|
I left the realm of silence, and arrived,
Once more, i' the realm of noise, and haste, and toil:
The realm of cotton mills, in which seemed hived
Man, woman, child: all join the gainful moil,
'Midst heat, and rattle of machines, and broil
Of steam. And still they build new mills, and vaunt
That nought their enterprise shall henceforth foil
Until their manufactures spread aslant
The world ― where'er is found the human habitant!
.
.
.
.
.
How the sage holder of the reins
displayed his skill,
And starving crowds gat food, there is no need
That I should tell. When hungry men could fill
Their stomachs, they soon ceased to list the rede
Of agitators. "Let us work, and feed
And clothe ourselves and children," soon became
The all-prevalent resolve. They worked with speed;
And when broke out, across the sea, the flame
Of war, and they could get no cotton, they did not
blame,
The "Cotton Lords," of whom, in bygone time,
They spoke so angrily. Their common sense
Kept them from insurrectionary crime;
And, famine-stricken though they were, suspense
Of work and wage with patience most intense
Was borne. And, now the wheels go round
Again most merrily, thoughts of turbulence
Return not for men's eyes upon the ground
Are fixed: to thoughts of food and clothes their minds
are bound.
.
.
.
.
.
"The night falls fast, and finds me brooding thus
O'er evils that afflict my fatherland:—
The night falls fast, yet brightly luminous
Beam out the cotton mills that round me stand,
Where garish gas turns night to day; and hand,
And eye, and mind of myriad toilers win
The wealth of England, but cannot command
A certainty of bread,—though, for her sin,
Woman, like man, doth weave, and watch, and toil,
and spin."
THOMAS COOPER |
