Chorus of Women (From the Tragedy of Baeto)

Was ever human heart so hard,
'Gainst sympathy's bright glances barr'd,
When miseries, such as ours, oppress
Poor woman's wretched helplessness?
Ah! he who sees this struggling band,
Sad exiles from their father-land,
And sees them, with unalter'd eye,
Borne down by grief and misery,
Is sterner than the ocean-rock
That stands unmoved by tempest shock:
And he who pities not our woe,
To some devouring brute must owe
Existence—not to man: no tear
Will e'er bedew his cheeks. For here
The pregnant female creeps distress'd,
Her crying infant on her breast,
While fears pervade her shuddering frame
For husband—child—for life and fame,
Where'er the slightest whisper falls.
And here the helpless widow crawls;
Or childless, or child-fostering, still
Each thinks her own the greater ill.
Here the betroth'd young maid, who loves
With all her heart's best passion, roves;
Before her bridegroom's restless eye,
That sees its fondest visions fly.
Here roams the inexperienced fair
With trembling steps: the orphan heir
Before his guardians walks, afraid.
And here go forth, with staffs to aid,
The aged men, who ne'er as slaves
Would pass to their unheeded graves;
For though the frame may wither'd be,
Still blooms the heart of Liberty.
Here parents from their children sever,
Bound to their king by oath for ever:
The brother quits his sister's side,
And friends from long-tried friends divide;
The burgher leaves his home to fate;
The lord his post; the prince his state;
And drags his infant son along,
A sufferer wrong'd—who did no wrong,
Too young for crime. We wept—(but ought
Rather to triumph in the thought!)—
We wept the brave, who sank beneath
The foeman's arms to glorious death
Without remorse—without a fear.
Thrice happy heroes! whom a spear,
With iron point, or wooden stave
Has driven from life—and whom the grave
Has shelter'd from all future woe.
Ye never knew, and cannot know,
How sad the choice, how great the pains,
Of banishment or slavery's chains,—
We move within a circle, where
Is nought save suffering, grief, and care;
Frighted, fright-scattering even on those
Our friends—who should have stemm'd our foes.