Page:Poems of Emma Lazarus vol 2.djvu/232

214 Deft at fence, unmatched with zither. Miniature of knightly virtues. Truly an unfailing blessing To his pious, widowed mother, To the beautiful, lone matron Who forswore the world to rear him. For her beauty hath but ripened In such wise as the pomegranate Putteth by her crown of blossoms, For her richer crown of fruitage. Still her hand is claimed and courted, Still she spurns her proudest suitors, Doting on a phantom passion, And upon her boy Pedrillo. Like a saint lives Donna Clara, First at matins, last at vespers. Half her fortune she expendeth Buying masses for the needy. Visiting the poor afflicted. Infinite is her compassion, Scorning not the Moorish beggar. Nor the wretched Jew despising. And — a scandal to the faithful, E'en she hath been known to welcome