I.

My soul is sick of calumny and lies:
Men gloat on evil--even woman's hand
Will dabble in the mire, nor heed the cries
Of the poor victim whom she seeks to brand
In thy sweet name, Religion, through the land!
Like the keen tempest she doth strip her prey,
Tossing him bare and wrecked upon the strand,
While vaunting her misdeeds before the day,
Bearing a monument which crumbles like the clay.

II.

My sister, have I lived to see thy name
Dishonored? Thou, who wast my pride, my stay;
Shall Jealousy and Fraud thy love defame
And I be dumb? Just Heaven, let a ray
From thy majestic light illume earth's clay,[A]
That through her I may scorch the slander vile,
And light throughout the land a torch to-day,
Which shall reveal how false and full of guile
Are they who seek thy name, Augusta, to defile.

[Footnote A: The Clairvoyant.]

III.

She who has borne my title and my name,
In deeds fraternal saw some monster crime;