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Lyrics of Love and Laughter And Condemnation, with this pinions foul, Glooms in the place where broods the midnight owl. What art thou, that the world should point at thee, And vaunt and chide the weakness that they see? There was a time they were not wont to chide; Where is thy old, uncompromising pride? Blood-washed, thou shouldst lift up thine honored head, White with the sorrow for thy loyal dead Who lie on every plain, on every hill, And whose high spirit walks the Southland still: Whose infancy our mother's hands have nursed. Thy manhood, gone to battle unaccursed, Our fathers left to till th' reluctant field, To rape the soil for what she would not yield; Wooing for aye, the cold unam'rous sod, Whose growth for them still meant a master's rod; 149