The Poems of Emma Lazarus - LightNovelsOnl.com
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Where is our father, Reuben?
REUBEN.
With Rabbi Jacob. Through the streets they walk, Striving to quell the terror. Ah, too late!
Had he but heeded the prophetic voice, This warning angel led to us in vain!
LIEBHAID.
Brother, be calm. Man your young heart to front Whatever ills the Lord afflicts us with.
What does Prince William? Hastes he not to aid?
REUBEN.
None know his whereabouts. Some say he's held Imprisoned by the Landgrave. Others tell While he was posting with deliverance To Nordhausen, in b.l.o.o.d.y Schnetzen's wake, He was set upon by ruffians--kidnapped--killed.
What do I know--hid till our ruin's wrought.
[LIEBHAID swoons.]
CLAIRE.
Hush, foolish boy. See how your rude words hurt.
Look up, sweet girl; take comfort.
REUBEN.
Pluck up heart: Dear sister, pardon me; he lives, he lives!
LIEBHAID.
G.o.d help me! Shall my heart crack for love's loss That meekly bears my people's martyrdom?
He lives--I feel it--to live or die with me.
I love him as my soul--no more of that.
I am all Israel's now--till this cloud pa.s.s, I have no thought, no pa.s.sion, no desire, Save for my people.
Enter SUSSKIND.
SUSSKIND.
Blessed art thou, my child!
This is the darkest hour before the dawn.
Thou art the morning-star of Israel.
How dear thou art to me--heart of my heart, Mine, mine, all mine to-day! the pious thought, The orient spirit mine, the Jewish soul.
The glowing veins that sucked life-nourishment From Hebrew mother's milk. Look at me, Liebhaid, Tell me you love me. Pity me, my G.o.d!
No fiercer pang than this did Jephthah know.
LIEBHAID.
Father, what wild and wandering words are these?
Is all hope lost?
SUSSKIND.
Nay, G.o.d is good to us.
I am so well a.s.sured the town is safe, That I can weep my private loss--of thee.
An ugly dream I had, quits not my sense, That you, made Princess of Thuringia, Forsook your father, and forswore your race.
Forgive me, Liebhaid, I am calm again, We must be brave--I who besought my tribe To bide their fate in Nordhausen, and you Whom G.o.d elects for a peculiar lot.
With many have I talked; some crouched at home, Some wringing hands about the public ways.
I gave all comfort. I am very weary.
My children, we had best go in and pray, Solace and safety dwell but in the Lord.
[Exeunt.]
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
The City Hall at Nordhausen. Deputies and Burghers a.s.sembling.
To the right, at a table near the President's chair, is seated the Public Scrivener. Enter DIETRICH VON TETTENBORN, and HENRY
SCHNETZEN with an open letter in his hand.
SCHNETZEN.
Didst hear the fellow's words who handed it?
I asked from whom it came, he spoke by rote, "The pepper bites, the corn is ripe for harvest, I come from Eisenach." 'T is some tedious jest.
TETTENBORN.
Doubtless your shrewd friend Prior Peppercorn Masks here some warning. Ask the scrivener To help us to its contents.
SCHNETZEN (to the clerk).
Read me these.
SCRIVENER (reads).
"Beware, Lord Henry Schnetzen, of Susskind's lying tongue! He will thrust a cuckoo's egg into your nest.
[Signed]
ONE WHO KNOWS."
SCHNETZEN.
A cuckoo's egg! that riddle puzzles me; But this I know. Schnetzen is no man's dupe, Much less a Jew's.
[SCHNETZEN and VON TETTENBORN take their seats side by side.]
TETTENBORN.
