ISABEL.

Otago Witness, Issue 2051, 15 June 1893, Page 39

ISABEL.

Dear Isabel, your eyes are blue, Nor do I think I greatly err When frankly I declare to you Your locks are of the very hue That I prefer. Your lips are red, your teeth are white, Your nose is all a nose should be, Your figure's just the proper height, And smiles flit o'er your face like light Across the sea. And when you wake, or when you sleep, Or when you smile, or when you sing, Or when you talk, or silence keep, All other maidens well might weep With envying. ii. 0 maiden of the newer time, 'Tis thus I celebrate your charms, And idly play with olden rhyme ; But you with wrathfulness sublime Are up in arms. "Supposing that my eyes are blue," You say with all the scorn you can, 11 Supposing all you say is true, Still what on earth is that to you Or any man? 11 A woman was not made for show, To pass the idle hours of men ; And well Bhe does the value know Of empty flatteries that flow From tongue or pen. . "It is not men alone that climb High Evolution's steep ascent, And women of the later time Will not be fed on foolish rhyme Or compliment. "And has not woman heart and brain ? And must not woman feel and know ? Nor hope with man a place to gain ? But must she in his lordly train Forever go ? " 0 no, believe me, soon will timo Unloose her bonds and set her free, And make your sentimental rhyme Against her womanhood a crime Of high degree." 111. 0 do not, Isabel, be wroth, Nor scorch me with your lofty ire, For truly I am something loth ' To perish like a foolish moth In such a fire. Both right and liberty to rise To woman I would ne'er refuse, And quite as much as you I prize The prospect that before us lie 3 Of larger views. But if when comes that greater time Of liberated womanhood, It shall be thought in man a crime To shadow forth in lowly rhyme Each various mood That springs within him at the sight Of beauty in a woman's face, Or fills his soul with lire and light When stoops to him a vision bright Of love and grace, Then, really, I would rather ba A simple bard in times like these, When bards are altogether free To sing of maid or man or tree As they shall please. And yet I cannot but believe That in the golden age to come 'Twill scarcly be as you conceive, But that the maids will greatly grieve Should bards be dumb. So pray you smile on me again, And put those angry thoughts away* That in you rise at tyrant men, And let me take once more my pen And tune my lay. 0 let me siDg those eyes of blue, The nose that's neither short nor long, The locks that are my favourite hue, — 0 let me sing again to you My humble song. But should you still be obstinate, And say it is a shameful thing, 1 trust it is not yet too late To seek me out another mate To whom to sing. iv.] "Another mate, then, go and find," I hear you scornfully reply, " There may be maidens have a mind For song of such a silly kind, But so not I. "For is it right, do you suppose, When woman's soul in bondage lies And woman's heart is full of woes, To sing about a woman's nose Or woman's eyes ? "So, sir, I pray, betake you hence' With all your worthless stock-in-trade Of jingling rhymes and vain pretence, And pray to Heaven for common sense, Though long delayed. " 0 better far to till the ground, And taste the honourably joys Wherewith all honest toil is crowned, Then fill the air with empty sound And fruitless noise. 11 And I will also seek a mate, A bard of purpose high and good, A soul with truth illuminate, And fit to be the laureate Of womanhood. v. If you would seek for such a mate, Then I, alas ! must say farewell, But much I fear 'twill be his fate To be, like me, the laureate Of Isabel. —William Gay.