Part 14 (1/2)

Believe me, Love! I honour, night and day, The name of Woman. 'Tis the n.o.bler s.e.x.

Villains may shame it; sorrows may perplex; But still 'tis watchful. Man may take away All its possessions, all its worldly sway, And yet be wors.h.i.+pp'd by the soul he wrecks.

XVIII.

A word of love to Woman is as sweet As nectar'd rapture in a golden bowl; And when she quaffs the heavens asunder roll, And G.o.d looks through. And, from his judgment-seat, He blesses those who part, and those who meet, And those who join the links of soul with soul.

XIX.

And are there none untrue? G.o.d knows there are!

Aye, there are those who learn in time the laugh That ends in madness--women who for chaff Have sold their corn--who seek no guiding-star, And find no faith to light them from afar; Of whom 'tis said: ”They need no epitaph.”

XX.

All this is known; but lo! for sake of One Who lives in glory--for my mother's sake, For thine, and hers, O Love!--I pity take On all poor women. Jesu's will be done!

Honour for all, and infamy for none, This side the borders of the burning lake.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Letter XII VICTORY]

LETTER XII.

VICTORY.

I.

Now have I reach'd the goal of my desire, For thou hast sworn--as sweetly as a bell Makes out its chime--the oath I love to tell, The fealty-oath of which I never tire.

The lordly forest seems a giant's lyre, And sings, and rings, the thoughts that o'er it swell.

II.

The air is fill'd with voices. I have found Comfort at last, enthralment, and a joy Past all belief; a peace without alloy.

There is a splendour all about the ground As if from Eden, when the world was drown'd, Something had come which death could not destroy.

III.

It seems, indeed, as if to me were sent A smile from Heaven--as if to-day the clods Were lined with silk--the trees divining rods, And roses gems for some high tournament.

I should not be so proud, or so content, If I could sup, to-night, with all the G.o.ds.

IV.

A shrined saint would change his place with me If he but knew the worth of what I feel.

He is enrobed indeed, and for his weal Hath much concern; but how forlorn is he!