is a superior type of the neo-Hebrew poet. In him Occidentalism and Hebraism are united. The Jewish national consciousness is strongly developed, which is natural in view of the local influences.
The best known, though not the most skilled exponent of Hebrew Zionistic poetry is that Omar Kayyam among Hebrew—Naphtali Herz Imher. He draws his inspiration partly from heaven and partly from the "cup." He easily deserves to be styled as he is: the "National Hebrew Poet." His "Hatikvah," written more than twenty-five years ago, voices the common hope of a scattered people. It was Ol'phant's Christian enthusiasm for a return of the Jews to Palestine, that touched
the heart-strings of the erratic Imber. His soul caught fire, and, in the hope of reviving the dying aspirations of his people, he wrote the memorable song. There is vigor and freshness in every line.
More than a quarter of a century has passed since Imber's "Hope" was written and stamped upon the hearts of the awakened Jews. On the twenty-fifth anniversary of the composition of the famous song, Imber wrote another, entitled "On to the East!" (Kadimah). It is evident then, that after twenty-five years of "Hoping," the Jews are still on their way "To the East." Slow as their progress may be, Imber tells them not to despair, to be always prepared.
IN THE GARDEN OF THE DEAD.
Translated from the Yiddish of Morris Rosenfeld.
STILL is the night—the bright moon is agleaming, The stars on the firmament twinkle and beam ;—— Mid life and mid death, lo! the dream-god now bears me, And hark, what in slumbering softly, I dream!
A cemetery ancient—graves scattered, dispersed—Great joys are buried here sorrows beside;Here the good sleep and the wicked ones lie here,The masters here rest with the slaves side by side.
Here and there softly a willow stands ‘dreaming, Swung by the zephyr the boughs rock and sway; I stand there depressed and hearken—but hear naught. The dead, oh, the dead—they are silent for aye.
I stand there and gaze o'er the tombstones around me,The hundred low mounds, yea, the silent;Graves many I see there, the graves—pray mistake not—Of rich and of poor and of pious.
Softly a zephyr the graves now caresses,Above them the leaves rock and whisper;"Be hallowed your rest in the graves, O ye sleepers!Rest holy, all, in your deep beds there!"


