The Lady Poverty For all loss of seeming good: William Dean Howells [1837 THE LADY POVERTY HE Lady Poverty was fair: ut she has lost her looks of late, With change of times and change of air. h slattern, she neglects her hair, ler gown, her shoes. She keeps no state s once when her pure feet were bare. r-almost worse, if worse can be Where is her ladyhood? Not here, And slender landscape and austere. Alice Meynell (1853 THE LADY POVERTY MET her on the Umbrian Hills, Her hair unbound, her feet unshod; 3 one whom secret glory fills She walked-alone with God. met her in the city street; Oh, how changed was her aspect then! ith heavy eyes and weary feet She walked alone-with men. Jacob Fischer [18 2801 THE PRAYER OF BEATEN MEN From "The House of Broken Swords' WE are the fallen, who, with helpless faces " Felt the hoof's beat, and heard the rattling traces We are the fallen, who by ramparts gory, We were but men. Always our eyes were holden, Give us our own; and though in realms eternal Ay, grant our ears to hear the foolish praising THE LAST WORD CREEP into thy narrow bed, Let the long contention cease! Thou art tired; best be still. Io Victis ey out-talked thee, hissed thee, tore thee? tter men fared thus before thee; ed their ringing shot and passed, Jtly charged--and sank at last. arge once more, then, and be dumb! hen the forts of folly fall, nd thy body by the wall! 2803 Matthew Arnold [1822-1888] IO VICTIS From "He and She" he hymn of the conquered, who fell in the Battle of mn of the wounded, the beaten, who died overelmed in the strife; jubilant song of the victors, for whom the resoundacclaim ons was lifted in chorus, whose brows wore the chapof fame, e hymn of the low and the humble, the weary, the oken in heart, trove and who failed, acting bravely a silent and desrate part; youth bore no flower on its branches, whose hopes urned in ashes away, whose hands slipped the prize they had grasped at, ho stood at the dying of day the wreck of their life all around them, unpitied, uneeded, alone, Death swooping down o'er their failure, and all but heir faith overthrown, the voice of the world shouts its chorus-its pæan for hose who have won; the trumpet is sounding triumphant and high to the reeze and the sun Glad banners are waving, hands clapping and hurrying feet Thronging after the laurel-crowned victors, I stand on the field of defeat In the shadow, with those who are fallen, and wounded, and dying, and there Chant a requiem low, place my hand on their pain-knotted brows, breathe a prayer, Hold the hand that is helpless and whisper, "They only the victory win Who have fought the good fight and have vanquished the demon that tempts us within, Who have held to their faith unseduced by the prize that the world holds on high, Who have dared for a high cause to suffer, resist, fight-if need be, to die." Speak, History! Who are life's victors? Unroll the long annals and say, Are they those whom the world called the victors, won the success of a day? -who The martyrs, or Nero? The Spartans who fell at Ther mopyla's tryst, Or the Persians and Xerxes? Pilate, or Christ? His judges, or Socrates? William Wetmore Story [1819-1895) "THEY WENT FORTH TO BATTLE BUT THEY ALWAYS FELL" THEY went forth to battle but they always fell; They knew not fear that to the foeman yields, It was a secret music that they heard, A sad sweet plea for pity and for peace; And that which pierced the heart was but a word, The Masters 2805 sed a fierce cruel kiss, to put surcease went forth to battle but they always fell: ubling music, and they fought not well. ir wreaths are willows and their tribute, tears; went to battle forth and always fell. Shaemas O Sheel [18 THE MASTERS Pн, Masters, you who rule the world, would not waste your time for long, To read how by the weak, the strong When weary of the Mart, the Loom, By fresh-lit lamp, or dying sun, See in my songs how women love. We shared your lonely watch by night, Our thoughts went with you through the fight, That saved a soul, or wrecked a realm; |