Part VI. THE APOLOGIA.

O Bridget! whose white skin is like to petals of the gladiola flower, Remember this, that from that destined hour When thou was christened, thou was named “POWER.” Power thou hast—and that a wonderous awful gift— Under whose diction thou can’st sink or lift Souls, spirits, hearts, from mirky cleft and rift To higher ways. But also thou can’st drive Creatures so deep, that few can ever dive Down to the depths and bring them up alive, Power thy sister e’er will be through life. “POWER” will rise victorious from every worldly strife. Power is “POWER’S” heritage, manifest and rife, Beware of Power—two edged—a double-bladed knife. Dreams and haunting visions by thy name alone I oft-times have conquered; trusting in thee I’ve gone Through perils gaunt and numerous ground on Passion’s stone. Bridget, although it ere may be thy mission To play at games with Power’s mate—Ambition— See! hidden at her back stands Sinuous Sedition! Loving perhaps too much thy tenderer, truer side I to my inward passion have at length complied, Lest in the smothering of it, I to myself had lied. Crudely and roughly shaken from Euterpe’s sieve These frail halting stanzas now to thy care I give, Feeling that every letter by thee wast made to live. Scorn not then this limping, poor, procession Of rhythmic lines; nor treat with proud aggression These faulty verses; waiting at thy session For tempered judgment; merciful then be Ever with kindness keeping within thy memory, That every written sentiment, is a living part of me.