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...A COMPARISON [ADDRESSED] TO A YOUNG LADY by WILLIAM COWPER A STRANGE MEETING by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES ON THE PORTRAIT OF SHAKESPEARE by BEN JONSON THE BROOK: SUMMER by LAURA ABELL ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 2. ON THE WINTER SOLSTICE, 1740 by MARK AKENSIDE |