Classic Poem

T HERE'S nothing that the world calls fame,
There's no reward or prize,
That can be gain'd like what is rain'd
From lovely woman's eyes.
The snob may cry, “Oh, fie! Oh, fie!”
And threaten hard to stone us:
“A fig!” we cry, while Jeanie's eye
Is raining blessings on us.

Ambition strong doth prompt man on,
But woman's nobler far:
She's prompted on by Love alone,
Her spirit's guiding star.
How oft our hearts would fail within,
When hard the path of duty,
But 'mid the din we're roused to win
The smiles of Love and Beauty.

Their smiles can make the weakest strong,
The coward can inspire,
And even fill the poet's song
With pure celestial fire;
Oft we'd have struck to coward fear,
Had ignorance o'erthrow us,
If there had been nae bonnie Jean
To show'r her blessings on us.

Dear woman's still Misfortune's shield!
The last one to forsake
The vanquish'd on the battle-field,
The martyr at the stake.
Then let the mob of sneak and snob
Still in its wrath disown us,
“A fig!” we cry, while Jeanie's eye
Is raining blessings on us.