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(Spoken by a citizen of Malta—1300)
A CURIOUS title held in high repute, | |
| One among many honors, thickly strewn | |
| On my Lord Bishop’s head, his grace of Malta. | |
| Nobly he bears them all,—with tact, skill, zeal, | |
| Fulfils each special office, vast or slight, | 5 |
| Nor slurs the least minutia,—therewithal | |
| Wears such a stately aspect of command, | |
| Broad-cheeked, broad-chested, reverend, sanctified, | |
| Haloed with white about the tonsure’s rim, | |
| With dropped lids o’er the piercing Spanish eyes | 10 |
| (Lynx-keen, I warrant, to spy out heresy); | |
| Tall, massive form, o’ertowering all in presence, | |
| Or ere they kneel to kiss the large white hand. | |
| His looks sustain his deeds,—the perfect prelate, | |
| Whose void chair shall be taken, but not filled. | 15 |
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| You know not, who are foreign to the isle, | |
| Haply, what this Red Disk may be, he guards. | |
| ’Tis the bright blotch, big as the Royal seal, | |
| Branded beneath the beard of every Jew. | |
| These vermin so infest the isle, so slide | 20 |
| Into all byways, highways that may lead | |
| Direct or roundabout to wealth or power, | |
| Some plain, plump mark was needed, to protect | |
| From degrading contact Christian folk. | |
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| The evil had grown monstrous: certain Jews | 25 |
| Wore such a haughty air, had so refined, | |
| With super-subtile arts, strict, monkish lives, | |
| And studious habit, the coarse Hebrew type, | |
| One might have elbowed in the public mart | |
| Iscariot,—nor suspected one’s soul-peril. | 30 |
| Christ’s blood! it sets my flesh a-creep to think! | |
| We may breathe freely now, not fearing taint, | |
| Praised be our good Lord Bishop! He keeps count | |
| Of every Jew, and prints on cheek or chin | |
| The scarlet stamp of separateness, of shame. | 35 |
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| No beard, blue-black, grizzled or Judas-colored, | |
| May hide that damning little wafer-flame. | |
| When one appears therewith, the urchins know | |
| Good sport’s at hand; they fling their stones and mud, | |
| Sure of their game. But most the wisdom shows | 40 |
| Upon the unbelievers’ selves; they learn | |
| Their proper rank; crouch, cringe, and hide,—lay by | |
| Their insolence of self-esteem; no more | |
| Flaunt forth in rich attire, but in dull weeds, | |
| Slovenly donned, would slink past unobserved; | 45 |
| Bow servile necks and crook obsequious knees, | |
| Chin sunk in hollow chest, eyes fixed on earth | |
| Or blinking sidewise, but to apprehend | |
| Whether or not the hated spot be spied. | |
| I warrant my Lord Bishop has full hands, | 50 |
| Guarding the Red Disk—lest one rogue escape! | |
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