To her base level sought my heart to tame,
Made mock of each aspiring thought sublime,
And sought to bury me beneath the slime
Of her imaginings. All--all are gone
Who could defend me. From the grave of time
I am unearth'd--by sland'rous miscreants torn,
And rise to feel again the ills I once have borne.

IV.

Is this a Christian deed, to flaunt a vice,
And with another's failings gild your own?
To hearken to the whisperings and device
Of old age, selfish, to suspicion grown?
To misconstrue each friendly look--each tone--
And out of natural love create vile lust?
Must brother's heart his very kin disown,
While rudest hand disturbs her mouldering dust?
Is this a Christian deed? Shall mankind call it just?

V.

But let that pass. I hear a nation's voice
Raised to defend the absent, wronged child;
My hopes and aims were high, albeit my choice
Was fixed on one who felt not for my wild
And wayward nature; one who never smiled
On imperfection. From my home of light
Unscathed, I see life's blackening billows piled,
Ready to sweep the daring soul from sight,