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No word was written on the vase of earth;
But still the youngest son advanced his claim;
He oped the urn amid the courtiers' mirth,
And naught was in it save God's holy name.
The Sultan to the throng of courtiers turned,
And asked which of the vases weighed the most.
Various the thoughts which in their bosoms burned,
And came to speech among the glittering host.
The warriors said, "The golden vase of Might";
The poets said "The amber vase of Fame ";
The sages said, "The vase emblem of Right,—
The globe is lighter than God's written name.”
Then said the Sultan, "Sons, remember well
The meaning of the lesson read to-day:
When the scales tremble betwixt good and ill,
The name of God will all the rest outweigh."

W. R. ALGER.

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SUSSKIND OF TRIMBERG

Now into the high hall the proud poets troop From the tiled palace-court in old Trimberg, the town,

And with light, gallant mien the gay courtiers stoop In their bows to the dames, all of fairest renown. And the flicker of gayety brightens the room;

For it gleams like the jewels, or silken brocade; While the clanking of swords and of stirrups con

sume

Half the love-doting sallies of matron and maid.

This is an occasion when rhymers appear

To vie in a tourney of ballad and song, And the revelry hushes, the judges are here,

Till the stillness of evening broods over the throng.

For each bard in his place is awaiting his cue

To arouse the applause of the court and its train, And he hums in his heart just a stanza or two

Of the rhymes he has wrought at the beck of the Thane.

First they called on the bard whose strong minnesongs led

Many sore-footed pilgrims in quest of the grail, And he rises with honor, a crown on his head, And sings well of castle's defence and assail. Then to love-winning eyes of his lady he turns,

And reverts to a knight who has led every quest In the siege of her heart, for whose conquest he yearns,

As a monk yearns in prayer for the joys of the blest.

He ceased, and the plaudits arose to the roof, And around the vast hall rolled his praise and his name;

Lifted up in his pride, from his fellows aloof,

He gives them a challenge to mount to his fame. Almost heavy of heart, then, the next poet sings The song he has woven to dazzle the court, Tho' deftly he wakens the musical strings

Till his harp and his voice in one rapture disport.

SUSSKIND OF TRIMBERG

Each poet wins favor, delightfully heard;

313

All the knights and the ladies are brave in their

praise

Of the favorite tune, or the apt chosen word,

In the rollicking troubadours' spirited lays. But now one unheralded bard is espied,

Lately shunned with a growl by the insolent crew, And stung by his daring in crossing their pride, They hotly demanded, "What, ho! hear the Jew!"

Full proudly he rose when he thus was proclaimed, Brave Susskind of Trimberg, the Troubadour

Jew;

Standing calmly before them, unknown, unashamed, He would lift their disdain as the sun lifts the

dew.

But becalmed and at gaze, like a couchant wild beast,

Ere it leaps unaware on its innocent prey,
And inwardly chafed that he came to their feast,
Angry and silent and scornful were they.

"My song is of love that should gladden all times, And that love is the book of the law of my sires. We have wandered with this through the seasons and climes;

Long ago by the Rhine we enkindled our fires. We were here when the eagles of Rome were elate; We encamped amid desolate ruins and mounds; So of Trimberg I sing, and the woods of my State, Of Bavaria beloved and what in it abounds.

"Before Germany was, then my fathers were here, And they sang of a peace that is sweeter than

wine,

With a harp that was David's, and not with the spear,

They greeted the vales of the Saale and the Rhine. Oh, this land is my country, these forests my home! Here my altars of praise and of household were

set.

Overflowing with love for my townsmen I come,
And I offer a friendship that none shall regret.

“Give me heed now, ye bards, for like Walter I sing,

And a troubadour's mate is the good man and just.

All the children of men are controlled by one King, And He fathers the living and those in the dust. Your songs are of bloodshed, and bloodshed is death;

Sing ye rather the rich who are friends to the

poor;

My songs are of peace, and have balm in their breath

That should soothe the afflictions that many en

dure.

"And ye who exult in the pride of your sires, Ye prize not, ye heed not, the greeting I bring. Ye can only think scorn of my kindly desires, And would silence my lays when my heart bids me sing.

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Made a stranger and outcast, as each of my folk, Is there aught that ye know for which I can atone?

Must the woes of my fathers be also my yoke,

As I pass in and out here, scarce noticed, alone?" But the court, in its splendid and festal array, Was at loss for reply, although touched to the

core,

And seemingly deaf to his resonant lay,

They saw him bow low and pass out at the door. With a heart that was sad, he strode forth from the

gate

Of the town that he loved, into woodland and

glen,

This minstrel of Judah, elected by fate

To utter true songs to the children of men.

O Susskind of Trimberg! O Troubadour Jew!

The harp that was David's was held in thy hand! And the words thou hast chanted, tho' broken and

few,

Have sustained us and cheered us in far distant

lands.

Praise for Susskind, his country beloved as his home,

And for neighbors and kinsfolk-all peoples are

one.

The Father who formed us, to all does He come, And His blessing abides when a good deed is

done.

RABBI JOSEPH LEISER