LIBRARY. 
 
 UNIVERSl \ OF CALIFORNIA 
 DAVIS 
 
'-. : M> 
 
 
 -j 
 
 ; f 
 
 oo 
 
 , 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 DANIEL KICKETSON, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE AUTUMN' SHEAF," ET<J 
 
 NEW BEDFORD: 
 
 E. ANTHONY & SONS, PRINTERS. 
 
 1873. 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 DAVIS 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 THE object of these Poems is not to increase the distance 
 between the employer and the employed; but to express a 
 sympathy for a large and useful class of .the community, 
 through whose exhausting labors a great portion of the most 
 important operations of our time are performed, in the hope 
 thus to awaken a greater interest in their behalf on the part 
 of those who have it in their power to relieve them from 
 their heavy burdens, believing that in so doing the blessing 
 of God would attend the much needed reform. Looking 
 forward to the day, as I hope not far distant, when the hours 
 of labor shall be essentially lessened, and the health, happi 
 ness, and the education of the operatives in the mills, and 
 other laboring classes, receive greater consideration than 
 at the present time, I contribute these humble efforts of my 
 muse toward that end. 
 
 "Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey 
 The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 
 'T is yours to judge, how wide the limits stand 
 Between a splendid and a happy land." GOLDSMITH. 
 
 D. R. 
 
 NEW BEDFORD, Sept. 1, 1873. 
 2 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 To the honest, industrious poor, and to all good and 
 feeling hearts everywhere, these Poems are dedicated. If 
 it be true that "what comes from the heart goes to the 
 heart," I shall have no doubt of success in my undertak 
 ing." 
 
 May the shamrock, the thistle, the rose and the mayflower, 
 At no distant day in sweet harmony twine, 
 
 And the nations of earth, thence forgetting their quarrels, 
 Like brothers be guided by friendship divine. 
 
IPOIBMS. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 PAGE 
 THE FACTORY-BELL, 11 
 
 THE IRISH- AMERICAN'S PLEA, 13 
 
 THE IRISH FACTORY-GIRL, 15 
 
 THE IRISH HEART, 17 
 
 Ax AMERICAN'S WELCOME, 18 
 
 THE EMERALD-ISLE, ID 
 
 A YOUNG IRISH-WOMAN'S MEMORIES OF HOME, 21 
 
 MILL NOTES MOTHER AND DAUGHTER, 28 
 
 THE SCOTCH FACTORY-GIRL, 20 
 
 THE WAITING-MAID, 28 
 
 THE WEAVER'S SATURDAY-XIGIIT, 2D 
 
 LINES ON BEADING THE SCOTTISH-EMIGRANT'S FAREWELL, 31 
 
 ENGLAND, FAREWELL, 34 
 
 To T. S., 30 
 
 WHITSUNTIDE, 37 
 
 EQUALITY OF BIRTH, 38 
 
 BURNS' PLAID, 40 
 
 A GREETING, 41 
 
 THE DAISY, 42 
 
 ROBERT EMMET, 44 
 
 FREE TRADE, &c., . 40 
 
THE FACTORY-BELL. 
 
 HE Factory-Bell is softly tolling, 
 
 Stealing through the Summer air, 
 Gently o'er the meadows rolling, 
 Reaching scenes of Nature fair. 
 
 But alas ! its tones, though mellow, 
 
 Bring a sadness to my heart, 
 And the realms that these should hallow, 
 
 Take of shade and gloom a part. 
 
 For it calls from scenes of beauty, 
 From the lovely summer day, 
 
 Gentle hearts that often languish 
 For their native haunts away. 
 
 From green Erin's rural pleasures, 
 From stern Scotia's heather hills, 
 
 From old England's home-born treasures, 
 To the toiling of the Mills. 
 
 But for all, and blessed forever, 
 One o'errules the multitude, 
 
12 THE FACTORY-BELL; 
 
 The all-wise, the great Protector, 
 Who from sin educes good. 
 
 Thus when fate seems unrelenting, 
 And the way is dark and drear, * 
 
 In the mist his arm preventing 
 Keeps the lowly ones from fear ; 
 
 Gives unto their hearts his spirit, 
 Brighter than the noonday sun, 
 
 Wealth the poorest may inherit, 
 Through his guardian mercy won. 
 
 But oh ! ye who rule and dictate 
 For your own base, selfish ends, 
 
 Nature and her God rebuke you, 
 And at last require amends. 
 
 For the balances are nicely 
 Fitted and adjusted true. 
 
 What man taketh God returneth ; 
 Naught escapes his sovereign view. 
 
 Still the Factory-Bell is ringing 
 O'er the landscape, soft and clear. 
 
 I will trust that God is bringing 
 With it hopes the sad to cheer. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 13 
 
 THE IRISH-AMERICAN'S PLEA. 
 
 were you exiled from your dear native 
 
 land, 
 
 Your time and your life at another's command, 
 Ah ! would you not think it uncivil indeed, 
 When for your just rights you would honestly 
 
 plead, 
 
 Instead of kind words and brotherly love, 
 You should find those around you quick to reprove ; 
 Or count it all wrong what your conscience deems 
 
 right, 
 And look on your heart-cherished faith with 
 
 affright? 
 
 No fault it can be, if we hither have come, 
 By the stern hand of fate, sad exiles from home, 
 To better our fortunes by honest, hard work, 
 In a land of the Christian, and not of the Turk. 
 And may we not surely add, too, our claim, 
 That " the earth is the Lord's," without any blame ? 
 That "the fullness thereof" to his children belong; 
 
14 THE FACTORY -BELL ; 
 
 Of whatever nation or kindred or tongue ? 
 The Indian before you long held as his right, 
 The domain that you now possess in your might, 
 And he far away in the wilds of the West, 
 Seeks a home where the eagle buildeth his nest, 
 Away from the hand of intrusion and spoil, 
 While you are the lords of his ancestors' soil. 
 We are willing to wqrk, but we also demand 
 The freedom once promised to all in this land. 
 Most surely the wrongs we so long have endured 
 In the land we have left, we hope will be cured. 
 Of your blessings we claim a very small part, 
 In return we assure 3 warm Irish heart ; 
 Our maidens are fair, and your sons soon will find, 
 By the great natural law, they're quite to their 
 
 mind ; 
 
 So if in the future one race we shall be, 
 It surely is wise that we now should agree. 
 'T is love that gives justice, and no selfish end 
 The spirit of Truth can in no wise offend. 
 Our God-given rights are the most that we claim, 
 And for this, most truly, we are not to blame. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 15 
 
 THE IRISH FACTORY-GIRL. 
 
 's only a poor Factory-girl ! 
 That's all, perhaps, you see, 
 Your lip iu pride at her may curl, 
 And scorn her low deree. 
 
 
 A poor exile from Erin's soil ! 
 
 That 's all of her you know ; 
 Who in the Mill must daily toil, 
 
 And trudge through rain and snow. 
 
 You see not through that dusty gown, 
 Nor in that care-worn face, 
 
 The halo that o'er her is thrown, 
 The mark of Nature's grace. 
 
 You see not there the noble heart, 
 That beats to friendship strong, 
 
 The native charms, above all art, 
 That to her soul belong. 
 
 But He who orders all things well, 
 In mercy and in power, 
 
16 THE FACTORY-BELL. 
 
 Who bids the ocean billows swell, 
 And paints the lowliest flower, 
 
 From out the humbler walks of earth 
 Takes those the proud may scorn, 
 
 Nor heeds the heirs of wealth or birth, 
 His favorites to adorn. 
 
 Such I have seen, such I have known, 
 And such my soul admires, 
 
 Whose merit rare I gladly own, 
 My simple song inspires. 
 
 Oh ! may my sympathetic muse 
 Such virtues still portray ; 
 
 And from fair Nature ever choose 
 Her aid to grace my lay. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 17 
 
 THE IRISH-HEART. 
 
 HE Scotchman is canny, his virtues are many, 
 
 John Bull has in greatness his part ; 
 But for warmth of affection, in the nation's election, 
 Stands foremost the kind Irish-heart. 
 
 From the north to the south, from the east to the 
 west, 
 
 Wherever his footsteps sojourn, 
 Just do him a favor, he '11 prize it forever, 
 
 And give you a score in return. 
 
 While others are ranging, and often are changing, 
 
 And thus stumble into the lurch, 
 His faith is unflinching, the years only clinching 
 
 The stronger his love of his church. 
 
 By nature so frisky, if he 'd leave but his whiskey, 
 
 And trust to his own hearty mirth, 
 Of all the good fellows on life's stormy billows, 
 
 He would rival the nations of earth. 
 
 B2 
 
18 THE FACTORY-BELL. 
 
 AN AMERICAN'S WELCOME. 
 
 JH ! come from the banks of the clear-flowing 
 
 Shannon , 
 
 The Liffey, the Boyne, and the fair river Lee, 
 One heart shall at least extend you a welcome, 
 And offer a home in the land of the free. 
 
 Oh ! long, far too long ! have ye met with derision, 
 By those who would claim to be Christian and 
 true ; 
 
 'T is time we received you as brothers and sisters, 
 And gave you as strangers the welcome your due. 
 
 For us ye have delved, ye have wrought, and have 
 
 suffered 
 
 The heat and the cold, for many a long year, 
 Oh ! what now without ye, so strong and so hearty, 
 Oh ! what should we do, if ye no longer were 
 here ? 
 
 Let every kind heart come up to the rescue, 
 
 And show unto others the rights they may claim, 
 
 My word for 't, you'll find a warm-hearted cheering : 
 The praise of the poor is far better than fame. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 10 
 
 THE EMERALD-ISLE. 
 
 fER fresh green fields rose to my view, 
 Her abbey walls, and turrets gray, 
 Her sparkling streams, and lakes so blue, 
 Fit scenes for loving hearts to stray. 
 
 Her fields of yellow waving corn, 
 
 The reapers busy at their toil, 
 The lark that hailed the early morn, 
 
 To cheer the tenants of the soil. 
 
 The milkmaid's simple, rural song, 
 The tender words of loving swain, 
 
 The healthful sports of old and young, 
 When harvested the ripened grain. 
 
 My friend, kind Andrew Donaldson, 
 With soft blue eye and honest face, 
 
 An exile from his native land, 
 
 To me these beauties would retrace. 
 
 I pitied him, so far away 
 
 From kindred, home, and all so dear, 
 
20 THE FACTORY-BELL ; 
 
 And strove his rising sighs to stay, 
 Or lend unto his heart some cheer. 
 
 Farewell ! old friend, long since the grass 
 Has grown upon thy humble grave ; 
 
 My muse, withhold not as we pass, 
 A tear for one so good and brave. 
 
 Farewell ! old isle of rich and poor, 
 Mayst thou in no far distant days 
 
 Fresh blessings find for thee in store, 
 And happier bard to chant thy praise. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 21 
 
 A YOUNG IRISH WOMAN'S MEMORIES 
 OF HOME. 
 
 WRITTEN AT HER SUGGESTION. 
 
 fROM the home of my childhood now far away, 
 I fondly recur to the land of my birth, 
 The sweet native spot, the dear rustic cot, 
 
 The scenes of my childhood, the dearest on earth. 
 
 Oh ! well I remember, nor e'er shall forget, 
 The beauty and freshness of all things around, 
 
 The meadow, the brook, and each cherished nook, 
 The daisies and cowslips so often I found. 
 
 My labors were light, and my troubles but few, 
 Though poor, we were honest and lived in 
 content, 
 
 Our fare it was simple, our hearts they were true, 
 And thankful for blessings a kind heaven sent. 
 
 But the day of misfortune at last on us fell : 
 To cross the blue sea I left my dear home, 
 
22 THE FACTORY-BELL ; 
 
 For the shores of old England, where we had heard 
 
 tell 
 Was plenty for all who hither might come. 
 
 No more the sweet air of my own native hills, 
 No more the fair sight of fields waving with grain, 
 
 But the dust, and the smoke, and the noise of the 
 
 mills, 
 In exchange for the past awaken but pain. 
 
 Another long voyage across the broad sea, 
 
 To the shores of the new-world an exile I come, 
 
 From the land of the oppressed to the laud of the 
 
 
 free, 
 
 Where the poor and distressed may find a kind 
 home. 
 
 And here, far away from Erin's dear isle, 
 M}' mind oft revisits the scenes of the past, 
 
 And thus many hours else sad I beguile, 
 But sorrow nor joy forever can last. 
 
 And so with my lot I'll strive for content, 
 
 And new pleasures and friends be ready to find, 
 
 Still grateful for all by a kind heaven sent, 
 
 For friendship and truth to no spot are confined. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 MILL NOTES. MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 IRIA DE TROFU 
 
 Sighs from the deep. 
 
 Mother. 
 
 ^ 
 
 OME lay your head upon my breast, 
 
 My darling, you are ill, 
 'T is Satur'-night. and take your rest ; 
 Forget awhile the mill. 
 
 You'll have the time till Monday morn 
 
 To rest your weary head : 
 Oh ! darling, sigh not so forlorn, 
 
 Nor look as you were dead. 
 
 Daughter. 
 
 I know the rose has left my cheek, 
 That once with freshness glowed ; 
 
 Of things I now can rarely speak, 
 Which once my spirit moved : 
 
 But while I'm lying in your arms. 
 Dear mother, I am well ; 
 
24 THE FACTORY-BELL ; 
 
 Here I am safe from all alarms, 
 Nor hear the factory-bell. 
 
 Mother. 
 
 Sleep, then, loved one, I'll guard thy rest, 
 
 And bless thy spirit mild : 
 As calmly now upon my breast 
 
 Thou liest as when a child. 
 
 The mother, with a mother's love, 
 Long watched o'er her so calm, 
 
 Till nature from the realms above 
 Dropped down its heavenly balm. 
 
 Behold them there in that small room, 
 
 In one long, last embrace, 
 For gentle sleep hath sealed their doom, 
 
 And death hath left his trace ! 
 
 O rich men, can you still enjoy 
 Wealth purchased at such cost, 
 
 Nor feel the canker of annoy, 
 Where so much good is lost? 
 
 The tale is one not overdrawn ; 
 Blame not the poet's lay, 
 
AND OTHER TOEMS. 25 
 
 Who would the oppressor thus forewarn 
 Against the judgment day. 
 
 And for the patient suffering poor, 
 
 The cause of mercy plead, 
 Bring faithfully before your door 
 
 The hearts you make to bleed. 
 
 In vain our churches we behold, 
 
 Their battlements and spires ; 
 A curse is on the glittering gold, 
 
 The fool so much admires. 
 
 Professor of the lowly Christ, 
 What profits, then, your prayer, 
 
 If unrebuked within our midst 
 Such sins pollute the air? 
 
26 THE FACTORY-BELL ; 
 
 THE SCOTCH FACTORY-GIRL. 
 
 LASSIE, sweet lassie ! I mourn for thy lot ; 
 The rose from thy cheek is fast fading away ; 
 How gladly I 'd send thee to thy dear native cot, 
 Once more with thy mates 'mong the heather to 
 play. 
 
 The daisies and blue-bells still bloom as before, 
 The rivulet runs on its way to the sea, 
 
 The rose and the jessamine bloom by the door, 
 And the mavis as erst sings his song from the 
 tree. 
 
 Oh ! poor the exchange of the new-fashioned dress 
 For the simple straw hat and coarse flannel 
 gown, 
 
 Thy home in the fields with Nature to bless, 
 
 For a life in the mill and the close crowded town. 
 
 O Scotia, beware how thou drivest away 
 
 Hearts wedded in love to the dear native soil, 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 27 
 
 III fur distant lands as a refuge to stray, 
 
 And with down-fallen hearts among strangers 
 to toil. 
 
 For these things I mourn, fair lassie, thy lot, 
 And picture thee oft in thy childhood's dear home, 
 
 Again seated 'neath the old rustic cot, 
 
 Nor wishing away from its comforts to roam. 
 
 But God still is good ; let us keep this in view, 
 And look unto Him, and to Nature so kind. 
 
 The fields here are green, the skies richly blue, 
 Whose blessings, dear lassie, I hope thou wilt 
 find. 
 
 One hand here at least in friendship I give, 
 
 For every true heart from the laud of dear 
 
 Burns, 
 With a welcome and wish in plenty to live, 
 
 And the blessings of God with the year's swift 
 returns. 
 
28 THE FACTORY-BELT, 
 
 THE WAITING-MAID. 
 
 HOUGH but a simple waiting-maid, 
 
 I sec in her such neatness, 
 And in her gentle words and ways, 
 There dwells so much of sweetness, 
 
 That I have said within my heart, 
 " 'Tis true, and nothing less, 
 
 That neatness is a virtue rare, 
 And next to godliness." 
 
 I oft have seen those who are called 
 By common rules more pretty ; 
 
 But rarely equal in the ways 
 
 That grace this winsome "Ketty." 
 
 There's many a miss of higher rank, 
 With wealth and pride o'erladen, 
 
 Who well might emulate the charms 
 Of this sweet cottage maiden. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 29 
 
 THE WEAVER'S SATURDAY-NIGHT, 
 
 TO M. P. 
 
 HE week's long hours at length are past 
 
 Its labors all are done. 
 With grateful hearts let us rejoice, 
 The morrow is our own ! 
 
 The bell shall not disturb our rest 
 
 Upon that blessed morn ; 
 The livelong day is all our own ; 
 
 Its pleasures who would scorn ? 
 
 Our board is filled with wholesome food, 
 
 The cloth is smooth and white, 
 The watchful dame, so kind and good, 
 
 The stranger would not slight. 
 
 Permit me, then, with you to join 
 
 In gratitude and praise, 
 To Him who ruleth everywhere, 
 
 And thus our voices raise. 
 c2 
 
30 THE FACTORY-BELL ; 
 
 We'll sing the songs your fathers sung 
 
 A hundred years ago, 
 For in this land of liberty 
 
 Our hearts with joy may flow. 
 
 And while good cheer around is spread, 
 Naught shall our comfort jar, 
 
 Nor will we e'er forget the dead, 
 In "Erin" (dear) "go bragh ! " 
 
 We '11 take the harp from Tara's hall, 
 Despite what Moore has sung, 
 
 And make it tell the tales of old, 
 That once its strings outrung. 
 
 Thus welcome in the summer eve, 
 
 Its starlight and its moon, 
 While join our hearts and voices strong, 
 
 In some old favorite tune. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 31 
 
 LINES 
 
 (tk HERE'S something wrong at home, O Scotland ! 
 M^ When such brave hearts are torn from thcc, 
 And bid farewell, once and forever, 
 To seek a home beyond the sea. 
 
 Wouldst thou tear up thy mountain-daisy ? 
 
 Thy blooming heather, hare-bell blue ? 
 Ah ! then why crush or rend asunder 
 
 Hearts to thy soil so leal and true. 
 
 Oh! ye whom Fortune's smile hath favored, 
 Who hold the power to curse or bless, 
 
 Withdraw no more your kind protection, 
 But save your children from distress. 
 
 The heart that loves thy hills and valleys, 
 
 The music of thy feathered choir, 
 Deserves thy care and preservation, 
 
 And should thy noblest zeal inspire. 
 
32 THE FAOTOHY-BELL ; 
 
 Already they whose sires of old-time 
 Stood by your sires in battlefield, 
 
 Are scattered through our western wide-world, 
 And find protection 'neath our shield. 
 
 The -^gis of our state extendeth 
 
 Its guardian power o'er all who seek 
 
 A safe asylum, and a welcome, 
 Refusing neither strong nor weak. 
 
 Still unto thee, O valiant Scotland ! 
 
 The land of Wallace, Bruce, and Burns ! 
 My muse would ask from harm to shelter 
 
 The heart that to thy bosom turns. 
 
 4 
 
 No longer may thy sous be mourning 
 For "bonnie-Doon," or "gurgling" Ayr, 
 
 But from thy ample stores returning, 
 Find for their toil a liberal share. 
 
 But if thy peasantry destroyed, 
 Like Erin's once her nation's pride, 
 
 As sang " sweet Auburn's " tuneful poet, 
 They ne'er again can be supplied. 
 
 Oh ! may such fate ne'er fall upon thee ! 
 
 Forefend thee Heaven from such dire harm ! 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 33 
 
 And mayst them take thy struggling children 
 In love unto thy bosom warm. 
 
 Then shall thy soil rejoice in blessings, 
 Then shall thy realm in peace abound, 
 
 Thy muse shall swell her song of praises, 
 And music fill the air around. 
 
34 THE FACTORY-BELL ; 
 
 "ENGLAND, FAREWELL." 
 
 SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE. 
 
 MOTHER stood upon the deck, her boy, 
 Her youngest, by her side, taking a last 
 Fond look of their dear native fatherland ; 
 How sad the thoughts that crowd into her brain, 
 Thoughts of her childhood home and parents dear ! 
 Brothers and sisters, every chosen spot, 
 Now rise before her mind, and sick at heart 
 She turns away, to hide the falling tears. 
 Oh ! hard the fate that drives away from home 
 Hearts so attached, to seek in lands afar, 
 Amid the wilderness or forest rude, 
 By labor and by suffering, to gain 
 The livelihood denied on parent soil. 
 From off the shore the wind is blowing strong, 
 Filling the sails ; and dashing on her course, 
 The brave ship hastens to her destined port 
 Across the broad Atlantic's watery waste. 
 No more the village green and ancient church, 
 Or ruined tower with clambering ivy clad, 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 35 
 
 Shall greet their eyes ; but in their stead behold 
 
 The wonders of the deep, with dangers dire, 
 
 Oft threatening to o'erwhelm their struggling bark. 
 
 Or lauding safely on the distant shore, 
 
 Amid new scenes, new faces, all unused 
 
 To customs so peculiar, and so strange 
 
 To habits all confirmed in other lands, 
 
 Much there to suffer and much there to learn, 
 
 How fierce the struggle even here for food ! 
 
 But not all dark ; the picture oft is bright, 
 
 And where the heart is brave and hands are strong, 
 
 A comfortable and a prosperous home 
 
 Is often made, and children reared to toil, 
 
 Become established, and become attached 
 
 To the new world, prefer it to the old. 
 
 Another instance of o'erruling power, 
 
 Converting seeming evil into good. 
 
 Mourn not, then, O dear exile ! for the home 
 
 Thy childhood knew ; but look with fresher hope 
 
 Upon the home adopted by thy choice. 
 
 Here may thy children and thy grandchildren, 
 
 To remotest times, find peace and plenty. 
 
36 THE FACTORY-BELL ; 
 
 TO T. S. 
 
 AFTER READING HIS MANLY PROTEST AGAINST TIIK 
 EXISTING EVILS OF GREAT BRITAIN. 
 
 HEN England drives from off her shores 
 
 Such minds as these, through woe and want,, 
 And keeps at home such countless bores. 
 Who for their own ends ceaseless rant, 
 
 There 's little hope that her success, 
 
 In whatsoe'er is great and good, 
 The Lord of justice e'er will bless. 
 
 Or guard her from vicissitude. 
 
 But ye are welcome, honest hearts ! 
 
 There's room and plenty for you here, 
 4 And while the sun his warmth imparts, 
 From tyranny ye Ve naught to fear. 
 
 For every man to vote is free, 
 
 The ballot-box is our stronghold, 
 Then from your prison barriers flee, 
 
 And come within our ample fold. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 37 
 
 WHITSUNTIDE. 
 
 old our ancestors on England's shores, 
 In the sweet rural districts and in towns, 
 Enjoyed, methinks, more cheerfulness of heart 
 In their religion, and yet found no loss, 
 But rather gain in the most vital part, 
 Linking the highest duties of the church 
 With harmless mirth and sweet poetic grace. 
 Christmas and Easter then were cUiys of joy ; 
 The huge yule-clog blazed in ancestral halls, 
 And merry dances led the joyful hours. 
 While healthful games at Easter cheered the year, 
 And so at each return of Whitsuntide, 
 While not forgetful of the sacred rites 
 Due to the church as on the other days, 
 Bedecked with flowers borne on the lap of May, 
 They bade a welcome to the vernal year, 
 And found a sweetness in its sacred rites, 
 i) 
 
38 THE FACTORY-BELL ; 
 
 EQUALITY OF BIRTH. 
 
 j, 
 HE poorest man that walks on earth, 
 
 Is he not, too, my brother? 
 And have we not a common birth, 
 The earth, our common mother? 
 
 Away ! then, with all caste and pride 
 
 Of family or nation, 
 And gladly take him at your side, 
 
 Joint heir of God's creation, 
 
 What boots it if the world we gain, 
 
 And lose all else beside ? 
 The Briton, Saxon, or the Dane, 
 
 Cannot be saved by pride. 
 
 Of but one blood our God hath made 
 
 The nations of the earth ; 
 How weak our pride, then, to parade, 
 
 Of wealth, or power, or birth ! 
 
 Better to go where poor men go, 
 And lie where poor men lie, 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 39 
 
 Than waste our days in mimic show, 
 And basely thus to die. 
 
 Then reach me forth thy honest hand, 
 
 Thou man of common clay : 
 I claim thee for the chosen band 
 
 Who hail the rising day ! 
 
 The day when God's great jubilee 
 
 Shall echo far and wide, 
 And all the nations shall be free 
 
 From tyranny and pride. 
 
40 THE FACTORY-BELL ; 
 
 BURNS' PLAID. 
 
 /tlFT owre the hills and far awa', 
 
 I When glint the wintra e'en star, 
 The poet-pleughman held afa', 
 
 Wrapt in his plaid, 
 To meet some frien', or bonnie lass, 
 Or by the chimla-lug to pass 
 The livelong e'en aboot the glass, 
 
 Graced by his plaid. 
 
 Oft by the braes o' " bonnie Doon," 
 Or winding Nith beneath the moon, 
 His Ice-inspired lays he 'd croon, 
 
 Safe in his plaid. 
 
 Nae doubt his lovely Highland maid, 
 When angry gusts gart her afraid, 
 He warmly rowed within his plaid, 
 
 His bonnie plaid ! 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 41 
 
 A GREETING. 
 
 all good fellows everywhere 
 My heart beats true and strong : 
 I see you with your faces fair, 
 Though mingled with the throng. 
 
 I meet you on the broad highway, 
 
 Where oft I walk alone, 
 When evening shades shut out the clay, 
 
 And brighter scenes have flown. 
 
 I know ye by your easy walk, 
 
 Your voices full of cheer, 
 And often halt with you to talk, 
 
 Or lend a listening ear. 
 
 A blessing on each honest soul ! 
 
 A hearty shake of hand ! 
 Nor shall the base the world control, 
 
 While ye adorn the land. 
 
 D2 
 
42 THE FACTORY-BELL; 
 
 THE DAISY. 
 
 TO A. R. 
 
 MBLEM of innocence and love, 
 
 The Poet's favorite of the field, 
 Thou dost my admiration move, 
 
 And food for pleasant musing yield. 
 
 A welcome to New England's soil, 
 Though sterner than thy parent sod, 
 
 Yet genial to the laborer's toil 
 The laud our fathers sought of God. 
 
 Thou canst not bear the wintry cold, 
 But shrink'st before the cutting blast, 
 
 Still mid our flowers more hard and bold, 
 However rich, thou 'rt not surpassed. 
 
 Ah ! much from thee, thou simple flower, 
 Comes up before my musing mind, 
 
 The lover's charm, the poet's dower, 
 While all in thee a beauty find. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 43 
 
 The laud of Burns, romantic Ayr, 
 
 Where thou, sweet daisy, lov'st to grow, 
 
 Bedecking o'er its banks so fair, 
 
 Where its clear gurgling waters flow. 
 
 Theme of the poet's choicest lay, 
 
 Thou charming, bright "wee-tipped" flower ! 
 I welcome thee, this wintry day, 
 
 And gladly feel thy genial power. 
 
 God's teachers to the chastened soul, 
 The fresh wild-flowers of field or wood, 
 
 That exercise a rich control, 
 And move us ever for our s:ood. 
 
44 THE FACTORY-BELL ; 
 
 EGBERT EMMET. 
 
 Warm in his death-wounds sepulchred." 
 
 O'Connor's child. CAMPBELL. 
 
 ^tj HOU noble soul ! patriot most true and brave ! 
 M^ A nobler son thy native land ne'er bore ; 
 There was no hand, alas ! thy life to save, 
 A victim thou to a tyrannic power. 
 
 Mourn, harp of Iiinisfail ! thy darling mourn ! 
 
 While here, across the broad Atlantic wave, 
 A sympathetic muse would in her turn 
 
 A tribute pay to one so nobly brave. 
 
 A martyr thou to liberty and truth ! 
 
 Here in this western world thy cherished name 
 Has often proved a watchword to our youth, 
 
 And stirred their hearts to emulate thy fame. 
 
 Mourn, harp of Iiinisfail ! thy early grave ; 
 
 The genius of thy country, Erin, weep ! 
 O'er his sad urn, ye willows, ever wave, 
 
 Ye patriots everywhere his memory keep ! 
 
AND OTHER TOEMS. 45 
 
 But not in vain ! the fire them there didst light, 
 Still in thy nation's bosom fiercely glows ; 
 
 The cruel power that o'er thee cast its blight, 
 Prophetic of its future downfall bows. 
 
46 THE FACTORY-BELL ; 
 
 FREE TRADE, FREE SOIL, FREE MEN, 
 
 O ! for free trade, ye sons of toil, 
 
 A commerce from oppression free, 
 The land ye till, in truth free soil, 
 Yourselves the sons of Liberty. 
 
 Throw out the banner to the wind ! 
 
 Write on its folds the words so brave : 
 "Freedom to Trade, to Soil, to Mind !" 
 
 And thus our Nation's honor save. 
 
 No more should selfish millionaires 
 Control our nation's weal or woe, 
 
 But every one by goods and wares, 
 Have equal chance in wealth to grow. 
 
 The evils of the older world 
 
 Already thunder at our door, 
 And soon their bolts, in fury hurled, 
 
 May seal our fate forevermore 
 
 Unless aroused with might and main 
 To meet the common foe of all, 
 
AND OTHER POEMS. 47 
 
 The tocsin ring from hill to plain, 
 Through every village, farm and hall. 
 
 Not chartered right, but human right ! 
 
 The right of every honest man 
 To reap the fruit of labor's might 
 
 The right to think, to work, or plan. 
 
 A currency upheld by gold 
 
 A paper dollar good at par 
 A hundred cents, as was of old 
 
 No discount base its worth to mar. 
 
 'T is agriculture, first and best ; 
 
 'Tis commerce from her chains set free, 
 Mechanic arts by freedom blest, 
 
 That shall maintain our liberty. 
 
 Let not our land become the seat 
 
 Of prisons for the exiled poor, 
 But seeking souls a welcome meet, 
 
 And room within the open door. 
 
 No land monopolies should here 
 E'er exercise their base control ; 
 
 Nor corporations, far and near, 
 
 Wreak on the poor their want of soul : 
 
48 THE FACTORY-BELL ; 
 
 But ever worthy of his hire 
 Let every honest laborer be, 
 
 And all whom higher aims inspire, 
 Have equal rights on land or sea. 
 
 The wrong that to the poor is done 
 Will not alone upon them rest, 
 
 But surely as the constant sun, 
 Oppressor suffer with oppressed. 
 
 For He who orders all above, 
 
 Hath so ordained the life of man, 
 
 That other than the law of Love 
 Must ever find His sovereign ban. 
 
 'Tis equal justice through the land 
 That can alone insure success, 
 
 All else will prove a rope of sand, 
 And fall before almightiness. 
 
 Repeal the laws that man hath made ! 
 
 Which now too oft protect the knave, 
 And give once more to toil and trade 
 
 The rights that nature kindly gave. 
 
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