Page:Songs of exile (IA songsofexile00daviiala).pdf/90

86

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: