Bending near a flickering light,
O'er a silken robe so bright,
Stitching on with aching eyes,
Shiv'ring as the fire-light dies,
Shiv'ring as the frosty air
Seems to enter everywhere ;
Trembling as some far-off bell
Longing for an hour of sleep,
Trying not to stay to weep--
Wretched, weary, hope nigh dead--
Craving for a taste of bread,
Sits a seamstress young and fair
In a garret cold and bare.
Now tbe silken robe is done.
Now peeps forth the hazy sun,
And the seamstress--racked with pain--
Tries to sleep--alas in vain--
For the flick'ring candle--light
And the dismal frosty night
And the want of common bread,
And the racking, aching head,
And the never ceas'ing tear,
Death or shame is drawing near--
Leave their mark--she cannot sleep--
She cannot rest--she cannot weep--
Soon with trembling limbs she creeps
Forth into the bony streets--
Clutching with a fearful care
'Neath her shawl the robe so fair.
Till all footsore she arrives
At the house where fortune serves
Life to make within a dream--
One of heaven it doth seem
To the seamstress standing there--
A fairy lend without compare.
But, alas ! forgets she all
When she's told again to call
For the money she has earned--
And she's quickly, coldly. turned
From the door--and left to moan,
Starving, weary and alone.
With a catching sob and sigh,
With a broken-hearted cry.
With a wretched look of pain--
In the cold she creeps again.
And all day she creeps along.
Crushed and beaten by her wrong;
Starving, aching cold and drear, !
On she crawls till night it near
And the gaslight glitters dim
On the river dark and grim.
Then she stops and looks below
At the waters onward flow ;
Shuddering, she turns away,
Looks above and seems to pray,
Then with one despairing cry,
Looks again--a sob, a sigh--
A sudden splash--muffled mourn--
To the tide a corpse is borne.
Fred E. Mannin in London Peoples Press.
Notes
From the NSW Newspaper The Southern Argus 26 Feb 1891 Page 3.
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