The Poems of Emma Lazarus Volume II Part 5

n.o.bly he bears them all,--with tact, skill, zeal, Fulfills each special office, vast or slight, Nor slurs the least minutia,--therewithal Wears such a stately aspect of command, Broad-checked, broad-chested, reverend, sanctified, Haloed with white about the tonsure's rim, With dropped lids o'er the piercing Spanish eyes (Lynx-keen, I warrant, to spy out heresy); Tall, ma.s.sive form, o'ertowering all in presence, Or ere they kneel to kiss the large white hand.

His looks sustain his deeds,--the perfect prelate, Whose void chair shall be taken, but not filled.

You know not, who are foreign to the isle, Haply, what this Red Disk may be, he guards.

'T is the bright blotch, big as the Royal seal, Branded beneath the beard of every Jew.

These vermin so infest the isle, so slide Into all byways, highways that may lead Direct or roundabout to wealth or power, Some plain, plump mark was needed, to protect From the degrading contact Christian folk.

The evil had grown monstrous: certain Jews Wore such a haughty air, had so refined, With super-subtile arts, strict, monkish lives, And studious habit, the coa.r.s.e Hebrew type, One might have elbowed in the public mart Iscariot,--nor suspected one's soul-peril.

Christ's blood! it sets my flesh a-creep to think!

We may breathe freely now, not fearing taint, Praise be our good Lord Bishop! He keeps count Of every Jew, and prints on cheek or chin The scarlet stamp of separateness, of shame.

No beard, blue-black, grizzled or Judas-colored, May hide that d.a.m.ning little wafer-flame.

When one appears therewith, the urchins know Good sport's at hand; they fling their stones and mud, Sure of their game. But most the wisdom shows Upon the unbelievers' selves; they learn Their proper rank; crouch, cringe, and hide,--lay by Their insolence of self-esteem; no more Flaunt forth in rich attire, but in dull weeds, Slovenly donned, would slink past un.o.bserved; Bow servile necks and crook obsequious knees, Chin sunk in hollow chest, eyes fixed on earth Or blinking sidewise, but to apprehend Whether or not the hated spot be spied.

I warrant my Lord Bishop has full hands, Guarding the Red Disk--lest one rogue escape!

THE NEW EZEKIEL.

What, can these dead bones live, whose sap is dried By twenty scorching centuries of wrong?

Is this the House of Israel, whose pride Is as a tale that's told, an ancient song?

Are these ign.o.ble relics all that live Of psalmist, priest, and prophet? Can the breath Of very heaven bid these Bones revive, Open the graves and clothe the ribs of death?

Yea, Prophesy, the Lord hath said. Again Say to the wind, Come forth and breathe afresh, Even that they may live upon these slain, And bone to bone shall leap, and flesh to flesh.

The Spirit is not dead, proclaim the word, Where lay dead bones, a host of armed men stand!

I ope your graves, my people, saith the Lord, And I shall place you living in your land.

THE CHOICE.

I saw in dream the spirits unbegot, Veiled, floating phantoms, lost in twilight s.p.a.ce; For one the hour had struck, he paused; the place Rang with an awful Voice: "Soul, choose thy lot!

Two paths are offered; that, in velvet-flower, Slopes easily to every earthly prize.

Follow the mult.i.tude and bind thine eyes, Thou and thy sons' sons shall have peace with power.

This narrow track skirts the abysmal verge, Here shalt thou stumble, totter, weep and bleed, All men shall hate and hound thee and thy seed, Thy portion be the wound, the stripe, the scourge.

But in thy hand I place my lamp for light, Thy blood shall be the witness of my Law, Choose now for all the ages!"

Then I saw The unveiled spirit, grown divinely bright, Choose the grim path. He turned, I knew full well The pale, great martyr-forehead shadowy-curled, The glowing eyes that had renounced the world, Disgraced, despised, immortal Israel.

THE WORLD'S JUSTICE.

If the sudden tidings came That on some far, foreign coast, Buried ages long from fame, Had been found a remnant lost Of that h.o.a.ry race who dwelt By the golden Nile divine, Spake the Pharaoh's tongue and knelt At the moon-crowned Isis' shrine-- How at reverend Egypt's feet, Pilgrims from all lands would meet!

If the sudden news were known, That anigh the desert-place Where once blossomed Babylon, Scions of a mighty race Still survived, of giant build, Huntsmen, warriors, priest and sage, Whose ancestral fame had filled, Trumpet-tongued, the earlier age, How at old a.s.syria's feet Pilgrims from all lands would meet!

Yet when Egypt's self was young, And a.s.syria's bloom unworn, Ere the mythic Homer sung, Ere the G.o.ds of Greece were born, Lived the nation of one G.o.d, Priests of freedom, sons of Shem, Never quelled by yoke or rod, Founders of Jerusalem-- Is there one abides to-day, Seeker of dead cities, say!

Answer, now as then, THEY ARE; Scattered broadcast o'er the lands, Knit in spirit nigh and far, With indissoluble bands.

Half the world adores their G.o.d, They the living law proclaim, And their guerdon is--the rod, Stripes and scourgings, death and shame.

Still on Israel's head forlorn, Every nation heaps its scorn.

THE SUPREME SACRIFICE.

Well-nigh two thousand years hath Israel Suffered the scorn of man for love of G.o.d; Endured the outlaw's ban, the yoke, the rod, With perfect patience. Empires rose and fell, Around him Nebo was adored and Bel; Edom was drunk with victory, and trod On his high places, while the sacred sod Was desecrated by the infidel.

His faith proved steadfast, without breach or flaw, But now the last renouncement is required.

His truth prevails, his G.o.d is G.o.d, his Law Is found the wisdom most to be desired.

Not his the glory! He, maligned, misknown, Bows his meek head, and says, "Thy will be done!"

THE FEAST OF LIGHTS.

Kindle the taper like the steadfast star Ablaze on evening's forehead o'er the earth, And add each night a l.u.s.tre till afar An eightfold splendor s.h.i.+ne above thy hearth.

Clash, Israel, the cymbals, touch the lyre, Blow the bra.s.s trumpet and the harsh-tongued horn; Chant psalms of victory till the heart takes fire, The Maccabean spirit leap new-born.

Remember how from wintry dawn till night, Such songs were sung in Zion, when again On the high altar flamed the sacred light, And, purified from every Syrian stain, The foam-white walls with golden s.h.i.+elds were hung, With crowns and silken spoils, and at the shrine, Stood, midst their conqueror-tribe, five chieftains sprung From one heroic stock, one seed divine.

Five branches grown from Mattathias' stem, The Blessed John, the Keen-Eyed Jonathan, Simon the fair, the Burst-of Spring, the Gem, Eleazar, Help of-G.o.d; o'er all his clan Judas the Lion-Prince, the Avenging Rod, Towered in warrior-beauty, uncrowned king, Armed with the breastplate and the sword of G.o.d, Whose praise is: "He received the peris.h.i.+ng."

They who had camped within the mountain-pa.s.s, Couched on the rock, and tented neath the sky, Who saw from Mizpah's heights the tangled gra.s.s Choke the wide Temple-courts, the altar lie Disfigured and polluted--who had flung Their faces on the stones, and mourned aloud And rent their garments, wailing with one tongue, Crushed as a wind-swept bed of reeds is bowed,

Even they by one voice fired, one heart of flame, Though broken reeds, had risen, and were men, They rushed upon the spoiler and o'ercame, Each arm for freedom had the strength of ten.

Now is their mourning into dancing turned, Their sackcloth doffed for garments of delight, Week-long the festive torches shall be burned, Music and revelry wed day with night.

Still ours the dance, the feast, the glorious Psalm, The mystic lights of emblem, and the Word.

Where is our Judas? Where our five-branched palm?