ART thou her child, born in the proud midday

Of her large soul's abundance and excess,

Her daughter and her mightiest heritress,

Dowered with her thoughts, and lit on thy great way

By her great lamps that shine and fail not ? Yea!

And at this thunderous hour of struggle and stress,

Hither across the ocean wilderness

What word comes frozen on the frozen spray ?

Neutrality! The tiger from his den

Springs at thy mother's throat, and canst thou now

Watch with a stranger's gaze ? So be it, then !

Thy loss is more than hers; for, bruised and torn,

She shall yet live without thine aid, and thou

Without the crown divine thou might'st have worn.