In floods her tender memories poured; They foamed with waves of spite: She crushed them, high her heart outsoared, To keep her mind alight. X —The crawling creature, called in scorn A woman!—with this pen We sign a paper that may warn His crowing fellowmen. XI —We read them lesson of a power They slight who do us wrong. That bitter hour this bitter hour Provokes; by turns the strong! XII —That we were woman once is known: That we are Justice now, Above our sex, above the throne, Men quaking shall avow. XIII Archduchess Anne ascending flew, Her heart outsoared, but felt The demon of her sex pursue, Incensing or to melt. XIV Those counterfloods below at leap Still in her breast blew storm, And farther up the heavenly steep Wrestled in angels’ form. XV To disentangle one clear wish Not of her sex, she sought; And womanish to womanish Discerned in lighted thought. XVI With Louis’ chance it went not well When at herself she raged; A woman, of whom men might tell She doted, crazed and aged. XVII Or else enamoured of a sweet Withdrawn, a vengeful crone! And say, what figure at her feet Is this that utters moan? XVIII The Countess Louis from her head Drew veil: ‘Great Lady, hear! My husband deems you Justice dread, I know you Mercy dear. XIX ‘His error upon him may fall; He will not breathe a nay. I am his helpless mate in all, Except for grace to pray. XX ‘Perchance on me his choice inclined, To give his House an heir: I had not marriage with his mind, His counsel could not share. XXI ‘I brought no portion for his weal But this one instinct true, Which bids me in my weakness kneel, Archduchess Anne, to you.’ XXII The frowning Lady uttered, ‘Forth!’ Her look forbade delay: ‘It is not mine to weigh your worth; Your husband’s others weigh. XXIII ‘Hence with the woman in your speech,’ For nothing it avails In woman’s fashion to beseech Where Justice holds the scales.’ XXIV Then bent and went the lady wan, Whose girlishness made grey The thoughts that through Archduchess Anne Shattered like stormy spray. XXV Long sat she there, as flame that strives To hold on beating wind: —His wife must be the fool of wives, Or cunningly designed! XXVI She sat until the tempest-pitch In her torn bosom fell; —His wife must be a subtle witch Or else God loves her well! III I Old Kraken read a missive penned By his great Lady’s hand. Her condescension called him friend, To raise the crest she fanned. II Swiftly to where he lay encamped It flew, yet breathed aloof From woman’s feeling, and he stamped A heel more like a hoof. III