The Maccabaean

(Based on an Actual Occurrence in Poland)

1Piping flutes and clashing cymbals . . .Swarthy gypsies dance and play . . .Pan Brovitzky—Polish Squire—Entertains his guests to-day.

Tinkling glasses, glowing faces, Flashing eyes and sparkling wine . . . Pan Brovitzky's friends are sportsmen Of an old, a noble line.

Guests and hounds at length are ready:Huntsmen fill the squire's court;Cups are emptied; rifles loaded;Horses saddled for the sport . . .

2Sunset nears. The fog grows thicker;Mantled is the wood in gloom;Fast the North wind sweeps the snowdriftsWith a giant-icy broom.

Roads effacing, tracks erasingLeaving of no path a clue . . .Far away beyond the forestPlods his way a weary Jew.

After six long days of workingMidst the toilers of the soil,He goes home to meet the SabbathBringing rest from care and toil.

Dreaming of the welcome Sabbath, Heaven's princes, sweet and mild, Home he hurries, where await him Eager wife and only child . . .

3 The riders are leaving the forest . . . Brovitzky the crowd passing through Sees silent and humbly saluting The tattered and shivering Jew . . .

The sportsman is calling his comradesExcited, and merry, and gay:"More game, my brave hunters, let's bag it,A joke on this Jew let us play . . .

The leeches they spin not and toil not,Yet live on the fat of our land . . ."And loosing his bloodthirsty wolfhoundsHe utters the fatal command . . .

And helpless the horror-struck victimEscapes in despair to the wood;In vain! They are swifter than he isThe hounds that are hungry for blood.

A shriek—and the dogs overtake him;The joke is amusing indeed . . .Afar rings the nobleman's laughter,Accomplished is nobly the deed . . .

4Song, and mirth, and jovial chatterFill the wood and echo loud;Galloping proceed the sportsmenBlood-excited, gay and proud.

The affair was so amusing . . .How he fought with hounds untamed! . . .Not in vain are Pan BrovitzkyAnd his noble neighbors famed . . .

Laughter, mirth and jovial chatter . . . Proud and happy is the crew . . . Bleeding, in the snow-drift buried Still and frozen lies the Jew .. .

5Bright and cozy loomed the cottageNestling by the wood,With her babe a pale young womanAt the window stood.

Pressing tenderly her darlingTo her heaving breast,She was dreaming of her husbandAnd his Sabbath rest.

"Never did he miss a Sabbath— Why to-night so late? . . ." Moaning was the wind and ghostlike Knocking at the gate.

But at last the door sprang open,Frantic peasants ran:"Mute and frozen we discoveredNear the road this man.

Who is he, this hapless stranger, Can you, woman, tell? . . .” * * *

Nevermore the peace of SabbathIn those hearts will dwell . . .