Made them a terror-'twas a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane, as I do here. 32. THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. THOMAS HOOD. [See p. 429.] WITH fingers weary and worn, In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the "Song of the Shirt!" "Work-work-work! While the cock is crowing aloof; And work-work-work Till the stars shine through the roof! Along with the barbarous Turk, "Work-work-work! Till the eyes are heavy and dim! It seems so like my own, Oh! God! that bread should be so dear, "Work-work-work! And what are its wages? A bed of straw, That shattered roof,-and this naked floor,- And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank "Work-work-work! Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumbed, 66 'Work-work-work, In the dull December light, And work-work-work, When the weather is warm and bright While underneath the eaves The brooding swallows cling, "Oh! but to breathe the breath To feel as I used to feel, Before I knew the woes of want "Oh! but for one short hour! No blessed leisure for Love or Hope, A little weeping would ease my heart, My tears must stop, for every drop With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch,- (By permission of Messrs. Moxon and Co.) 33.-THE BOAT-RACE. W. C. BENNETT. [Mr. William Cox Bennett is the son of a watchmaker, of Greenwich, where he was born, 1820. About 1845 he began to contribute poems to the various periodicals; but it was not until the publication of his "Baby May and other Poems," and his "Worn Wedding Ring and other Poems," 1861, that he attracted the attention he deserved. Since then his fame may be said to be established, and he now occupies a prominent position among the minor poets of the day.] THERE, win the cup, and you shall have my girl. Books-for ever books! She needing yours. There-there-I love you, Ned, He left the subject; and across the wine, There was young Chester might be named with them; 66 cups Won by his sculls. Ned, if he rows, he wins; |