 | The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery |  |
XXII.—DEATH OF PURITY.
How the crush'd modesties of Woman bleedUnder the hoof of man's inhuman speech
Down-trampled! Mark that serpent-priest,
Holding his ear, lasciviously inspired
With loathsome appetite for all that should
Be wordless, and in blushing silence sleep,—
Feed on confession with his vampire-taste;
While maid and mother, wife, and sister wring
Their secrets into language, till their souls
Are agonised at every modest pore
Of feeling; wrench'd, as though infernal screws
Tortured their silence to convulsive speech.
Each gasping word seems like an oral pang
Breathed into utterance, with a growing shame
Which burns, and blisters, almost frenzies mind
And reason. Hell itself might cry, enough!
When a foul priesthood thus satanic grows.
E'en as from flesh an Inquisition tore
The limbs asunder, till each artery writhed,
And gush'd the life-stream from the corded veins
In drops of anguish, so Confession tears
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When some strain'd Heart is by the priest outstretch'd.
Oh! how it quivers, till the soul half swoons
With dread; and as the hideous work proceeds,
Well may wring'd conscience tremble, start, and groan!
| The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery | |