by Emma Lazarus

    Kindle¹ the taper² like the steadfast³ star

    Ablaze⁴ on evening's forehead o'er the earth，

    And add each night a lustre⁵ till afar

    An eightfold splendor⁶ shine above thy hearth⁷.

    Clash， Israel， the cymbals⁸， touch the lyre，

    Blow the brass⁹ trumpet¹⁰ and the harsh-tongued horn；

    Chant psalms¹² 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 shields were hung，

    With crowns and silken spoils， and at the shrine¹³，

    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 Gem¹⁴，

    Eleazar， Help of-God； o'er all his clan¹⁵

    Judas the Lion-Prince， the Avenging¹⁶ Rod，

    Towered in warrior-beauty， uncrowned king，

    Armed with the breastplate and the sword of God，

    Whose praise is： "He received the perishing."

    They who had camped within the mountain-pass，

    Couched on the rock， and tented neath the sky，

    Who saw from Mizpah's heights the tangled¹⁷ grass

    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， wailing¹⁸ 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 doffed²⁰ for garments of delight，

    Week-long the festive²¹ torches shall be burned，

    Music and revelry wed¹⁹ day with night.

    Still ours the dance， the feast， the glorious Psalm¹¹，

    The mystic lights of emblem²²， and the Word.

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

    Where are the lion-warriors of the Lord？

    Clash， Israel， the cymbals， touch the lyre，

    Sound the brass trumpet and the harsh-tongued horn，

    Chant hymns²³ of victory till the heart take fire，

    The Maccabean spirit leap new-born！

上一篇：Gobbo Remembers His Youth 下一篇：Go, lovely rose!