Knew far too well her brother, far too well Knew their joint past, the two pasts they had had Together, long and happy one, and one So brief, so bitter,--and she pitied Saul. She pitied him, but strongly did not weep-- Though afterward, alone, remembering, She wept as if her eyes were fountains of tears-- With him now Rachel would not weep, for she Knew far too well her brother, that he scorned Himself for weeping those hot tears, and would Be vexed to see tears wept in sympathy As if with will he let his mood relent. So Rachel held her pity hard shut up Within her heart, which ached the more denied Its wished-for vent in tears, and Saul soon curbed His passion and in other passion veiled. "Haste, there!" he said, sharp turning on his men, "The night flies, while ye loiter." Now the men Already had bound Lazarus. He, ere yet The shameful needless bonds upon the wrists Of those four gentle women were made fast, Said: "Saul, what evil have these women done That they deserve roughness like this? I go Willingly with thee, albeit innocent, For I a man am and can well endure Bonds, stripes, dungeon, or death, having such hope Within me as makes all afflictions light, Whatever they may be, compared with that Eternal weight of glory nigh at hand. Like hope have also these, and they will bear, Doubtless, supported, whatsoever ill Unmerited thou choosest to inflict. But wilt thou choose to inflict indignity And pain on such as these?" "I do not choose," Said Saul; "I without choosing do, not what I would, but what I must. I too wear chains, Am bond of conscience, heavier chains wear I Than these light manacles that bind the hands But leave the heart free and one's will one's own. Chained am I and driven. Conscience drives me on, Both will and heart in me under the lash Cower, and I here as but a galley-slave Do what my conscience bids, joyless, and fierce From lack of joy, more miserable far, Binding, than ye are bound, with your fool's joy Of windy hope! For me, I only know That, in whatever way, this thing accursed, This craze to think _that_ man the Christ, must be Curbed, checked, stopped, crushed, brought to an utter end, Forever. All the future of our race Hangs on it. Woman, tempted, fell, she first, In Eden, whence is all our woe, and now Women it seems are the peculiar prey Of this new trick of devilish subtlety; And, as of old, woman deceived becomes Deceiver, and through her the mischief spreads Ungovernably. So women, too--the cause In part of the disease--must in part pay The price of cure. For remedy this is, Not punishment. Ye for the general health Suffer--for your own health not less, if ye