At length she raised her head, and tossed
A burden from her heart, and brain.
She would have love at any cost
Of weary toil and patient pain,
And rightful ease and pleasure lost!
They could not love her for his sake;
They would not, and her heart forgave.
Why should a woman stoop to take
The poor endowment of a slave,
And like a menial choose to make
Her master's mantle half her own?
They loved her least who loved him most:
They envied her her little throne!
He who was cherished by a host
Was hers by gift, and hers alone,
And she would prove her woman's right
To hold the throne to which the king
Had called her, clothing her with white;
And never would she show her ring
To win a loving proselyte!
These were the thoughts and this the strife
That through her kindling spirit swept,
And wrought her purposes of life;
And powers that waked and powers that slept
Within the sweet and girlish wife.
Sprang into energy intense,
At touch of an inspiring chrism
That fell on her, she knew not whence,
And lifted her to heroism
Which wrapped her wholly, soul and sense.