Women must weep :: :: University of Virginia Library

When the innocents at play
Are by masking devils won?
Children weeping,
Children creeping
To their narrow, nameless bed—
Children crying,
Children dying,
For the crumbs we idly shed.

Una was an only child,
Thirteen summers had she known;
And the wind, to others wild,
Softly on her path had blown;
Stormy night about her smiled,
And the stars were all her own.
Orphans needing,
Outcasts bleeding
With the wounds of bitter strife,
Stragglers calling,
Strivers falling,
None were near her shelter'd life.

For the common curse of woe,
On her portion left no blot;
Want, with more than earthquake throe,
Heaved around and touch'd her not;
Evil, with its Arctic floe,
Shut not in a shameful lot.
Toilers moaning,
Spinners groaning,
At the hourly lash of pain;
Weaklings stooping,
Nurslings drooping,
Where they never rise again.

Then the trial came at last,
And her sickening parents lay,
Shaken by the shadowy blast,
Which to darkness turn'd the day
Till the memory of the past,
Faded like a dream away.

Worn white faces,
Heavy paces,
Moved as to one solemn knell;
Voices chiding,
Tongues deriding,
Beat as on an iron cell.

Una now was left to win
Bread of carefulness for three—
Scared by the unfriendly din,
Seeing friendly comforts flee—
Tost about by gusts of sin,
Like a leaf upon a tree—
Stript like stubble,
Swept a bubble
On the crest of angry waves;
Thunders muttering,
Fledglings fluttering,
Broken, to their early graves.

Tempters soon were at her side,
Dropping doubtful words in stealth,
Flattering what she had of pride,
Pointing to the stricken health,
Whispering of an opening wide
With an easy way to wealth.
Dazzling offers,
Golden coffers,
Still were ready for her clasp;
Though lost darlings,
Caged like starlings,
Pined in lust's remorseless grasp.

Una reck'd not of the scars
Graved by pleasure turn'd to whip—
Tortures behind stony bars,
Love that strangled in its grip;
She had dwelt among the stars,
Lie had never cross'd her lip.

Children mourning,
In adorning
That was got at ghastly price;
Children going,
All unknowing,
To the nameless sacrifice.

When the hideous evil grew
Out, and bare before her stood,
Beckon'd to foul pastures new
Her who never thought but good;
Round her sinking powers she drew
The white robe of maidenhood.
Babies wailing,
Mothers failing,
For the food they wanted sore;
Keen as scourges,
Sad as surges,
On her waken'd bosom bore.

Still her parents sicken'd worse,
Down into the gates of doom:
Empty was the little purse,
Spoil'd was each so dainty room;
Feebler, wearier, wax'd the nurse;
Deeper, darker, fell the gloom.
If they perish'd,
Who had cherish'd
Her so long with many a pain;
In the sorrow
Of the morrow,
Could she ever smile again?

Long the struggle, stern the fight,
In the stillness of her heart
Consecrated to the right,
Yet unsoil'd by any art—
In its holy virgin might,
Scorning an ignoble part,

Tears kept crying,
“They are dying,
Who for thee no joy denied.”
Hopes, that waken
Breasts, had shaken
Hers, until she half complied.

Yet she shrank in horror still
From the deed of dreadful cost—
Stay'd as stays the dancing rill,
Smitten by a sudden frost;
Till the burden broke her will,
Till she pitied and was lost.
Though her honour
Lay upon her
Like the early dew and bloom.
Stars were falling,
Angels calling,
As she totter'd to her tomb.

So she gave herself for them
That for her had suffer'd much—
Gave the proud and priceless gem;
All she could bestow was such—
She whose garment's spotless hem,
Sin had never dared to touch.
Shall base slander
Seek to brand her,
Who that offering chose to give—
Braved the blaming,
Took the shaming,
That her parents thus might live?