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Emma Lazarus - DestinyEmma Lazarus - Destiny
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1856 Paris, from throats of iron, silver, brass, Joy-thundering cannon, blent with chiming bells, And martial strains, the full-voiced pæan swells. The air is starred with flags, the chanted mass Throngs all the churches, yet the broad streets swarm With glad-eyed groups who chatter, laugh, and pass, In holiday confusion, class with class. And over all the spring, the sun-floods warm! In the Imperial palace that March morn, The beautiful young mother lay and smiled; For by her side just breathed the Prince, her child, Heir to an empire, to the purple born, Crowned with the Titan`s name that stirs the heart Like a blown clarion—one more Bonaparte. 1879 Born to the purple, lying stark and dead, Transfixed with poisoned spears, beneath the sun Of brazen Africa! Thy grave is one, Fore-fated youth (on whom were visited Follies and sins not thine), whereat the world, Heartless howe`er it be, will pause to sing A dirge, to breathe a sigh, a wreath to fling Of rosemary and rue with bay-leaves curled. Enmeshed in toils ambitious, not thine own, Immortal, loved boy-Prince, thou tak`st thy stand With early doomed Don Carlos, hand in hand With mild-browed Arthur, Geoffrey`s murdered son. Louis the Dauphin lifts his thorn-ringed head, And welcomes thee, his brother, `mongst the dead.
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