Yes, sad one of Sion, if closely resembling, <br />In shame and in sorrow, thy wither'd-up heart -- <br />If drinking deep, deep, of the same "cup of trembling" <br />Could make us thy children, our parent thou art. <br /> <br />Like thee doth our nation lie conquer'd and broken, <br />And fall'n from her head is the once royal crown; <br />In her streets, in her halls, Desolation hath spoken, <br />And "while it is day yet, her sun hath gone down." <br /> <br />Like thine doth her exile, 'mid dreams of returning, <br />Die far from the home it were life to behold; <br />Like thine do her sons, in the day of their mourning <br />Remember the bright things that bless'd them of old. <br /> <br />Ah, well may we call her, like thee, "the Forsaken," <br />Her boldest are vanquish'd, her proudest are slaves; <br />And the harps of her minstrels, when gayest they waken, <br />Have tones 'mid their mirth like the wind over graves! <br /> <br />Yet hadst thou thy vengeance -- yet came there the morrow, <br />That shines out, at last, on the longest dark night, <br />When the sceptre, that smote thee with slavery and sorrow, <br />Was shiver'd at once, like a reed, in thy sight. <br /> <br />When that cup, which for others the proud Golden City <br />Had brimm'd full of bitterness, drench'd her own lips; <br />And the world she had trampled on heard, without pity, <br />The howl in her halls, and the cry from her ships. <br /> <br />When the curse Heaven keeps for the haughty came over, <br />Her merchants rapacious, her rulers unjust, <br />And a ruin at last for the earthworm to cover, <br />The Lady of Kingdoms lay low in the dust.<br /><br />Thomas Moore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-parallel/
