Women must weep :: :: University of Virginia Library

Fair and frail,
Sweet and shy—
With a modest mien that doth not fail,
That hath yet survived the convict's jail,
And refused to fly
To its native sky—
She is driven before the tempest's flail,
On the waters wan, as a tatter'd sail
That is wreck'd and wry,
With her woman's cry,
With the heart that hears no answering hail,
And the feet that scarce their office ply.

Weak and wild,
Poor and proud,
She is cast adrift as a helpless child,
And a prey for the world in her meekness mild,
For the thunder-cloud,
Or the battle shroud;
And she sees around her dainties pil'd,
With the joys that once upon her smil'd,
When her laugh was loud,
And the head not bow'd,
Now a thing deserted and defiled,
She is whirl'd along in the callous crowd.

156

Lone and dim,
Faint and far,
As the sketch of a mighty master's whim,
When the figures only swoon and swim,
From behind her bar,
An eclipsèd star,
She is borne on the billows great and grim,
While the spoiler lives—there is room for him;
Not for scornèd scar,
Save in funeral car,
Though above her bend God's cherubim,
As the heavens of light on a broken spar.

Limp and lame,
Tender, tall,
If she stoops before the cruel flame
That has burnt beyond the picture's frame,
Through her breast and all,
With its fiery gall—
Shall we leave her thus bereft of name,
With the crushing burden of her shame,
Below pity's call,
As a hopeless thrall?
Give the saving touch of a better fame,
Or the portrait's face turn to the wall?

Fond and sweet,
Torn and tost,
She is thrown on the hideous staring street,
Among thousands not one friend to meet,
Nor a dog accost,
In the iron frost;
She has trembling lain at our careless feet,
While the pamper'd Levite pass'd her fleet,
Nor the chasm has cross'd,
At such paltry cost;
Though he fain would wrap the winding-sheet
Round the sister love had never lost.

157

Tried and true,
True and tried,
By the awful fate that is her due,
And the sin that grief will ever rue,
Like a captive tied
To a corpse's side;
She has miss'd the guiding guardian clue,
As her cheek its maiden morning hue,
Because some one lied,
And the world was wide;
Though for her was made celestial blue,
And for her the Man, our Brother, died.

Frail and fair,
Doom'd to stand
In the bitter blasts that scourge her hair,
Though the brute has got its velvet chair,
In the dreadful land
Of the sinking sand;
While she longs to climb the temple stair,
And to breathe a higher, holier air;
She would break the band
Of her cursing brand,
And the picture's deadly lack repair,
If you offer'd clasp of a human hand.