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SONGS OF EXILE

Wast thou an omen that from noble state
The Law should lowly be?
And lo! a parable will I relate
Befitting thee.

'Tis of a king I tell, who sat before
The banquet of his son
And wept: for 'mid the mirth he death foresaw;
So thou hast done.

Cast off thy robe; in sackcloth folds of night,
O Sinai! cover thee;
Don widow's garb, discard thy raiment bright
Of royalty.

Lo, I will weep for thee until my tears
Swell as a stream and flow
Unto the graves where thy two princely seers
Sleep calm below: