University of Virginia Library

WOMAN'S LOVE.

Is there one thing on Earth which may remain
Without one darkening shade or sullying stain?
Is there one thing on Earth which may be kept
Holy as reliques o'er which Saints have wept?
Midst all its dust and dross, its gloom and clouds,
The blight which taints, the darkness that enshrouds,
Oh! think of Woman's heart—the pure and high—
The brightest jewel of Mortality!
E'en as the fragile Censer, which doth hold
The living flames within its fair, frail mould—
Unscorched, unscathed; so doth that gentle heart,
Which oft on Earth sustains a trying part,
So doth that meek and gentle heart contain,
Throbbing and thrilling through its every vein,
The boiling passion-fountains quick and wild;
And yet, how oft! undimmed and undefiled,
E'en as that fragile Censer, that displays
No angry mark, where glowed the flame's keen blaze!
Or as some Casket, buried in the Dust,
With store of costliest gems for its rich trust,
Which that fair freight preserves unstained and pure;
So doth that heart triumphantly endure;
And its bright wealth of high affections guard,
By no defiling touch profaned or marred;
Though cabined darkly in the enshrouding clay,
Far from the blessed influence of the day—
The pure and perfect day—which yet shall shine
On those sealed treasures, with a glow divine.
Is there one thing, then, that may brightly last—
Brightly, with all Earth's clouds about it cast?
Midst all the shadowing gloom, the dross, the dust,
The blight, the plague, the canker, and the rust?
Is there one thing, that may on Earth endure—
Bright, stainless, pure—immaculately pure?
Think, think of Woman's heart! that calmly keeps
Its firm, unswerving way o'er perilous steeps,
Through threatening gulphs of human Doom and Ill;
(Midst all the dampening mists, the gloom, the chill
That dwell upon Mortality's dull air;
The frosts, the blights, the poisonous dews of Care;)
Through the twined labyrinths, o'er the thorny wastes,
Past the fierce torrents, 'gainst the sweeping blasts,
Beneath the varying skies—the uncertain skies,
Where many a meteor doth in mockery rise—
And many a cloud doth dim and darkling sail,
To make those pallid meteors yet more pale,
And shroud their dubious lustre in a veil:
Think of the love of Woman's heart, the strong,
The true,—if doth to mortal things belong
Indeed that heart, with all its feelings deep,
And warm Emotions high, condemned to reap
So oft from sterile Earth's unfruitful shore,
Harvests of ashes—black and bitter store;
That heart, which meets each harsh ordeal unmoved,
That since Creation hath borne, suffered, loved—
Loved with a love that makes the entranced soul
Slave by its own compulsion and control;
Oh, loved beyond all powers of words to express—
To torture, and to phrenzy, and to excess,
E'en unto Death, and death's worst bitterness;
The Love of Woman!—say, what thoughts shall sound,
What terms shall measure, and what dreams shall bound
That depth of feeling fearfully profound?—
The matchless love of woman! The true heart
Where that supreme immortal love hath part,
Clad in Celestial-tempered panoply,
Shall all assaults of changeful fate defy;
And surely shall, midst all earth's glooms, remain
Without a darkening shade or sullying stain—
That heart, which in its dreamy stillness lies,
Bared, only bared to the over-shadowing skies—
And that like some lone well—lone, clear and deep,
The treasured image doth unbroken deep,
Of some one cherished object and beloved,
That shall not thence be shaken nor removed—
E'en like the glassy waters of that well,
Which in such depths of lone retirement dwell,
That while red sunshine laughs o'er mount and plain,
One single star's reflection they retain;
And all creation's varied wonders spurn
From their divinely consecrated urn!
Dreamings and breathings of a holier sphere,
Surely uplift ye, tremblers 'mid the fear—
And gloom which round ye wearying, wildering spread,
The clouds that weigh on each dejected head;
And tenderest influences all gently blend,
With the atmosphere about ye, spread and lend
Etherial colouring, soft, and mild, and faint,
Such as might gild the brows of dreaming saint—
Unto the aspect of all earthly things;
And Hopes, high hopes, upon their viewless wings
Upbuoy ye, stirring, quickening all the springs
Of being, freshening all the changeful airs
Of Life to vigour, midst the heavy cares
That hang about Existence, chill and wan—
And lengthen drearily the allotted span;
'Midst conflicts, tribulations, trial, wrong,
Those Hopes prevail, and make the fragile strong,
They, like the heavenly fall of genial dew,
Revive your hearts, too sorrowfully true,
In their affections, and their sufferance too;
And mingling with the emotions full and deep,
That through your veins with glowing fervour leap—
They make them nobler, worthier, and do wean
From too unmixed devotion to earth's scene—
For loving hearts are earthward-clinging still,
And every pulse of yours, with love doth thrill!
So pass ye on—with such high hopes to bless,
Beautiful—beautiful in Holiness—
Mighty in calm Submissiveness, serene,
Exalting, solemnizing your bright mien—
Almost imposing in the purity
That makes ye seem like Natives of yon sky;
So pass ye on in lowliness supreme,
In gentleness how potent! by the gleam
Of an immortal Beacon's pure light led,
Piercing the darkness round your pathway spread;
Girt round with faith, and armed with innocence;
Though sorely tried with influences intense
Of Feeling and of Passion, evermore
That brood and dwell within your bosom's core.
Feeling and Passion!—ay! the mighty twain
Prove your chief blessing, or your deadliest bane:
Feeling and passion!—yea! their true abode
Is in that full heart's depths, whence forth have flowed
Their purest currents, and their deepest streams,
Worthy to glass an Angel's white-robed dreams.
But ah! too often dimmed by angry clouds,
The tempest's shadows, and the midnight's shrouds;
Ruffled too oft, by fitful-rising wind,
When Peace hath vanished, and dear Hope declined;
And stained—yet no, not stained, but darkened, veiled
By many a mist, along their surface trailed.
Yet oft, how oft, that Love itself inspires—
Itself enkindles with undying fires—
Itself sustains—itself preserves from harm,
Fires the soft heart, and nerves the fragile arm;
And with a power-bestowing, blest control,
Reigns o'er the enrapt' and elevated soul!
Yea! the immortal, the transcendent Love,
Itself the stay, the guiding-star shall prove;
Brightener and Strengthener—gloriously made—
Through gloom and storm, through desert, waste, and shade:
And Comforter and firm Defender too—
Steadfast and potent, tender and most true!
Yea! Love shall be—as often it hath been—
Of Woman's heart, the staff and shield and screen:
Proving, midst trial and vicissitude,
The dearest blessing and the deepest good—
The Joy, the Life, the Spirit and the Power—
The only hope of many an anxious hour,
When pleasures fade, and disappointments lower!
And in that heart, another Love is found
Than that which builds its trust on mortal ground.
Yea! in that heart another Love abideth,
Than that which in Earth's shadow dimly glideth:
Another tenderness, another trust
Than that which clings to perishable dust.
A consecrated Love, a raptured zeal—
'T is happiness, 't is almost Heaven to feel!
A tenderness, exalting in its truth;
A feeling, fresh with an unfading youth;
Strengthening, ennobling, solemnizing, pure—
Made to prevail, and chartered to endure:
Earth's happiest happiness, Heaven's highest height,
A pure emotion, a sublime delight;
Not subject unto Disappointment's sway—
Not liable to Change, nor to Decay!
The Love, the dedicated Love of Heaven;
Through which be earthly Love's excess forgiven!