Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/111

Rh Towards the remorseful knight and pressed his hand. But shrinking down, he drew his fingers back From the kind palm, and kissed the friar s feet. &quot; Thy pure hand is anointed, and can heal. The cool, calm pressure brings back sanity, And what serene, past joys ! yet touch me not, My contact is pollution,—hear, O hear, While I disburden my charged soul.&quot; He lay, Casting about for words and strength to speak. &quot; O father, is there help for such a one,&quot; In tones of deep abasement he began, &quot; Who hath rebelled against the laws of God, With pride no less presumptuous than his Who lost thereby his rank in heaven ? &quot; &quot; My son, There is atonement for all sins, or slight Or difficult, proportioned to the crime. Though this may be the staining of thy hands With blood of kinsmen or of fellow-men.&quot; &quot; My hands are white, my crime hath found no name, This side of hell ; yet though my heart-strings snap To live it over, let me make attempt. I was a knight and bard, with such a gift Of revelation that no hour of life Lacked beauty and adornment, in myself The seat and centre of all happiness. What inspiration could my lofty Muse