The Poems of Emma Lazarus Volume II Part 11

Not only for the sheep without the fold Is the knife whetted, who refuse to share Blessings the shepherd wise doth not withhold Even from the least among his flock--but there Midmost the pale, dissensions manifold, Lamb flaying lamb, fierce sheep that rend and tear.

Master, if thou to thy pride's goal should come, Where wouldst thou throne--at Avignon or Rome?

XXIX.

I handle burning questions, good my lord, Such as may kindle f.a.gots, well I wis.

Your Gospel not denies our older Word, But in a way completes and betters this.

The Law of Love shall supersede the sword, So runs the promise, but the facts I miss.

Already needs this wretched generation, A voice divine--a new, third revelation.

x.x.x.

Two Popes and their adherents fulminate Ban against ban, and to the nether h.e.l.l Condemn each other, while the nations wait Their Christ to thunder forth from Heaven, and tell Who is his rightful Vicar, reinstate His throne, the hideous discord to dispel.

Where shall I seek, master, while such things be, Celestial truth, revealed certainty!

x.x.xI.

Not miracles I doubt, for how dare man, Chief miracle of life's mystery, say HE KNOWS?

How may he closely secret causes scan, Who learns not whence he comes nor where he goes?

Like one who walks in sleep a doubtful span He gropes through all his days, till Death unclose His cheated eyes and in one blinding gleam, Wakes, to discern the substance from the dream.

x.x.xII.

I say not therefore I deny the birth, The Virgin's motherhood, the resurrection, Who know not how mine own soul came to earth, Nor what shall follow death. Man's imperfection May bound not even in thought the height and girth Of G.o.d's omnipotence; neath his direction We may approach his essence, but that He Should dwarf Himself to us--it cannot be!

x.x.xIII.

The G.o.d who balances the clouds, who spread The sky above us like a molten gla.s.s, The G.o.d who shut the sea with doors, who laid The corner-stone of earth, who caused the gra.s.s Spring forth upon the wilderness, and made The darkness scatter and the night to pa.s.s-- That He should clothe Himself with flesh, and move Midst worms a worm--this, sun, moon, stars disprove.

x.x.xIV.

Help me, O thou who wast my boyhood's guide, I bend my exile-weary feet to thee, Teach me the indivisible to divide, Show me how three are one and One is three!

How Christ to save all men was crucified, Yet I and mine are d.a.m.ned eternally.

Instruct me, Sage, why Virtue starves alone, While falsehood step by step ascends the throne.

BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON.

LITTLE POEMS IN PROSE.

I. THE EXODUS. (August 3, 1492.)

1. The Spanish noon is a blaze of azure fire, and the dusty pilgrims crawl like an endless serpent along treeless plains and bleached highroads, through rock-split ravines and castellated, cathedral-shadowed towns.

2. The h.o.a.ry patriarch, wrinkled as an almond sh.e.l.l, bows painfully upon his staff. The beautiful young mother, ivory-pale, well-nigh swoons beneath her burden; in her large enfolding arms nestles her sleeping babe, round her knees flock her little ones with bruised and bleeding feet. "Mother, shall we soon be there?"

3. The youth with Christ-like countenance speaks comfortably to father and brother, to maiden and wife. In his breast, his own heart is broken.

4. The halt, the blind, are amid the train. St.u.r.dy pack-horses laboriously drag the tented wagons wherein lie the sick athirst with fever.

5. The panting mules are urged forward with spur and goad; stuffed are the heavy saddlebags with the wreckage of ruined homes.

6. Hark to the tinkling silver bells that adorn the tenderly-carried silken scrolls.

7. In the fierce noon-glare a lad bears a kindled lamp; behind its net-work of bronze the airs of heaven breathe not upon its faint purple star.

8. n.o.ble and abject, learned and simple, ill.u.s.trious and obscure, plod side by side, all brothers now, all merged in one routed army of misfortune.

9. Woe to the straggler who falls by the wayside! no friend shall close his eyes.

10. They leave behind, the grape, the olive, and the fig; the vines they planted, the corn they sowed, the garden-cities of Andalusia and Aragon, Estremadura and La Mancha, of Granada and Castile; the altar, the hearth, and the grave of their fathers.

11. The townsman spits at their garments, the shepherd quits his flock, the peasant his plow, to pelt with curses and stones; the villager sets on their trail his yelping cur.