Dives, oh, cannot you hear.
For the music and dance of your high land,
The moaning of misery drear

That comes from the desolate island?

Finest of linen you wear;

Comrades in luxury you cherish,
Sumptuous daily you fare.
What of your neighbors who perish?



278 WHITE SLAVES

When you would heighten your cheer
By a contrast that's very dramatic,

Fancy what scenes may ajppear
In a certain dim hospital attic.
Swarming and sweltering, and scant
Of air, — foul to soul as to senses, —

Where he that is guilty of Want
lleets a doom fit for graver offences.
Worn-out, the pauper nui-se sleeps ;

The sufferer, forsaken, is crying
With no one to moisten his lips, —

No one to mark that he's dying.
Who sliould hear the eatcJi in his breath
'Mid the coughs, curses, ravings, resounding

Througli the ward o'er tlie bed of his death.
From the close-crowded pallets surrounding ?

And picture the scenes, to come

Perhaps, of another sorrow
Nearer your stately home, —

That you will not have to borrow;

When hushed is all merry din,
And your smiling guests have vanished;

When your flowers come blooming in,
To be glanced at once and banished ;

When vain are all the crafts

That Mammon serve, and never

Your costliest, coolest draughts
Can quench the fire of your fever;



OUE BROTHERS AND SISTEKS 279

When your street is red witli tan,

And your oft-pulled door-bell muffled,

That the peace of a dying man
By no faintest sound be ruffled ;

When love, to give you rest.
Doth toil with sootliings fruitless ;
And slcill has done its best,

And the town's best sliill is bootless;

When the chaises leave tire place.
