[Literally Dignity of Women.]
Honor to woman! To her it is
given
To garden the earth with the roses
of heaven!
All blessed, she linketh the
loves in their choir
In the veil of the graces her beauty
concealing,
She tends on each altar thats
hallowed to feeling,
And keeps ever-living the
fire!
From the bounds of truth careering,
Mans strong spirit
wildly sweeps,
With each hasty impulse veering
Down to passions troubled
deeps.
And his heart, contented never,
Greeds to grapple with the
far,
Chasing his own dream forever,
On through many a distant
star!
But woman with looks that can charm
and enchain,
Lureth back at her beck the wild
truant again,
By the spell of her presence
beguiled-
In the home of the mother her modest
abode,
And modest the manners by Nature
bestowed
On Natures most exquisite
child!
Bruised and worn, but fiercely breasting,
Foe to foe, the angry strife;
Man, the wild one, never resting,
Roams along the troubled life;
What he planneth, still pursuing;
Vainly as the Hydra bleeds,
Crest the severed crest renewing-
Wish to withered wish succeeds.
But woman at peace with all being,
reposes,
And seeks from the moment to gather
the roses-
Whose sweets to her culture
belong.
Ah! richer than he, though his soul
reigneth oer
The mighty dominion of genius and
lore,
And the infinite circle of
song.
Strong, and proud, and self-depending,
Mans cold bosom beats
alone;
Heart with heart divinely blending,
In the love that gods have
known,
Souls sweet interchange of
feeling,
Melting tears-he
never knows,
Each hard sense the hard one steeling,
Arms against a world of foes.
Alive, as the wind-harp, how lightly
soever
If wooed by the zephyr, to music
will quiver,
Is woman to hope and to fear;
All, tender one! still at the shadow
of grieving,
How quiver the chords-how
thy bosom is heaving-
How trembles thy glance through
the tear!
Mans dominion, war and labor;
Might to right the statue
gave;
Laws are in the Scythians
sabre;
Where the Mede reigned-see
the slave!
Peace and meekness grimly routing,
Prowls the war-lust, rude
and wild;
Eris rages, hoarsely shouting,
Where the vanished graces
smiled.
But woman, the soft one, persuasively
prayeth-
Of the life that she charmeth,
the sceptre she swayeth;
She lulls, as she looks from
above,
The discord whose bell for its victims
is gaping,
And blending awhile the forever
escaping,
Whispers hate to the image
of love!
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