Poetry: The Little Factory Girl

I oucn think how once we ueed ín' sunimer He!ds to phy. And run nboii?. rnd breuthe the ri , That mr.de u? glnd and piy; We uscd to gclher buttercups, And chnse the bun.vfiy; I lovtd to feel the light bréese lift, My hair fs it went by. Do you aiill plny in thosc bright fields, And are. thc fiowcrs aiül,Kcjre? There nre no fickis where I live mw. No flowcrs nny where. But (ley by dny, I go cnd t;trn A dull and todious wheel;-You cannot think huw ad, and tired, And fuint I oftcn feel. I hurry homa to natch the meal My mother can supply, Then boek I h?eten to the tnsk - 'T is brd- but still I ti y. At night my moiher kisscs me - And when slie 's combed my h.iir, And laid me in my hule bed, I am not hnppy there I drenm about the fnctory, The fines that on us wait, I slart, and ask my father, If I 'tc not lain too late. And once Iheard my faihersay, "O, bet ter were a grave. Than such a life as this for thee. Thou little siniess slave." I wonder f I ever s'iall Obtain a holidoyí Or, if í do, I 'li go to you, And epend it all in play! And then I 'Hbring some flowcrs ho me, If you will give me some; And at my work 1 '11 think of them, Anrt holidays to come. Uutt'n! perhaps I may not live To visit you and Janr. My Hmbs are pained, but still I strive To smile - but 't is in vain. Do n't you remcmber Jier that died, My little cousin Anne? 'T is only now four wceks ago Since first her cougli begun. She 8aid, the night í saw her Inst - Her life nnd strengih werc gone, And from that day she fadcd l'ast, And I m left alonel That very night sh pui her arms Around me as 6hc slept, And prcased her own cold cljcek ro mine, It waked me, and she wept. ;Dear EUen, I have had a dream, How frigluful! yL-t it siays: There wra a man- he looked 3ÏI me With cold and cruel gnze: It hade ntc go and do it o cr, The task I just had done; The wickcd look he looked at me, I tri' d, but could nol shuu." She wept again - her hnnd w,-6 cold, Her he.irt wos tlirobbipg high. í cheered her with a kiBs-;Be calm - h s not by. " A -few da.3's more, ihe bc!l was lolied, And one witli pítyihg tone. WhÍ8pered. wlcn ñ-i J áskcil for Anno, "Poor sufíeier - she s gope.'