I.

I N a garish, fetid chamber,
Strewn with satins, lawns and pearls,
On a chill night in November,
Sat a group of sewing girls.

Through the long and lonesome hours
Ceaselessly their fingers plied,
Fitting laces, gems and flowers,
To adorn a fair young bride.

Midnight's solemn time departed
Ere their work was well begun,
And they listened, heavy hearted,
To the old bell tolling one.

Bending down their sad, pale faces,
Straining wearily their sight
O'er the silks and Mechlin laces,
By the gas-lamp's piercing light.

Still they wrought, with none to pity —
Wrought with fingers cold and blue,
Till above the slumbering city,
Loud and long the bell tolled two.

II.

There was one slight creature sharing
Silently that unrepose;
One whose blighted life was wearing
Very swiftly to its close.

From the light so strong and dizzy
Wearily she drew apart,
For a burning pain was busy
Gnawing, gnawing at her heart.

Where the heavy window-curtain
Half concealed her with its fold,
And the red light fell uncertain,
She sat shivering with the cold.

Till, the silken lashes stealing
O'er her eyes so blue and mild,
She went forth, in sleep's revealing,
Once again a little child,

III.

Through the copses and the meadows,
Where the breezes sung all day,
While the sunshine and the shadows
Nursed the fair young flowers of May;

Where the fragrant grass was springing
In the early summer time,
And the minstrel streamlet singing
To itself its own sweet rhyme;

Through the tangled hazel bushes,
Where the clustering wild grapes hung,
And the yellow-breasted thrushes
Loved to rear their twittering young.

IV.

Morning's ruddy sunlight kissed her,
Through the cloudy window-pane,
Ere the weary toilers missed her
Who would never toil again.

Wondering much they gathered round her;
On her lips there was no breath,
And the fearful spell that bound her
Was the dull, cold sleep of death!

On her cheek the tear-drop gleaming
Was the last to sorrow given,
As her gentle soul went dreaming
With the angels up to Heaven.