A traveler by the Dead Sea mourns a young Jewish woman whose life has been shattered by war. Jerusalem lies in ruins, her family dead by the Ottoman sword, and the speaker pictures her sighing among the wreckage of her ancestral home. She points out where her forefathers walked and fell, and as she holds back a tear in the tomb of Siloa, that tear becomes a pearl beneath her eyelash—a tiny, perfect image of grief transformed into something exquisite. The mood is tender and sorrowful, yet the speaker’s gaze keeps returning to her enduring loveliness: even as the city crumbles, she is as fresh as ivy on a lonely tomb, as fair as a lily waving over desolate graves. In the end, Jerusalem’s loss is bound to her image, but she is promised a kind of freedom, a bright memory of Eden she can carry within.
The Maid of Jerusalem — Summary
Maid of Jerusalem, by the Dead Sea, I wandered all sorrowing thinking of thee,-- Thy city in ruins, thy kindred deplored, All fallen and lost by the Ottoman's sword.
I saw thee sit there in disconsolate sighs, Where the hall of thy fathers a ruined heap lies. Thy fair finger showed me the place where they trod, In thy childhood where flourished the city of God.
The place where they fell and the scenes where they lie, In the tomb of Siloa--the tear in her eye She stifled: transfixed there it grew like a pearl, Beneath the dark lash of the sweet Jewish Girl.
Jerusalem is fallen! still thou art in bloom, As fresh as the ivy around the lone tomb, And fair as the lily of morning that waves Its sweet-scented bells over desolate graves.
When I think of Jerusalem in kingdoms yet free, I shall think of its ruins and think upon thee; Thou beautiful Jewess, content thou mayest roam; A bright spot in Eden still blooms as thy home.