FOR years unblest, all hope of rest forbidden to his feet, At last the Wandering Jew has found in West-minster a seat; Jews' ears, they say, in olden days were fill'd with molten lead, The gold from out their pockets pick'd, the eyes from out their head; Now, torturing still, with fresh ill-will, we show our ceaseless hate, And pour into the Hebrew's ear the lead of a debate. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DIVINE IMAGE, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE A HIGH-TONED OLD CHRISTIAN WOMAN by WALLACE STEVENS THE WHITE WATCH (OPUS 27: NO. 2) by GORDON BOTTOMLEY CLIMBING by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN AN EPISTLE by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) BANKS OF DEVON by ROBERT BURNS |