 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
QUOMODO SEDET SOLA.
How sits the City lonely and uncrowned;
(Thus the old Priests renewed that Hebrew song)
She sits a widowed queen in weepings drowned;
Her friends revile her who should mourn her wrong.
(Thus the old Priests renewed that Hebrew song)
She sits a widowed queen in weepings drowned;
Her friends revile her who should mourn her wrong.
Behold, her streets are silent and her gate;
And as the sea her sorrows are increased.
The Daughter of my People, desolate;
And no man mounteth to her solemn feast.
And as the sea her sorrows are increased.
123
And no man mounteth to her solemn feast.
To them that brought her comfort she hath said,
‘My children strove, and each by each is slain:
I turned from Him to Whom my youth was wed:
Therefore the heathen hosts my courts profane.
‘My children strove, and each by each is slain:
I turned from Him to Whom my youth was wed:
Therefore the heathen hosts my courts profane.
‘The bruised reed He brake not; neither cried,
Nor strove, nor smote: He set the prisoners free:
But sons of mine oppressed His poor, and lied,
Nor walked in judgment and in equity.’
Nor strove, nor smote: He set the prisoners free:
But sons of mine oppressed His poor, and lied,
Nor walked in judgment and in equity.’
Thus sang the Priests, and ended, ‘Christ was led
Lamb-like to death. His mouth He opened not:
He gave His life to raise from death the dead:
That God Who sends our penance shared our lot.’
Lamb-like to death. His mouth He opened not:
He gave His life to raise from death the dead:
That God Who sends our penance shared our lot.’
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |