"But that is no business of mine—and I care nothing for politics of any kind. Of an evening, we used to gather round the fire till bed-time, and talk of our past lives. Many—many of my companions, had, like myself, seen better days; and it actually made one's heart ache to hear them compare their former positions with their present ones. And after all, what can be more inhuman—what more cruel, than the very principles of the workhouse system? Old couples, who have lived together for years and years, are separated when they go to the workhouse. Mothers are debarred from the society of their little ones:—no ties of kindred are respected there!
"I remember one man—he was about sixty, and much better behaved than the rest—who had been a writer, or something of that kind, in his time. The men used to get him now and then, when he was in the humour to recite poems—some of which he had composed in better days, and others since he had been in the Union. Those of his palmy years were all about love, and friendship, and sweet spring, and moonlight scenes, and so on;—but from the moment that he set foot in the workhouse, he bade farewell to love and friendship; and he never more was destined to know the enjoyments of charming seasons and tranquil hours! One of his late poems made such an impression on me, that I learnt it by heart. It was a workhouse scene. I remember it now; and will repeat it:—
"THE SONG OF THE WORKHOUSE.
"Stooping over the ample grate,
Where burnt an ounce of fuel,
That cheered not the gloom
Of the workhouse room,
An aged and shivering female sate,
Sipping a pint of gruel:
And as she sopped a morsel of bread
In that liquid thin and poor,
With anguish she shook her aching head,
And thought of the days that were o'er.
"Through the deep mists of years gone by
Her mental glances wandered;
And the warm blood ran
To her features wan;
And fire for a moment lighted her eye,
As o'er the past she pondered.
For she had once tripped the meadow green
With a heart as blithe as May;
And she had been crowned the village-queen
In times that were far away!
"She'd been the pride of parents dear,
And plenty banished sorrow;
And her love she gave
To a yeoman brave;
And a smiling offspring rose to cheer
Hearts that feared not for the morrow.
Oh! why should they fear? In the sweat of their brow
They ate their daily bread;
And they thought, 'The earth will e'er yield as now
The fruits whereon we're fed!'
"But when their hair grew silvery white,
Sorrow their cot invaded,
And ravaged it then
As armies of men
Sack the defenceless town by night:—
Thus all Hope's blossoms faded!
From their little farm the stock was swept
By the owner of their land;
And the very bed on which they slept,
Was snatched by the bailiff's hand.
"One hope—one fond hope now was all
Each tender heart dared cherish—
That they might remain
Still linked by one chain,
And 'midst the sorrows that might befal,
Together live or perish.
But Want drove them on to the workhouse gate;
And when the door was pass'd
They found themselves doomed to separate—
To separate at last!
"And he fell sick:—she prayed in vain
To be where he was lying;
She poured forth her moan
Unto hearts of stone;
Never admittance she could gain
To the room where he was dying!
Then into her brain the sad thoughts stole
That brain with anguish reeling—
That the great ones, judging by their own soul,
Think that paupers have no feeling.
"So, thus before the cheerless grate,
Watching the flick'ring ember
She rocked to and fro,
Her heart full of woe;
For into that heart the arrow of fate
Pierced like the cold of December.
And though she sopped a morsel of bread,
She could not eat for crying:
'T was hard that she might not support the head
Of her much-lov'd husband dying!