The Poems of Emma Lazarus - LightNovelsOnl.com
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So! lean on me--we have little time to lose.
[Exeunt.]
ACT V.
SCENE I.
A Room in Susskind's House.
LIEBHAID, CLAIRE, REUBEN.
LIEBHAID.
The air hangs sultry as in mid-July.
Look forth, Claire; moves not some big thundercloud Athwart the sky? My heart is sick.
CLAIRE.
Nay, Liebhaid.
The clear May sun is s.h.i.+ning, and the air Blows fresh and cordial from the budding hills.
LIEBHAID.
Reuben, what is 't o'clock. Our father stays.
The midday meal was cold an hour agone.
REUBEN.
'T is two full hours past noon; he should be here.
Ah see, he comes. Great G.o.d! what woe has chanced?
He totters on his staff; he has grown old Since he went forth this morn.
Enter SUSSKIND.
LIEBHAID.
Father, what news?
SUSSKIND.
The Lord have mercy! Vain is the help of man.
Children, is all in order? We must start At set of sun on a long pilgrimage.
So wills the Landgrave, so the court decrees.
LIEBHAID.
What is it, father? Exile?
SUSSKIND.
Yea, just that.
We are banished from our vexed, uncertain homes, 'Midst foes and strangers, to a land of peace, Where joy abides, where only comfort is.
Banished from care, fear, trouble, life--to death.
REUBEN.
Oh horror! horror! Father, I will not die.
Come, let us flee--we yet have time for flight.
I'll bribe the sentinel--he will ope the gates.
Liebhaid, Claire, Father! let us flee! Away To some safe land where we may nurse revenge.
SUSSKIND.
Courage, my son, and peace. We may not flee.
Didst thou not see the spies who dogged my steps?
The gates are thronged with citizens and guards.
We must not flee--G.o.d wills that we should die.
LIEBHAID.
Said you at sunset?
SUSSKIND.
So they have decreed.
CLAIRE.
Oh why not now? Why spare the time to warn?
Why came they not with thee to ma.s.sacre, Leaving no agony betwixt the sentence And instant execution? That were mercy!
Oh, my prophetic father!
SUSSKIND.
They allow Full five hours' grace to shrive our souls with prayer.
We shall a.s.semble in the Synagogue, As on Atonement Day, confess our sins, Recite the Kaddish for the Dead, and chant Our s.h.i.+bboleth, the Unity of G.o.d, Until the supreme hour when we shall stand Before the mercy-seat.
LIEBHAID.
In what dread shape Approaches death?
SUSSKIND.
Nerve your young hearts, my children.
We shall go down as G.o.d's three servants went Into the fiery furnace. Not again Shall the flames spare the true-believers' flesh.
The anguish shall be fierce and strong, yet brief.
Our spirits shall not know the touch of pain, Pure as refined gold they shall issue safe From the hot crucible; a pleasing sight Unto the Lord. Oh, 't is a rosy bed Where we shall couch, compared with that whereon They lie who kindle this accursed blaze.
Ye shrink? ye would avert your martyred brows From the immortal crowns the angels offer?
