Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Sidor ...
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
Below is the raw OCR text
from the above scanned image.
Do you see an error? Proofread the page now!
Här nedan syns maskintolkade texten från faksimilbilden ovan.
Ser du något fel? Korrekturläs sidan nu!
This page has never been proofread. / Denna sida har aldrig korrekturlästs.
68
ett allmänt uppseende, och mer än ett vackert öga tårades
vid dess genomläsning. Ej mindre djup var den fasa, som
för två à tre år tillbaka spred sig inom Londons fashionabla
»Work! work ! work!
My lnbour never flags;
And what are its wages? — A bed of straw,
A crust of bread — and rags.
Tliat shattered roof — and this nnked floor —
A table — a broken eliair —
And a wall so blank, my shadow I tbank
For sometimes fallirig there!
»Work! work! work!
From weary chirae to chime,
Work! work! work!
As prisoners work for crime!
Band, and gusset, and seam,
Seam, and gusset, and band,
Till the heart is sick, and the brain henumbed,
As well as the weary hand.
»Work! work! work!
In the dall December light,
And work! work! work!
When the wenther is warm and bright —
Wliile underneath the eaves
The brooding swallows cling,
As if to show ine their sunny backs
And twit me witk the spring.
»Oh! but to breathe the breath
Of the cowslip and primrose sweet —
With the sky above my head,
And the grass beneath my feet,
For only one short hour
To feel as I used to feel,
Before I knew the woes of want,
And the walk tliat costs a meal! —
»Oh! hut for one short hour!
A respite, howevcr brief!
No blessed leisure for Love or Hope,
But only tirae for Grief!
A littlc weeping would ease my heart,
But in their briny bed
My tears must stop, for every drop
lliuders needle and thread!»
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
