The mothers held their babies high, And wiped my cheek, that never felt At Cutlers' Hall we found the crowd, While gentlemen, and ladies too, And kindly ask'd us,-"How d'ye do?" "Bravely," I answer'd, but my eye Prickled, and leak'd, and twinkled still; I long'd to be alone, to cry, -To be alone, and cry my fill. Our other lads were blithe and bold, Warn'd each to stand up in his place; One of our generous friends then spoke I think he said-" GOD bless our food!" But now, and with a power so sweet, The name of God went through my heart, That my lips trembled to repeat Those words, and tears were fain to start. Tears, words, were in a twinkle gone, Like sparrows whirring through the street, When, at a sign, we all fell on, As geese in stubble, to our meat. The large plum-puddings first were carved, Next the roast-beef flew reeking round A great meat-pie, a good meat-pie, The ladies and the gentlemen Took here and there with us a seat; Their arms were busy helping us, Oh then the din, the deafening din, Of plates, cans, crockery, spoons and knives, And waiters running out and in ; We might be eating for our lives. Such feasting I had never seen, So presently had got enough; The rest, like fox-hounds, stanch and keen, They cramm'd like cormorants their claws, Grind, and grow weary, one by one. Grace after meat again was said, And my good feelings sprang anew, But at the sight of gingerbread, Wine, nuts, and oranges, they flew. So while we took a turn with these, Now I had time, if not before, To take a peep at every lad; All wash'd and clean as clean could be, All shapes but straight ones you might find, Black, stunted, crook'd, through which the wind, Two toddling five-year olds were there, And skins not yet engrain'd with grime. I wish'd, I did, that they might die, Like "Babes i' th' Wood," the little slaves, And "Robin redbreast" painfully Hide them "with leaves," for want of graves ;— Rather than live, like me, and weep To think that ever they were born; Gay as young goldfinches in spring, And so it is, on such a day As welcome Easter brings us here, -In London, too, the first of May,But oh, what is it all the year! Close at a Quaker-lady's side, Sate a young girl;-I know not how I felt when me askance she eyed, And a quick blush flew o'er her brow. For then, just then, I caught a face Oh! had I known it was a lass, Could I have scorn'd her with her load? -Next time we meet, she shall not pass Without a lift along the road. Her mother, mother but in name! Brought her to-day to dine with us: Well, I shall grow, and she will grow And if she'll smile on me, I know Poor Poll shall be poor Reuben's pet. Time, on his two unequal legs, Kept crawling round the church-clock's face, Though none could see him shift his pegs, Each was for ever changing place. Oh, why are pleasant hours so short? Before we parted, one kind friend, And then another, talk'd so free; They went from table-end to end, And spoke to each, and spoke to me. Books, pretty books, with pictures in, Nathless I'll go next Sabbath day Where masters, without thrashing, teach Lost children how to read, and pray, For I'm this day determined-not |