The Goddess.
63
No lance or warlike shield it bears;
A helmet in its pitying hands
Brings water from the nearest brook,
To meet his last demands.
Can this be she of haughty mien—
The Goddess of the Sword and Shield?
Ah, yes! The Grecian poet's myth
Sways still each battle-field.
For not alone that rugged War
Some grace or charm from Beauty gains,
But when the Goddess' work is done,
The Woman's still remains.
