Poems (Louisa Blake)/The Hindoo Widow

THE HINDOO WIDOW.

She stood up calmly—for to die
Was nought, since death had riven
The strongest and the holiest tie,
Which made the earth seem heaven;
Of nature's shuddering not a trace
Broke the mild light that shone
From her serene, untroubled face,
And told of victory won.

On the terrific pile of death
She fixed her fearless eye;
What reck'd she, if her fleeting breath
Expired in agony?
Why should she shrink from suffering,
Her earthly joy is gone,
And all her fond affections cling
Round her departed one?

She'd loved and cherish'd him in life,
She 'd eased his parting breath,
Had soothed him in his last sad strife,
When life contends with death;
And now, with heart and courage high,
She'd come, prepared to prove
By life resign'd in agony,
Her constancy and love.

Oh woman! though the pitying tear
At thy sad fate must fall,
When thou art darkly bound as here,
Stern superstition's thrall!
Yet, thy devotedness of heart,
Thy pure, heroic love,
Which such high courage can impart,
Courage all feel above;

That love is still the same, where'er
Thy gentle sex is found—
Superior to all selfish fear,
Though dangers gather round;
That love which nothing can estrange;
Where'er thy lot is cast,
Not subject to decay or change,
Is steadfast to the last.