Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/111

Towards the remorseful knight and pressed his hand.
But shrinking down, he drew his fingers back
From the kind palm, and kissed the friar s feet.
" Thy pure hand is anointed, and can heal.
The cool, calm pressure brings back sanity,
And what serene, past joys ! yet touch me not,
My contact is pollution,—hear, O hear,
While I disburden my charged soul." He lay,
Casting about for words and strength to speak.
" O father, is there help for such a one,"
In tones of deep abasement he began,
" Who hath rebelled against the laws of God,
With pride no less presumptuous than his
Who lost thereby his rank in heaven ? " " My son,
There is atonement for all sins, or slight
Or difficult, proportioned to the crime.
Though this may be the staining of thy hands
With blood of kinsmen or of fellow-men."
" My hands are white, my crime hath found no name,
This side of hell ; yet though my heart-strings snap
To live it over, let me make attempt.
I was a knight and bard, with such a gift
Of revelation that no hour of life
Lacked beauty and adornment, in myself
The seat and centre of all happiness.
What inspiration could my lofty Muse