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

34 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—