Emma Lazarus

“ If grief came in such unimagined wise, How may joy dawn? In what undreamed-of hour, May the light break with splendor of surprise, Disclosing all the mercy and the power? A baseless hope, yet vivid, keen, and bright, As the wild lightning in the starless night. She knows not whence it came, nor where it passed, But it revealed, in one brief flash of flame, A heaven so high, a world so rich and vast, That, full of meek contrition and mute shame, In patient silence hopefully withdrawn, She bows her head, and bides the certain dawn. ”

“ But he withdrawing not: "Will any life Suffice ye for Admetus?" "Yea," the crones Three times repeated. "We know no such names As king or queen or slave: we want but life. Begone, and vex us in our work no more." With broken blessings, inarticulate joy And tears, Alcestis thanked Hyperion, And worshipped. Then he gently: "Who will die, So that the king may live?" And she: "You ask? Nay, who will live when life clasps hands with shame, And death with honor? Lo, you are a god; You cannot know the highest joy of life,— To leave it when 't is worthier to die. ”

“ Not long, I feel, May these old horny eyes be blest with sight Of thy full-flowering grace, these wrinkled lips Be pressed against thy brow. I am no more What I have been; at times both hand and brain Refuse their task. Myself will follow soon— The better part of me already dead. So the worm claims us by slow torture, child. Thou'lt bear with me, if as to-day I wrong Thy gentle spirit? MARIA. Father, no more, no more! You break my heart. RIBERA. Mine angel-child, weep not So bitterly. ”

“ One who through conquered trouble had grown wise, To read the grief unspoken, unexpressed, The misery of the blank and heavy eyes,— Or through youth's infinite compassion guessed The heavy burden,—such a one brought rest, And bade her lay aside her doubts and fears, While the hard pain dissolved in blessed tears. X. Patience. The passion of despair is quelled at last; The cruel sense of undeserved wrong, The wild self-pity, these are also past; She knows not what may come, but she is strong; She feels she hath not aught to lose nor gain, Her patience is the essence of all pain. ”

“ For me The night was brief, rich, beautiful, and strange As a bright dream. DON JOHN. I will gainsay you not. A beauteous soul can shed her proper glory On mean surroundings. I have likewise dreamed, Nor am I yet awake. This morn hath been A feast for mind and eye. Yon shepherd-prince, Whom angels visit in his sleep, shall crown Your father's brow with a still fresher laurel, And link in equal fame the Spanish artist With the Lord's chosen prophet. RIBERA. That may be, For in the form of that wayfarer I drew myself. ”

“ DON RAFAEL. "I would not have," he said, "Tears, nor the black pall, nor the wormy grave, Grief's hideous panoply I would not have Round me when I am dead. "Music and flowers and light, And choric dances to guitar and flute, Be these around me when my lips are mute, Mine eyes are sealed from sight. "So let me lie one day, One long, eternal day, in sunshine bathed, In cerements of silken tissue swathed, Smothered 'neath flowers of May. "One perfect day of peace, Or ere clean flame consume my fleshly veil, My life—a gilded vapor—shall exhale, Brief as a sigh—and cease. ”

“ GENTLEMAN. Hark to the end. 'T would move all men whose veins Flow not clear water. He hath carried off The Rose of Naples. LORENZO. What wouldst thou say? Speak out! In God's name, who hath followed him? GENTLEMAN. Ah, thou'rt roused. Thy master hath been robbed—the Spagnoletto— Maria of the Golden Locks—his daughter. LORENZO. How is this known? 'T is a foul slander forged By desperate malice. What! in the night, you say?— She whose bright name was clean as gold, whose heart Shone a fixed star of loyal love and duty Beside her father's glory! ”

“ Light and sound and odors sweet Fill the street; Gypsy girls are selling flowers. Lean hidalgos turn aside, Amorous-eyed, 'Neath the grim cathedral towers. Oh, to be in Spain to-day, Where the May Recks no whit of good or evil, Love and only love breathes she! Oh, to be 'Midst the olive-rows of Seville! Or on such a day to glide With the tide Of the berylline lagoon, Through the streets that mirror heaven, Crystal paven, In the warm Venetian noon. At the prow the gondolier May not hear, May not see our furtive kiss; But he lends with cadenced strain The refrain To our ripe and silent bliss. ”

“ Sunshine, cordial as a kiss, Poureth bliss In this craving soul of mine, And my heart her flower-cup Lifteth up, Thirsting for the draught divine. Swift the liquid golden flame Through my frame Sets my throbbing veins afire. Bright, alluring dreams arise, Brim mine eyes With the tears of strong desire. All familiar scenes anear Disappear— Homestead, orchard, field, and wold. Moorish spires and turrets fair Cleave the air, Arabesqued on skies of gold. Low, my spirit, this May morn, Outward borne, Over seas hath taken wing: Where the mediaeval town, Like a crown, Wears the garland of the Spring. ”

“ While her heart trembles 'neath those dim, deep skies, As the quick sea that 'neath the globed moon lies. Where her eyes rest the full-orbed evening star Burns with white flame: it beckons, shrinks, dilates. She, dazzled by that shining world afar, May not withdraw her gaze: breathless she waits. Some promised joy from Heaven's very gates Unto her soul seems proffered. When shall be The bright fulfilment of that star's decree? Nor glad nor sad is she: she doth not know That through the city's throng one threads his way, Thrilled likewise by that planet's mystic glow, And hastes to seek her. ”

“ Why, girl, my task is sport beside his toil! If my limbs be weary, I sleep; but I have seen him sit before his canvas with straining eyes and the big beads standing on his brow. When at last he gave o'er, and I have smoothed his pillow, and served and soothed him, what sleep could he snatch? His brain is haunted with evil visions, whereof some be merely of his own imaginings, and others the phantoms of folk who are living or have lived, and who rouse his jealousy or mayhap his remorse, God only knows! ”

“ Vile slaves! a woman teaches you to die. Intrepid, with exalted steadfast soul, Scorn in my heart, and love unutterable, I yield the Fates my life, and like a god Command them to revere that sacred head. Thus kiss I thrice the dear, blind, holy eyes, And bid them see; and thrice I kiss this brow, And thus unfasten I the pale, proud lips With fruitful kissings, bringing love and life, And without fear or any pang, I breathe My soul in him." "Alcestis, I awake. I hear, I hear—unspeak thy reckless words! For, lo! thy life-blood tingles in my veins, And streameth through my body like new wine. ”

“ DON JOHN. To-morrow, then. Or I should say to-day, for dawn is nigh. RIBERA. And still we trespass. Be it as you will; We are your servants. MARIA. So, my lord, good-night. [Exeunt MARIA and RIBERA.] DON JOHN (alone) . Gods, what a haughty devil rules that man! As though two equal princes interchanged Imperial courtesies! The Spagnoletto Thanks John of Austria! Louis of France Might so salute may father. By heaven, I know not What patience or what reverence withheld My enchafed spirit in bounds of courtesy. Nay, it was she, mine angel, whose mere aspect Is balm and blessing. ”

“ But thou, Juan, What was my sin to thee, save too much love? Oh, would to God my back were crooked with age, My smooth cheek seamed with wrinkles, my bright hair Hoary with years, and my quick blood impeded By sluggish torpor, so were I near the end Of woes that seem eternal! I am strong— Death will not rescue me. Within my veins I feel the vigorous pulses of young life, Refusing my release. My heart at times Rebels against the habit of despair, And, ere I am aware, has wandered back, Among forbidden paths. What prayer, what penance, Will shrive me clean before the sight of heaven? ”

“ Has he not lived to outstrip your swift hopes? What mother can refuse a second birth To such a son? But ye denying him, What after-offering may appease the gods? What joy outweigh the grief of this one day? What clamor drown the hours' myriad tongues, Crying, 'Your son, your son? where is your son, Unnatural mother, timid foolish man?" Then Pheres gravely: "These are graceless words From you our daughter. Life is always life, And death comes soon enough to such as we. We twain are old and weak, have served our time, And made our sacrifices. ”

“ Shall these Undo what has been done?—make whole the heart Thy crime hath snapt in twain?—restore the wits Thy sin hath scattered? No! Thy punishment Is huge as thine offence. Death shall not help, Neither shall pious life wash out the stain. Living thou'rt doomed, and dead, thou shalt be lost, Beyond salvation. MARIA (springing to her feet) . Impious priest, thou liest! God will have mercy—as my father would, Could he but see me in mine agony! [The MONK throws back his cowl and discovers himself as the SPAGNOLETTO. MARIA utters a piercing cry and throws herself speechless at his feet.] ”

“ Heavy hangs the tasseled corn, Sighing for the cordial morn; But the marshy-meadows bare, Love this spectral-lighted air, Drink the dews and lift their song, Chirp of crickets all night long; Earth and sea enchanted lie 'Neath that moon-usurped sky. To the faces of our friends Unfamiliar traits she lends— Quaint, white witch, who looketh down With a glamour all her own. Hushed are laughter, jest, and speech, Mute and heedless each of each, In the glory wan we sit, Visions vague before us flit; Side by side, yet worlds apart, Heart becometh strange to heart. ”

“ Even I, who hold So many dear assurances, who hear Still ringing in mine ears such sacred vows, Am haunted with an unaccustomed doubt, Not wonted to go hand-in-hand with joy. A gloomy omen greets me with the morn; I, who recoil from pain, must strike and wound. What may this mean? Help me, ye saints of heaven And holy mother, for my strength is naught! She falls on her knees and bursts into tears. Reenter LORENZO. LORENZO (aside) . Thank heaven, I came. How have I wrung her soul! A noble love, forsooth! A blind, brute passion, That being denied, is swift transformed to hate No whit more cruel. ”

“ Earth, sun-quickened, swoons for bliss 'Neath his kiss, Breathless in a trance divine. Nature pauses from her task, Just to bask In these lull'd transfigured hours. The green leaf nor stays nor goes, But it grows Royaler than mid-June's flowers. Such impassioned silence fills All the hills Burning with unflickering fire— Such a blood-red splendor stains The leaves' veins, Life seems one fulfilled desire. While earth, sea, and heavens shine, Heart of mine, Say, what art thou waiting for? Shall the cup ne'er reach the lip, But still slip Till the life-long thirst give o'er? ”

“ What painted images of folk half-blind Be these who pass her by, as vague as air? What go they seeking? there is naught to find. Let them come nigh and hearken her despair. A mocking lie is all she once believed, And where her heart throbbed, is a cold dead stone. This is a doom we never preconceived, Yet now she cannot fancy it undone. Part of herself, part of the whole hard scheme, All else is but the shadow of a dream. VI. Grief. There is a hungry longing in the soul, A craving sense of emptiness and pain, She may not satisfy nor yet control, For all the teeming world looks void and vain. ”