Page:Oriental Sketches Dramatic Sketches and Tales.pdf/43

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Her troubled spirit nearly wrought To madness, finds relief in song, And with her heart's deep anguish fraught The lay indignant bursts along.

"Think not, accursed priests, that I will lend    "My sanction to these most unholy rites; "And though yon funeral pile I may ascend,    "It is not that your stern command affrights "My lofty soul—it is because these hands "Are all too weak to break my sex's bands.

"I, from my earliest infancy, have bowed    "A helpless slave to lordly man's controul, "No hope of liberty, no choice allowed,    "Unheeded all the struggles of my soul; "Compelled by brutal force to link my fate "With one who best deserved my scorn and hate.