Poems (Freston)/The Argument
"THE ARGUMENT"
My lovely cousin, sweet Elizabeth, Came, when the roses come to bloom for us And shed the fragrance of bright health and youth And merry presence by my Helen's side. My Helen,—my best treasure, my dear wife!—Had been her school-mate ere she came to me, To crown my life and make it all complete With that best gift, a noble woman's love.
A very Princess Royal in her soul And in her look is young Elizabeth, While my dear love is gentle, with soft eyes, But strong and brave and altogether true. The day was bright and warm,—a perfect day,With fleecy clouds floating through realms of blue,With book in hand, I sought the pleasant shade Afforded by a summer-house near by,O'er which the woodbine climbed luxuriantly And into which the roses shyly peeped.
There I ensconsed myself and read my book,—'Twas on the Social Question—till the sound Of voices broke the hush that brooded o'er The quiet spot. I laid my book aside And listened, without shame, to all they said. My cousin's voice first reached me, the rich tone Holding a something almost petulant.
"What can a woman do?" "Why sympathize," My Helen answered with a tender smile, "Cheer on the lagging spirit up life's road, And light the pathway by ambition trod! Pluck from life's roses all the cruel thorns"—"And have them pierce and make her own hand bleed!"—
The restless voice of proud Elizabeth Broke in upon the other's calmer tone. "E'en so," she answered, "but the wounds will heal While smoothing pillows for an aching head,Or soothing chafed and weary hearts to rest. Her lot in life is to be sentinel,—To weep, to watch, to pray"—
"I grant all that! All that is well and truly woman's work, For men have greater things than those to do!" My cousin answered with a lofty scorn. "To weep is woman's share, to watch and pray Are also her's! What good is in all that?" "To weep is good, for see how Nature's tears Bring forth the bloom, and make earth beautiful. To watch and conquer in the strife with sin And crush the serpent's head! is it not well? To pray! ah, surely cousin you must own The angels bend from heaven to hear us pray!" "They bend too far!" She answered scornfully, "They see our every flaw and every sin They write down carefully,—let nothing pass, And we are made to suffer for them all, While man goes free,—the froward, favored child!"
"Now, cousin, you're unjust!" my wife replied."'Thou shalt not sin,' was meant for all of us, But many things are hidden from our sight That's clear to God's, and it may even be Men find it harder to be good than we,For, cousin, God is always truly just."
"Why 'tis but just that he should love the most That which comes nearest to his image, man! What poet said 'We get no Christ from you?' And she meant women, 'tis the sex no doubt God does not love us as He loves His own."
"No Christ from us! ah, no!" my Helen said,—Her voice was softly thrilling in its tone,—"Because, in all those many, many years,There has been but one Christ and He a God; But from the maidens of Judea fair, He chose His help-mate to redeem the world."
"And faithfully she did obey His will,And patiently she suffered for His sake. It is what mothers oft since then have done,For suffering, as you say, is woman's forte. But, oh, the power! the liberty of man!
To stand among his fellows, lord of them! To carve a name upon the ages' breast As lasting as the ages! That were life! The brain is sexless, also is the soul,Why can not they soar to the highest heaven And bring back treasures for the good of all? But thought and soul in woman's form are weak And puny, made no doubt to match her arms."
"A noble thing indeed is liberty, And yet," my Helen answered, laughing low, "Oft held in check by feeble woman's hands.When Shakespeare leaned against his casement pane And listened to the voices of the stars And heard the strong pulse-beats of Nature's heart,Or grieved with Juliet in her dreary tomb,Has not Miranda's fairy isle or Juliet's woe
Fled from the harsh voice of Anne Hathaway, As she commanded her infatuate spouse To 'close the casement' gainst the chill night air And cut the kindling for to-morrow's fire?' Whenever some great deed of some great man Strikes at the world and makes it pulses thrill, A woman's hand has guided on the blow,—Is it not woman who plants in the boy's Young, fertile heart the seed of noble thought? And from the noble thought spring noble deeds!
Ah, love, you wear your royal robes too light,That glorious womanhood hath clothed you in,If you can fail to see how great you are! What matter though our tasks be little ones? What matter that we miss the world's applause? The fruit is good and by it God will judge, We brighten poverty and make a home About us, even in the wilderness. We love unswervingly unto the end And suffer silently for those we love"—
"Why that is but to be a willing slave, To fetch, to carry and to kneel in thanks If but our masters nod a curt "Well done!"
"We love our bondage dear Elizabeth And would not change it for your liberty,You, too, will bow that haughty head of yours When your heart thrills beneath a Master's eyes."
"Not I! I ———There's the dinner bell and I Have still to change my gown! Let's run for it!' A rustle of quick-moving silken skirts, A patter of small feet and once again The peaceful quiet brooded o'er the scene.