86
SONGS OF EXILE
Wast thou an omen that from noble state
The Law should lowly be?
And lo! a parable will I relate
Befitting thee.
'Tis of a king I tell, who sat before
The banquet of his son
And wept: for 'mid the mirth he death foresaw;
So thou hast done.
Cast off thy robe; in sackcloth folds of night,
O Sinai! cover thee;
Don widow's garb, discard thy raiment bright
Of royalty.
Lo, I will weep for thee until my tears
Swell as a stream and flow
Unto the graves where thy two princely seers
Sleep calm below:
