England :: :: University of Virginia Library

“After the miserable slaughter of the Jews, at the destruction of Jerusalem, they were scattered unto all corners, oppressed and detested, and sometimes massacred and extirpated.”—Atterbury.

“Hath not a Jew eyes, hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions: fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, heated and cooled by the same winter and summer that a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you poison us, do we not die?”—Merchant of Venice.

September's moon, from out her fields of blue,
Dwells on the stately halls of Constantine;
Majestic York, whose towers she loves to view—
York's battlements like heavenly temples shine;
Ouse murmurs low his melodies divine;
Hush'd, and asleep, the mighty city lies,
Where dwelt the lords of all the world!—the din
At rest:—most placid look the moonlit skies—
The restless pulses still, of human groans and sighs.

But, hark! there is a stir of moving feet,
And lights glance swiftly through each window pane;
Noises and murmurs fill the troubled street,
As if some earthquake had begun its reign:
Red fiery shapes wage battle on the plain
Of heaven; yea, horrid portents fill the sky!
Ouse groaneth from his caverns, as in pain;

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And obscene birds of night go flitting by:
Surely some fearful war—some frightful deed is nigh!

Lo, now a madden'd crowd roll wildly on;
Their bright swords flash—their fiery torches glare,
And glow o'er the grim groups, that rush along—
On marble pillars, domes and temples fair!
The silver moon, in heaven, shines calm and clear
O'er these rude sights, untroubl'd and serene:
Murder and death may shriek and tremble there;
She heeds them not—her path for aye hath been
O'er earth and earthly woes—of night and heaven the queen.

Hark!—hark!—that horrid yell—that dreadful scream!
See, naked shapes, like madmen, hurry by!
(O, is it real, or a waking dream—
A fearful vision, or reality?)
Like hungry hounds, fierce murderers I descry,
With blood-red swords, that pierce each bared breast,
And with hoar voice—“The Jews!—the Jews!”—they cry;
“Down with the accursed Jews, and never rest,
“That slew the Son of God, who died to make them blest!”

O, horrible!—when pathway, alley, street,
With notes of blood and carnage did resound;
While slaughter stain'd with gore the flying feet
Of the poor shrieking wretches!—Some they bound
And dragg'd along the stones—some round and round
In courts and chambers chas'd—whilst the red blood

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Roll'd to old Ouse in torrents: such dread sound
Was never heard. The shrieks of womanhood—
Babes, fathers, maidens—all, whom hate and lust subdued!

Yea, some were murder'd, praying on their knee—
White-headed men, and infants laid asleep
Within their mother's arms. No age was free,
Nor helpless sex. Then some they made to leap
From dizzy battlements, or 'mid the deep
Swift river, swoll'n with human blood, and red:
And some in fearful tortures long they keep,
And hew their mangled corpses, e'en when dead:
Surely with fiends of hell, these human souls are wed!

And hundreds who, upon the castle wall,
Fought bravely, and repulsed their murderers long,
When savage strength at last had vanquish'd all,
And the blood-thirsty crowds came rushing on,
Their wives and children hurl'd the spears among,
Then set the mighty citadel on fire,
And nobly perish'd—in their faith still strong;
And, as the meteor billows billow'd nigher,
Still sung exultant hymns to their Almighty Sire!

Undaunted, even in death!—For still they saw
The groves and temples of Jerusalem.
Brighter than the red fires, old memories draw
The splendours of past Judah's diadem.
Abraham, and Moses, and their kings, to them

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Appear'd, and Israel, Egypt, Canaan came—
Priests, prophets, martyrs, every noble theme!
Bright shone the glories of their ancient name—
Unquench'd, unconquer'd, strong, amid the scorching flame.

And thou, thyself, proud Northern capitol!
How chang'd! of mighty Emperors, the seat!
Where the antique religion held chief stole—
Where mailed knights rode on thy royal street;
The very stones are gone that bore their feet!
Thou that didst boast a kingly hall and throne—
Thou that wert next to Rome, how fall'n thy state;
Though yet thy proud cathedral wears the crown
Of faded pomp, and still thy ancient pride doth own!

Nor, Ebor, dost thou, mournful, sit alone:
Fallen, too, is Venice, Empress of the sea;
And the high towers of glorious Babylon;
And Athens, city of the brave and free!
Fallen, mighty Rome, that held the earth in fee!
Of stately Carthage, there is not a stone!
Egypt's vast cities scarcely seem to be!
Then, mourn not, though thy majesty is gone,
Thou that in England's crown, so gloriously hast shone!