Upon a Dying Lady（五）

    Her Race

    She has not grown uncivil

    As narrow natures would

    And called the pleasures evil¹

    Happier days thought good；

    She knows herself a woman，

    No red and white of a face，

    Or rank， raised from a common

    Unreckonable race；

    And how should her heart fail her

    Or sickness break her will

    With her dead brother's valour

    For an example still？