Poems: By Menella Bute Smedley | ||
“Man of blood, thou hast strangely erred,
If Odin's will aright was heard;
Not dear, but dearest was his quest,
The King must give the god his best.
Away from the innocent babe! away!
I am the victim thy sword must slay.
I am the love of his youth; we changed
Hearts which no after-chill estranged;
I am the wife of his bosom; see,
His cheek is losing its glow for me,
The light grows dim in his eagle eye,
His brow forgetteth its royalty.
I am the dearest, for I can chase
The soul of strength from the hero's face;
Look how he shrinks! how pale, how wild!
He changed not thus when you touched his child!”
If Odin's will aright was heard;
Not dear, but dearest was his quest,
The King must give the god his best.
Away from the innocent babe! away!
I am the victim thy sword must slay.
I am the love of his youth; we changed
Hearts which no after-chill estranged;
I am the wife of his bosom; see,
His cheek is losing its glow for me,
The light grows dim in his eagle eye,
His brow forgetteth its royalty.
I am the dearest, for I can chase
The soul of strength from the hero's face;
Look how he shrinks! how pale, how wild!
He changed not thus when you touched his child!”
Poems: By Menella Bute Smedley | ||