Then from the stony peak there rang A blast to ope the graves: down poured The Maccabean clan, who sang Their battle-anthem to the Lord. Five heroes lead, and following, see, Ten thousand rush to victory! Oh for Jerusalem's trumpet now, To blow a blast of shattering power, To wake the sleepers high and low, And rouse them to the urgent hour! No hand for vengeance--but to save, A million naked swords should wave. Oh deem not dead that martial fire, Say not the mystic flame is spent! With Moses' law and David's lyre, Your ancient strength remains unbent. Let but an Ezra rise anew, To lift the BANNER OF THE JEW! A rag, a mock at first--erelong, When men have bled and women wept, To guard its precious folds from wrong, Even they who shrunk, even they who slept, Shall leap to bless it, and to save. Strike! for the brave revere the brave! *The sons of Mattathias--Jonanthan, John, Eleazer, Simon (also called the Jewel), and Jonas, the Prince THE GUARDIAN OF THE RED DISK. Spoken by a Citizen of Malta--1300. A curious title held in high repute, One among many honors, thickly strewn On my lord Bishop's head, his grace of Malta. Nobly he bears them all,--with tact, skill, zeal, Fulfills each special office, vast or slight, Nor slurs the least minutia,--therewithal Wears such a stately aspect of command, Broad-checked, broad-chested, reverend, sanctified, Haloed with white about the tonsure's rim, With dropped lids o'er the piercing Spanish eyes (Lynx-keen, I warrant, to spy out heresy); Tall, massive form, o'ertowering all in presence, Or ere they kneel to kiss the large white hand. His looks sustain his deeds,--the perfect prelate, Whose void chair shall be taken, but not filled. You know not, who are foreign to the isle, Haply, what this Red Disk may be, he guards. 'T is the bright blotch, big as the Royal seal, Branded beneath the beard of every Jew. These vermin so infest the isle, so slide Into all byways, highways that may lead Direct or roundabout to wealth or power, Some plain, plump mark was needed, to protect From the degrading contact Christian folk. The evil had grown monstrous: certain Jews Wore such a haughty air, had so refined, With super-subtile arts, strict, monkish lives, And studious habit, the coarse Hebrew type, One might have elbowed in the public mart Iscariot,--nor suspected one's soul-peril. Christ's blood! it sets my flesh a-creep to think! We may breathe freely now, not fearing taint, Praise be our good Lord Bishop! He keeps count Of every Jew, and prints on cheek or chin The scarlet stamp of separateness, of shame.