If scarce a Christian hope for grace,
That crowds one in his narrow place,
What will the savage victim do,
Whose ribs are kneaded by a JEW?
Close on my left, a breathing form
Sat wedged against me, soft and warm;
The vulture-beaked and dark-browned face
Betrays the mould of Abraham's race;
That coal-black hair--and bistred hue--
Ah, cursed, unbelieving Jew!
I started, shuddering to the right,
And squeezed--a second Israelite!
Then rose the nameless words that slip
From darkening soul to whitening lip.
The snaky usurer,--him that crawls,
And cheats beneath the golden balls,
The hook-nosed kite of carrion clothes--
I stabbed them deep with muttered oaths:
Spawn of the rebel wandering horde
That stoned the saints, and slew their Lord!
Up came their murderous deeds of old--
The grisly story Chaucer told,
And many an ugly tale beside,
Of children caught and crucified.
I heard the ducat-sweating thieves
Beneath the Ghetto's slouching eaves,
And thrust beyond the tented green,
The leper's cry, "Unclean, unclean!"
The show went on, but, ill at ease,
My sullen eye it could not please;
In vain the haggard outcast knelt,
The white-haired patriarch's heart to melt;
I thought of Judas and his bribe,
And steeled my soul against his tribe.
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