YOU request me, my friend, on true courage to write;
Yet do you reflect, that whilst I indite,
Or attempt to explain my ideas on the theme,
The critics may term them a mere ignus gleam.
As courage , the lords of creation declare,
Disgraces that softness attach’d to the fair;
For courage , like honour , they boldly maintain,
Is their inclusive right–a paternal domain,
Descending as land , from the sire to the son ,
Since the time that dame Eve her domestic course run.
She was softness personified, Milton declares;
And Coelib’s his heroine to Eve compares;
Yet her’s was the softness of feeling and soul,
For each passion was under the judgment’s control.
But you’ll tell me I wander, and widely digress
From the subject you wish’d me to paint or express;
Corrected I stand;–and revert to my text,
Although to expound it–I’m rather perplex’d.
True courage, I think, springs mature from that heart
Which disdains all appearance of softness or art;
That softness, I mean, which seems to require
Some fostering aid if a cat should expire;
Or a poor harmless beetle should happen to crawl
From its confin’d abode, in the chink of a wall;
Or a mouse should presumptuously venture to stray
From its diurnal hiding place, and seem to say,
This moment’s your last! –then seize on the fair,
And her delicate form into mere atoms tear!
‘Tis only such softness as this I despise,
For a softness of heart is our sexes first prize.
Again, you will say, I’m digressing too far;
Allow’d;–I now make you my kind polar star;
And return to the subject with which I began,
Declaring true courage belongs not to man,
As his exclusive right, or paternal domain;
And will prove it, by shewing our sex can bear pain
With heroic firmness, and undaunted mind;
E’en to danger they often prove fearless or blind!
Yet assertions and proof are two distinct things,
Though my bow, in this instance, expands with two strings;
And from history ancient and modern , can trace
Proofs of courage sublime –in the peticoat race.
Arria’s sufficient, my friend, to proclaim,
That woman, weak woman, has some claim to fame;
For, as the life-blood flow’d warm from her heart,
She smiling deliver’d her husband the dart:
“No pain, my lov’d lord, does thy Arria feel,”
Said she, as she gave him the sharp-pointed steel;
“The death which I suffer is only to part
From the object I love–the spouse of my heart!”
Yet courage consists not in contempt of life;
But Arria died to prove that a wife
Could set an example , worth record, and fame,
For both sex’s honour that great woman’s name.
This is one of the many examples which thought
Has to my remembrance judiciously brought,
To prove that true courage from female minds springs,
And is not confin’d to warriors or kings.
Since fate has ordain’d all those horrors in France,
What marks of courageousness might I advance!
But the theme is too shocking for me to proclaim,
And the proofs are recorded in annals of fame.
But would you, my friend, have me courage define,
I shall say, ’tis a gift from the Author Divine,
Bestow’d at our birth, yet never acquir’d,
Though brav’ry oft with its semblance is fir’d:
‘Tis a passion which banishes all futile fear,
And draws independence within its own sphere.
It would not face danger with wanton despite,
Or shrink from dark omens with fear and affright;
Collected it stands, with reason its base,
Not fearing alarm, or dreading disgrace:
‘Tis a shield which preserveth from dread and surprise,
And used by the noble , the good , and the wise .
Yet why, my dear Laura, should I e’er define,
A sentiment which I believe truly thine?
No feminine fear does your bosom pervade,
No dreadful forebodings excited by shade;
From Brook Green you travel at twelve of the night,
With the same perfect ease as when Sol’s rays are bright;
The reason, my friend, is perfectly clear,
Neither act, deed, or word, give occasion for fear.
Long, long may you travel through life’s changing road,
And always have sun-shine to gild your abode!
And as you drive on–may each smiling year
More joyous and gay than the former appear!
Then when you arrive at the end of life’s stage,
May you meet the reward of virtue and age!
(Mary Hopkins Pilkington)
More Poetry from Mary Hopkins Pilkington:
Mary Hopkins Pilkington Poems based on Topics: Friendship, Mind, Name, Vice & Virtue, Life, Art, Fairness, Soul, Fame, Birth, Death & Dying- Helen And Sedley (Mary Hopkins Pilkington Poems)
- Selina (Mary Hopkins Pilkington Poems)
- Donald And Jessey (Mary Hopkins Pilkington Poems)
- Mental Sufferings; Or, The Duellist (Mary Hopkins Pilkington Poems)
- Quashey; An Authentic Tale: Founded On Matter Of Fact (Mary Hopkins Pilkington Poems)
- Poetic Lines, Addressed To Four Children (Mary Hopkins Pilkington Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Man Poems, Life Poems, Night Poems, Mind Poems, Time Poems, Death & Dying Poems, Soul Poems, Fairness Poems, Friendship Poems, Place Poems, Name PoemsBased on Keywords: love-the, compares, shewing, disgraces, revert, digress, banishes, it-i, inclusive, acquir, assertions