Page:Poems of Emma Lazarus vol 2.djvu/51

Lances, and clubs—the unchained beast, the mob.
"Behold the town's new guest!" jeered one who tossed
The half-filled golden wine-cup's contents straight
In the noble pure young face. "What, master Jew!
Must your good friends of Prague break bolts and bars
To gain a peep at this prodigious pearl
You bury in your shell? Forth to the day!
Our Duke himself claims share of your new wealth;
Summons to court the Jew philosopher!"
Then, while some stuffed their pokes with baubles snatched
From board and shelf, or with malignant sword
Slashed the rich Orient rugs, the pictured woof
That clothed the wall; others had seized and bound.
And gagged from speech, the helpless, aged man;
Still others outraged, with coarse, violent hands,
The marble-pale, rigid as stone, strange youth.
Whose eye like struck flint flashed, whose nether lip
Was threaded with a scarlet line of blood.
Where the compressed teeth fixed it to forced calm.
He struggled not while his free limbs were tied.
His beard plucked, torn and spat upon his robe—