 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
NOT ANOTHER.
In a country of clear streams she grew,
And with graces all her own,
If she borrowed freshness of the dew,
And its freedom from the breeze that blew,
With the light by flowerets thrown,
That into her life had grown;
O the fights our noble fathers knew,
And their deeds of daring, sown
In her heart that each great exploit drew
To it, and had truly known,
They had taken root and sprang anew,
Though the glorious days were flown.
And with graces all her own,
If she borrowed freshness of the dew,
And its freedom from the breeze that blew,
With the light by flowerets thrown,
That into her life had grown;
O the fights our noble fathers knew,
And their deeds of daring, sown
In her heart that each great exploit drew
To it, and had truly known,
They had taken root and sprang anew,
Though the glorious days were flown.
She was true as lines of Gospel book,
She was sweet as mountain air,
And bright as the music of the brook,
As it steals on in its leafy nook,
Or steps down its rocky stair,
Where the fern trees find their lair;
And the beauty of all wild things she took,
With the sunset for her hair,
That in glints and gleams about her shook;
And the mosses wiought her chair,
While the moonlight gave the soft shy look,
And the morning made her fair.
She was sweet as mountain air,
And bright as the music of the brook,
As it steals on in its leafy nook,
Or steps down its rocky stair,
Where the fern trees find their lair;
And the beauty of all wild things she took,
With the sunset for her hair,
That in glints and gleams about her shook;
And the mosses wiought her chair,
While the moonlight gave the soft shy look,
And the morning made her fair.
With the courage not of women brave,
That is Nature's royal gift
To her favourites who an empire save,
Or could raise a people from their grave,
And the reefs whereon they drift,
And themselves of weakness sift;
She was strongest, if the winter wave
Of a ruin without rift,
In its awful march was heard to rave,
In the shadow and dread shift,
And the danger but more courage gave,
And would glorify and lift.
That is Nature's royal gift
To her favourites who an empire save,
Or could raise a people from their grave,
And the reefs whereon they drift,
And themselves of weakness sift;
She was strongest, if the winter wave
Of a ruin without rift,
In its awful march was heard to rave,
In the shadow and dread shift,
And the danger but more courage gave,
And would glorify and lift.
114
She was just herself, in splendid will,
Not a maiden carved of stone,
But a maiden pure through good and ill,
Who would every tender office fill,
And impress a warmer tone,
Where the sunlight never shone;
She was open to each earthly thrill,
Of our human flesh and bone,
That disaster would not turn, if kill,
Though the cross became her throne,
And remained a heavenly maiden still—
She was just herself, alone.
Not a maiden carved of stone,
But a maiden pure through good and ill,
Who would every tender office fill,
And impress a warmer tone,
Where the sunlight never shone;
She was open to each earthly thrill,
Of our human flesh and bone,
That disaster would not turn, if kill,
Though the cross became her throne,
And remained a heavenly maiden still—
She was just herself, alone.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |