jerusalem is lying
  At his feet o’erthrown—­
Deathly dumb and lifeless staring
  As an earthly tomb. 
And beyond the Nile is washing
  O’er the burning steps
Of the Kingly mausoleums,
  Yellow, shadowless. 
In his tent, the hunt forgotten—­
  Now the Bedouin lies,
Sings the old ancestral legends,