The German mother has too long been what

A Chancellor once called the "Kingdom's Cow."

Ah, as she bears the droves for slaughter, how

Her dumb-beast eyes crave pity for her lot!

See, there she smiles, like loving God forgot—

All His supernal patience on her brow.

How long must her grand arch of brain, as now,

Bear up a universe "of what should not"?

There, lies she, crushed by troops in hot pursuit

Of mocking shadows; for be Gain complete,

What is it but twin brother to defeat?

Stand up the dead on any bloody route.

Stoop for no kiss from orphans, at thy feet,

O Triumph! for ash-cord is all thy fruit.