 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
794
“VICTA CATONI.”
O brother, why I cannot tell,
But ever from a child,
With instinct true if wild,
I learned to reason and rebel
Against the spur, and bridling span
That shut the noblest in
To sorrow and to sin,
And gave the reins to bigots' plan;
I learned, in Nature's wiser school,
A grand and godlike hate
Of that unequal fate,
Which crowned the coward or the fool.
But ever from a child,
With instinct true if wild,
I learned to reason and rebel
Against the spur, and bridling span
That shut the noblest in
To sorrow and to sin,
And gave the reins to bigots' plan;
I learned, in Nature's wiser school,
A grand and godlike hate
Of that unequal fate,
Which crowned the coward or the fool.
I heeded not what rulers said,
Who treated man as dog,
Nor power of pedagogue,
If they but burdens on me laid;
I heeded not what preachers taught,
Who chafing peoples chid,
And nothing better did
Themselves, though hard their victims wrought;
I heeded not the penal blows,
And broke that petty box,
The dead and orthodox,
With all its windbags and vain shows.
Who treated man as dog,
Nor power of pedagogue,
If they but burdens on me laid;
I heeded not what preachers taught,
Who chafing peoples chid,
And nothing better did
Themselves, though hard their victims wrought;
I heeded not the penal blows,
And broke that petty box,
The dead and orthodox,
With all its windbags and vain shows.
Truth was my first and darling choice,
And my young fearless pride
Embraced her as a bride,
And caught each whisper of her voice;
But not the Thing, on bloody throne,
Tired in a harlot's grace,
With bold and painted face,
That long had lost the virgin zone;
Nay, rather Truth, that, under rags,
If with no honoured name,
Had kept a maiden frame,
Though stifled with the hangman's gags.
And my young fearless pride
Embraced her as a bride,
And caught each whisper of her voice;
But not the Thing, on bloody throne,
Tired in a harlot's grace,
With bold and painted face,
That long had lost the virgin zone;
Nay, rather Truth, that, under rags,
If with no honoured name,
Had kept a maiden frame,
Though stifled with the hangman's gags.
I loved the champions of the Right,
The suffering, and the weak
Who ventured not to speak,
But turned their foreheads to the Light;
And falsehood, aping what was good,
The foremost at the feast,
Upheld by prince and priest;
Though vanquished yet I still withstood;
I trod the troubled upward way,
While Baäls all of earth,
That temples made of dearth,
With all their thunders strove to stay.
The suffering, and the weak
Who ventured not to speak,
But turned their foreheads to the Light;
And falsehood, aping what was good,
The foremost at the feast,
Upheld by prince and priest;
Though vanquished yet I still withstood;
I trod the troubled upward way,
While Baäls all of earth,
That temples made of dearth,
With all their thunders strove to stay.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |