Page:Poems of Emma Lazarus vol 2.djvu/84

Sits with a triple coronet.
Genius and Sorrow both have set
Their diadems above the gold—
A Queen three-fold!

To her the forest lent its lyre,
Hers are the sylvan dews, the fire
Of Orient suns, the mist-wreathed gleams
Of mountain streams.
She, the imperial Rhine's own child,
Takes to her heart the wood-nymph wild,
The gypsy Pelech, and the wide.
White Danube's tide.

She who beside an infant's bier
Long since resigned all hope to hear
The sacred name of "Mother" bless
Her childlessness.
Now from a people's sole acclaim
Receives the heart-vibrating name.
And "Mother, Mother, Mother!" fills
The echoing hills.

Yet who is he who pines apart,
Estranged from that maternal heart,
Ungraced, unfriended, and forlorn,
The butt of scorn?
An alien in his land of birth.
An outcast from his brethren's earth,
Albeit with theirs his blood mixed well
When Plevna fell?