 | Women must weep |  |
AT BAY.
Hunted about, she knows not why,
Prest by the bloody hounds,
On to the awful bounds,
Where the poor feet no longer fly,
Under the ban of earth and sky,
Laid in the restful mounds,
Deaf to all mocking sounds;
Yet she would feebly fortune try,
Utter again her piteous cry,
Knelling through Pleasure's grounds,
Wail of a heart in realms awry,
Torn on its iron rounds.
Prest by the bloody hounds,
On to the awful bounds,
Where the poor feet no longer fly,
Under the ban of earth and sky,
Laid in the restful mounds,
Deaf to all mocking sounds;
Yet she would feebly fortune try,
Utter again her piteous cry,
Knelling through Pleasure's grounds,
Wail of a heart in realms awry,
Torn on its iron rounds.
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Governing evil, victor vice,
Meet her at every turn,
Foes she would bravely spurn;
Charity cold as winter ice,
Charity none would dare ask twice;
Passion, as fires that burn
Black in their funeral urn;
Mercy bequeathing good advice
Deeming that sentiments suffice
Hunger, which nought can earn;
Demons, as angels who entice
Souls that for kindness yearn.
Meet her at every turn,
Foes she would bravely spurn;
Charity cold as winter ice,
Charity none would dare ask twice;
Passion, as fires that burn
Black in their funeral urn;
Mercy bequeathing good advice
Deeming that sentiments suffice
Hunger, which nought can earn;
Demons, as angels who entice
Souls that for kindness yearn.
Toiling for what she cannot get,
Fighting while fetters thrall,
Filling alone with gall
Cup that, though full, is empty yet—
Cup into which no brothers let
Dews of compassion fall;
Dash'd on the stony wall,
Cursed, shall she suffer plagues that fret
Weakness, when laws conspire to pet
Force in its cushion'd hall?
Each helper seems against her set;
She is but one against all.
Fighting while fetters thrall,
Filling alone with gall
Cup that, though full, is empty yet—
Cup into which no brothers let
Dews of compassion fall;
Dash'd on the stony wall,
Cursed, shall she suffer plagues that fret
Weakness, when laws conspire to pet
Force in its cushion'd hall?
Each helper seems against her set;
She is but one against all.
Fraud and the mighty hands may fill
Thrones for a little day,
Riot in lust and play,
Triumph, with wicked scorn and skill,
Over a suffering sister's will,
Darken her dreary way,
Make her blind footsteps stray;
But all the armèd hosts of ill,
Hope if they crush can never kill,
Trust never harm nor stay:
Woman shall be true woman still,
Keeping the world at bay.
Thrones for a little day,
Riot in lust and play,
Triumph, with wicked scorn and skill,
Over a suffering sister's will,
Darken her dreary way,
Make her blind footsteps stray;
But all the armèd hosts of ill,
Hope if they crush can never kill,
Trust never harm nor stay:
Woman shall be true woman still,
Keeping the world at bay.
| Women must weep | |