And what she did to Cyrus after fight, But now fast barr'd: so here upon the flat All that long morn the lists were hammer'd up, And all that morn the heralds to and fro, With message and defiance went and came; But shaken here and there, and rolling words 'You have known, O brother, all the pangs we felt, What heats of moral anger when we heard Of those that iron-cramp'd their women's feet; Of lands in which at the altar the poor bride Gives her harsh groom for bridal-gift a scourge; Where smoulder their dead despots; and of those, Mothers, that, all prophetic pity, fling Their pretty maids in the running flood, and swoops The vulture, beak and talon, at the heart That it was little better in better times With smoother men: the old leaven leaven'd all : Millions of throats would bawl for civil rights, No woman named: therefore I set my face We fenced it round with gallant institutes, And biting laws to scare the beasts of prey, Brake on us at our books, and marr'd our peace, Mask'd like our maids, blustering we know not what Of insolence and love, some pretext held Of old affiance, invalid, since our will Seal'd not the bond-the striplings!-for their sport!— nay, we would not aught of false Is not our cause pure? and whereas we know. You draw from, fight; we abide what end soe'er, You failing but we know you will not. Still You must not slay him: he risk'd his life for ours, Fight and fight well; strike, and strike home. O dear And mould a generation strong to move With claim on claim from right to right, till she But ever following those two crowned twins, Commerce and conquest, shower the fiery grain Of Freedom broadcast over all that orbs Between the Northern and the Southern morn.' Then came a postscript dash'd across the rest. 'See that there be no traitors in your camp: We seem a nest of traitors Since our arms fail'd none to trust this Egypt-plague of men! Almost our maids were better at their homes, Than thus man-girdled here: indeed we think Our chiefest comfort is the little child Of one unworthy mother; which she left: She shall not have it back: the child shall grow To prize the authentic mother of her mind. We took it for an hour this morning to us, In our own bed: the tender orphan hands Felt at our heart, and seem'd to charm from thence The wrath we nursed against the world farewell.' I ceased; he said: 'Stubborn, but she may sit Upon a king's right hand in thunder-storms And breed up warriors! See now, tho' yourself 7 Be dazzled by the wildfire Love to sloughs That swallow common sense, the spindling king, This Gama swamp'd in lazy tolerance. When the man wants weight the woman takes it up, As are the roots of earth and base of all. Man for the field, and woman for the hearth: Man with the head, and woman with the heart: Man to command, and woman to obey ; All else confusion. Look to it: the gray mare Is ill to live with, when her whinny shrills That to the hireling leave their babe, and brawl |