They Tell Me

THEY tell me, “Give thy nation up;

The ancient graves resign!

Give us thy soul—then plenty, wealth,

And greatness shall be thine.”

They tell me: “Think not to rebuild

The City, proud and tall,

Of whose old splendor there is left

Only a crumbling wall.

“Dream not thy nation to arouse

Out of its slumber deep;

Behold, it has so many years

Lain in a marmot’s sleep!”

False prophets, hush! Fie, charlatans!

I swerve not from the goal.

I will not give my honor up,—

I will not sell my soul.

The path my fathers trod through life

I follow straight and clear;

Should Death demand me, I will mount

The scaffold without fear.

My God, my race, I will not change

For gold or jewels’ fires.

More than a stranger’s treasure-house

A grave among my sires.