| |
| “YES, well your story pleads the cause | |
| Of those dumb mouths that have no speech, | |
| Only a cry from each to each | |
| In its own kind, with its own laws; | |
| Something that is beyond the reach | 5 |
| Of human power to learn or teach,— | |
| An inarticulate moan of pain, | |
| Like the immeasurable main | |
| Breaking upon an unknown beach.” | |
| |
| Thus spake the Poet with a sigh; | 10 |
| Then added, with impassioned cry, | |
| As one who feels the words he speaks, | |
| The color flushing in his cheeks, | |
| The fervor burning in his eye: | |
| “Among the noblest in the land, | 15 |
| Though he may count himself the least, | |
| That man I honor and revere | |
| Who without favor, without fear, | |
| In the great city dares to stand | |
| The friend of every friendless beast, | 20 |
| And tames with his unflinching hand | |
| The brutes that wear our form and face, | |
| The were-wolves of the human race!” | |
| Then paused, and waited with a frown, | |
| Like some old champion of romance, | 25 |
| Who, having thrown his gauntlet down, | |
| Expectant leans upon his lance; | |
| But neither Knight nor Squire is found | |
| To raise the gauntlet from the ground, | |
| And try with him the battle’s chance. | 30 |
| |
| “Wake from your dreams, O Edrehi! | |
| Or dreaming speak to us, and make | |
| A feint of being half awake, | |
| And tell us what your dreams may be. | |
| Out of the hazy atmosphere | 35 |
| Of cloud-land deign to reappear | |
| Among us in this Wayside Inn; | |
| Tell us what visions and what scenes | |
| Illuminate the dark ravines | |
| In which you grope your way. Begin!” | 40 |
| |
| Thus the Sicilian spake. The Jew | |
| Made no reply, but only smiled, | |
| As men unto a wayward child, | |
| Not knowing what to answer, do. | |
| As from a cavern’s mouth, o’ergrown | 45 |
| With moss and intertangled vines, | |
| A streamlet leaps into the light | |
| And murmurs over root and stone | |
| In a melodious undertone; | |
| Or as amid the noonday night | 50 |
| Of sombre and wind-haunted pines | |
| There runs a sound as of the sea; | |
| So from his bearded lips there came | |
| A melody without a name, | |
| A song, a tale, a history, | 55 |
| Or whatsoever it may be, | |
| Writ and recorded in these lines. | |
| |
