Montefiore
I SAW--t was in a dream, the other night-
A man whose hair with age was thin and white;
One hundred years had bettered by his birth,
And still his step was firm, his eye was bright.
Before him and about him pressed a crowd.
Each head in reverence was bared and bowed,
And Jews and Gentiles in a hundred tongues
Extolled his deeds and spake his fame aloud.
I joined the throng and, pushing forward, cried,
-Montefiore!â? with the rest, and vied
In efforts to caress the hand that ne-er
To want and worth had charity denied.
So closely round him swarmed our shouting clan
He scarce could breathe, and, taking from a pan
A gleaming coin, he tossed it o-er our heads,
And in a moment was a lonely man!
Ambrose Bierce
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