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Rh 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.