Poems (Freston)/The Argument

by Elizabeth Heléne Freston

"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.