My neighbors stirred; I looked again,
Full on the younger of the twain.
A soft young cheek of olive brown,
A lip just flushed with youthful down,
Locks dark as midnight, that divide
And shade the neck on either side;
An eye that wears a moistened gleam,
Like starlight in a hidden stream;
So looked that other child of Shem,
The maiden's Boy of Bethlehem!
And thou couldst scorn the peerless blood
That flows untainted from the Flood!
Thy scutcheon spotted with the stains
Of Norman thieves and pirate Danes!
Scum of the nations! In thy pride
Scowl on the Hebrew at thy side,
And, lo! the very semblance there
The Lord of Glory deigned to wear!
I see that radiant image rise,--
The midnight hair, the starlit eyes;
The faintly-crimsoned cheek that shows
The stain of Judah's dusky rose.
Thy hands would clasp His hallowed feet
Whose brethren soil thy Christian seat;
Thy lips would press His garment's hem,
That curl in scornful wrath for them!
A sudden mist, a watery screen,
Dropped like a veil before the scene;
I strove the glistening film to stay,
The wilful tear would have its way.
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