19

WOMAN'S TRIUMPH
by E.B.
(from Peterson's Magazine, 1858)

Call me not heartless, man! heartless or cruel,
For scorning the love thou hast proffered me now,
That unmoved to thy words of fond worship I listen,
Nor heed the pale sorrow that blanches thy brow.
For once to my ear was thy voice sweetest music,
Thy glance to my heart sent a tremulous thrill,
But you dared to deride me, to mock at my weakness,
And pride, woman's pride bade its throbbing be still
Long ago from my heart have I banished thine image,
Long ago learned to feel for thee nothing but scorn,
And the time when my love could to thine have responded
Has passed like a dream I awake from at morn.