The Moderates

She stood before her traitors bound and bare,Clothed with her wounds and with her naked shameAs with a weed of fiery tears and flame,Their mother-land, their common weal and care,And they turned from her and denied, and swareThey did not know this woman nor her name.And they took truce with tyrants and grew tame,And gathered up cast crowns and creeds to wear,And rags and shards regilded. Then she tookIn her bruised hands their broken pledge, and eyedThese men so late so loud upon her sideWith one inevitable and tearless look,That they might see her face whom they forsook;And they beheld what they had left, and died.

February, 1870.