Page:Poems of Emma Lazarus vol 2.djvu/103

86 We all have warning — Oh, the terror of it ! I have not yet my wits ! I am his friend. Is he in peril ? What 's the matter, man ?

Peril ? His peril is no worse than mine, But the rich win compassion. Grod is just, And every man of as is doomed. Alack ! He said it — oh those wild, white eyes !

I pray you, Tell me the way to Siisskind's home.

Sweet master, You look the perfect knight, what can you crave Of us starved, wretched Jews? Leave us in peace. The Judengasse gates will shut anon, Nor ope till mom again for Jew or Gentile.

Here's gold. I am the Prince of Meissen — speak!

Oh pardon I Let me kiss your mantle's edge. This way, great sir, I lead you there myself.