Page:Poems of Emma Lazarus vol 2.djvu/68

Rh Was Israel glad in Seville on the day Thou didst renounce him? Then mightst thou indeed Snap finger at whatever thy slanderers say. Lothly must I admit, just then the seed Of Jacob chanced upon a grievous way. Still from the wounds of that red year we bleed. The curse had fallen upon our heads—the sword Was whetted for the chosen of the Lord. There where we flourished like a fruitful palm, We were uprooted, spoiled, lopped limb from limb. A bolt undreamed of out of heavens calm, So cracked our doom. We were destroyed by him Whose hand since childhood we had clasped. With balm Our head had been anointed, at the brim Our cup ran over—now our day was done. Our blood flowed free as water in the sun. Midst the four thousand of our tribe who held Glad homes in Seville, never a one was spared.