Now when he went from Nelly Gray
His heart so heavy got,

And life was such a burthen grown,
It made him take a knot.

For, though distress had cut him up,

It could not cut him down.

A dozen men sat on his corpse,

To find out why he died,—

And they buried Ben in four cross-roads, With a stake in his inside.

I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER

BY THOMAS HOOD

I remember, I remember

The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn.

He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day;
But now I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away!

I remember, I remember
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups, -
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,-
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember

Where I was used to swing,

And thought the air must rush as fresh

To swallows on the wing;

My spirit flew in feathers then,

That is so heavy now,

And summer pools could hardly cool

The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember

The fir-trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky.
It was a childish ignorance,

But now 't is little joy

To know I'm farther off from heaven Than when I was a boy.

THE SONG OF THE SHIRT

BY THOMAS HOOD

With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread,-
Stitch! stitch! stitch!

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.

It's, O, to be a slave

Along with the barbarous Turk, Where woman has never a soul to save, If this is Christian work!

Till the eyes are heavy and dim! Seam, and gusset, and band,

Band, and gusset, and seam,Till over the buttons I fall asleep, And sew them on in a dream!

"O men with sisters dear!

O men with mothers and wives! It is not linen you're wearing out, But human creatures' lives!

Stitch stitch — stitch,

In poverty, hunger, and dirt,Sewing at once, with a double thread, A shroud as well as a shirt!

"But why do I talk of death,-
That phantom of grisly bone?
I hardly fear his terrible shape,
It seems so like my own,-
It seems so like my own

Because of the fasts I keep;

O God! that bread should be so dear,
And flesh and blood so cheap!

And a wall so blank my shadow I thank

For sometimes falling there!

Band, and gusset, and seam,

Seam, and gusset, and band,—

Till the heart is sick and the brain benumbed,

As well as the weary hand.

When the weather is warm and bright!

While underneath the eaves

The brooding swallows cling,

As if to show me their sunny backs,

And twit me with the Spring.

"O, but to breathe the breath

Of the cowslip and primrose sweet,With the sky above my head,

And the grass beneath my feet!

For only one short hour

To feel as I used to feel,

Before I knew the woes of want

And the walk that costs a meal!

"O, but for one short hour,—
A respite, however brief!
No blessed leisure for love or hope,
But only time for grief!

A little weeping would ease my heart;
But in their briny bed

My tears must stop, for every drop

Hinders needle and thread!"