Volume 5 — Original. A DREAM.

A procession passed by in my fitful dreams, So strange that it now like a nightmare seems. I beheld a long line of wifeless men Whom their living wives might claim again. And widows and orphans who never gave Husband or parent up to the grave. In the hands of each of this motley train Was a broken heart and a broken chain: And a veil hung down over every face Hiding the shame of a deep disgrace. A figure they bore on a funeral bier, Of a form that belonged to another sphere. Not a line of humanity could I trace In its ghastly, shadowy, hideous face. From its jaws came a noisome, poisonous breath, That hung o'er the bier like the mist of death; Then spread like a pestilence through the air, And husbands and wives standing here and there

Its magical circle of mischief within— Opened their mouths and sucked it in. Then, straightway, like beasts, grovelled prone in the dust, Burning with jealousy, anger, and lust. I marvelled to see as I looked again All these were now widows and wifeless men. In their hands, like those in the funeral train, Was the broken heart and the broken chain. And as the strange throng passed hurriedly by, They chanted this dirge with a savage cry: Dig its grave deep. Hide it well out of sight, Lest it come to the light, And our hearths and homes smite With a curse and a blight. Dig its grave deep. Dig its grave deep. Lest its treacherous smile May our reason beguile; Lest its rottenness vile May the nation defile. Dig its grave deep. Dig its grave deep. For lust and for gold It has bartered and sold All that dearest we hold; Let its death-knell be tolled. Dig its grave deep, Dig its grave deep. The land has been rife With its bloodshed and strife Between husband and wife. Crush, crush out its life. Dig its grave deep. Dig its grave deep. It has stood by the side. Of bridegroom and bride Whom it meant to divide, And their troth falsified. Dig its grave deep. Dig its grave deep. It feedeth on lies. It breaketh all ties; And all innocence dies 'Neath the glance of its eyes. Dig its grave deep.

Dig its grave deep. 'Tis an offspring of shame Deserving no name; From the devil it came, To return to the same. Dig its grave deep. Dig its grave deep. 'Tis a curse and a bane: Its touch is profane; And brings sorrow and pain In its murderous train. Dig its grave deep. Dig its grave deep. 'Tis a damning disgrace To a people or race, Who there nature abase To give this thing place. Dig its grave deep. Dig its grave deep. Pile earth, rocks, and stones On its festering bones: Naught for it atones: Hell its parentage owns. Dig its grave deep. As I looked once again on what funeral bier, My limbs became rigid through horror and fear; For the hideous form breathed its breath in my face, And spreading its arms to invite an embrace, Beckoned me on with an ominous nod; I cried, Fiend, avaunt! in the name of God! And awoke.—On that bier I had seen the foul corse Of the scourge of our country, THE LAW OF DIVORCE.