With face averted and with shackled hands,
Clothed only with her chastity, she stands.
Her heart is full of tears, as any rose
Bending beneath a shower; but pride and scorn,
And that fine feeling of endurance born,
Have strung the delicate fibres of her frame
Till not a tear can fall! Methinks such woes
As thine, pale sufferer, might rend in twain
A heart of sterner stuff, and yet the flame
Of thy pure spirit, like the sacred light
On Hestia's hearth, burns steadily and bright,
Unswayed by sorrow's gusts, unquenched by sorrow's rain.
Thou can'st confront, dumb marble as thou art,
And silence those whose lying lips declare
That virtue springs from circumstance, not God;
The snow that falls where never foot hath trod,
On bleakest mountain heights, is not more pure
Than thy white soul, though thou stands't naked there
Gazed at by those whose lustful passions start
With every heart throb! Long may'st thou endure
To vanquish with thy calm, immaculate brow,
The unholy thoughts of men, as thou dost now!"
The direct history of this statue by Powers (or the circumstances attending the modeling), has been given to the "New York World," by a correspondent abroad. It points to one of our countrymen about thirty years ago, whose domestic sorrows and poverty in a "strange land," were relieved by the faithful love of a daughter, him otherwise than by consenting to become the model for the "Slave." Beauty of form and features fade into insignificance compared with a filial love that even surpassing that of the Roman daughter who nourished her starving father in prison, felt no sacrifice nor duty too great or painful. Why is it that such an incident brings more potently than ever to our minds the truth of the allegory, "no cross—no crown!" for certainly to this faithful child, grief and
