The hounds of power were at her gate; And at their heels, a yelping pack Of graceless mongrels stood in wait, To mark the issue of attack,
With lips that slavered with their hate. With window raised and portal barred, The mistress scanned the darkening space, And with a visage hot and hard —
At bay before the cruel chase — She held them in her fierce regard. “What would ye — spies and hirelings — what?” She asked with accent, stern and brave;
“Why come ye to this sacred spot, Led by the counsel of a knave, And flanked by slanderer and sot? “You have my husband: has he earned
No meed of courtesy for me? Is this the recompense returned, That she he loved the best should be Suspected, persecuted, spurned?
“My home is wrecked: what would ye more? My life is ruined — what new boon? My children's hearts are sad and sore With weeping for the wounds that soon
Will plead for healing at my door! “I hold your prisoner — stand assured: Safe from his foes: aye, safe from you! Safe in a sister's love immured,
And by a warden kept as true As e'er the test of faith endured, “What could I do but hail him guest, And bind his cruel wounds with balm,
And give him on his sister's breast That which he asked, the humble alm Of a safe pillow where to rest? “Come, then, and dare the wrath of fate!
Come, if you must, or if you will! But know that I am desperate; And shafts that wound, and wounds that kill Your deed of dastardy await!”
A murmur swept through all the mob; The base informer slunk afar; And lusty cheer and stifled sob Rose to her at the window-bar,
While those whose hands were come to rob Her dwelling of its treasure, cursed; For round their heads the menace flew That he who dared adventure first,
Or first an arm of murder drew, Should taste of vengeance at its worst.
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