Oh, why say that Woman is faithless and light,
And that wisdom alone to thy sex is confined ;
That her heart is as false as her beauty is bright,
And her loveliness lies in her face-not her mind ?

Remember, 'twas Woman first lull'd thee to rest ;
Remember, 'twas she that first over thee hung,-
That thou slept'st thy first sleep on a Woman's fond breast,
And thy first infant accents were caught from her tongue.

She guided thy steps in thy infantine years-
She anxiously watch'd where thy careless feet stray'd-
She hush'd all thy wailing-she dried all thy tears-
And delighted she saw thy young genius display'd.

And is not fair Woman the sweet'ner of life ?
With man she divides her enjoyments and cares,-
The Friend or the Sister, the Daughter or Wife,-
Alike in his pleasure or sorrow she shares.

She is like the fair woodbine that wreathes round the oak,
That derives its support from the tree's noble stem ;
And, tho' it be scathed by the lightning's dread stroke,
Still weaves of its flowrets a rich diadem.

'Tis Woman supports and consoles man's decline-
She drops o'er his woes the pure pitying tear,
And her love, like a tendril, still round him will twine,
A tendril that Time cannot wither or sear.

'Tis she who will watch the last life-drop depart
From the cheek, where so often her smile has removed
The dark cloud,-then will feel the last throb of the heart,
And weep o'er the corse of the being she loved.

She will freely confess she is weaker than thee ;
But her weakness should move not thine anger, but love :
Oh, thou should'st remember those moments, when she
Hath cheer'd thee, and seem'd like a form from above.

To thee for instruction and strength she must cling,
For she does not pretend to be wise as thou art ;
Her impulses flow from affection's warm spring,
Her feelings are not from the head, but the heart.

Then why say she only by malice is stirr'd ?
No ! even her failings from kindness descend :-
Oh, revoke the rude sentence-recall the harsh word,
And Woman henceforth shall be ever thy friend.