Page:Lippincotts Monthly Magazine-39.djvu/872

852 What does it cost, this garniture of death?
 * It costs the life which God alone can give;

It costs dull silence where was music's breath;
 * It costs dead joy, that foolish pride may live.

Ah, life, and joy, and song, depend upon it. Are costly trimmings for a woman's bonnet!

Oh, who would stop the sweet pulse of a lark,
 * That flutters in such ecstasy of bliss,

Or lay a robin's bright breast cold and stark,
 * For such a paltry recompense as this?

Oh, you who love your babies, think upon it. Mothers are slaughtered, just to trim your bonnet!

Will Herod never cease to rule the land.
 * That we must slay sweet innocency so?

Is joy so cheap, or happiness sure planned?
 * Tell me, O friend, who art acquaint with Woe!

Does thy sad heart proclaim no protest on it? Wouldst thou slay happiness, just for a bonnet?

And must God's choirs that through His forests rove,
 * Granting sweet matinées to high and low.

Must His own orchestra of field and grove,
 * Himself their leader, be disbanded so?

Nay, nay, O God, proclaim thy ban upon it: Guard thy dear birds from sport, and greed, and bonnet!

Their fine-spun hammocks swinging in the breeze
 * Should be as safe as babies' cradles are,

And no rude hand that tears them from the trees.
 * Or dares a sweet bird's property to mar.

Deserves a woman's touch or kiss upon it. Unless—she wears dead birds upon her bonnet!

Dead birds! and dead for gentle woman's sake.
 * To feed awhile her vanity's poor breath!

And yet the foolish bells sweet clamor make
 * And tell of One whose power hath vanquished death!

Ah, Easter-time has a reproach upon it While birds are slain to trim a woman's bonnet!