Far, far away on southern seas
The wild typhoon in fury fell;
Of Jack’s good ship and gallant crew
Not one was spared the tale to tell.
They say ’twas at the eventime,
When sunset’s glory crowns the lea,
They found poor stricken Molly Dean
In her last sleep beside the sea.
And when the summer time had faded
And bird songs no longer were gay,
Minnie Lee drooped low like the lilies
And peacefully passed away.
They laid her to rest where the roses
And lilies in summer may bloom;
And the winds softly sigh to the daisies
That modestly mantle her tomb.
By the shores of a western sea
Dwelt sister Nell and Lawrence Dare;
For them the skies were ever clear,
And all the world was kindly fair.
But in the old house by the stream,
The old folks mourned from day to day;
In loss and loneliness they pined,
And faded swift from earth away.
And they are resting side by side,
Near Minnie Lee and Molly Dean,
In the still city of repose,
Near to the margin of the stream.
Sleep on! sleep on! oh, loved and lost,
The lonesome winds around thee sigh;
Sleep through the years we trust will bring
A never-ending “by and by.”
CHAPTER IV.
I’d sought the busy marts of men,
The city’s fev’rish, ceaseless din,
Where strife and vile rapaciousness
Are steeped in crime and vaunted sin.
The rage of commerce and the clash
Of steel and iron works that fill
The air with vibrant, rasping sound,
And human voices harsh and shrill.
Machinery’s fierce and grinding roar,
The shouts of lab’rer and artizan,
As stroke on stroke with might and main
They strive to lead the rushing van.
Remorseless as the hand of fate
Stands capital with sword in hand,
To grind the toiling millions down
To servile state through all the land.
A thousand vehicles that ply
Along the hot and dusty ways;
The rushing of a million feet;
A universal hungry craze
For wealth, and pomp, and pride, and power
All heedless of the anguished cry
Of weaker fellows trampled down,
Unheeded, helpless, and to die.
In the arena packed and pent,
The speculative gambler’s bower,
Where stocks are fiercely bought and sold,
And men are ruined in an hour:
Hark! the frenzied, madden’d shout,
Exultant or despairing cry;
Triumphant ones go proudly forth,
Or, ruined, creep away to die.
A few there are that win the way
Through battle’s fierce and fiery flame;
Their dauntless and intrepid souls
Win up the dazzling heights of fame.
A few that dwell in palaces,
Afar removed from toil and strife,
There idly dream the years away
That bound their vain, luxurious life.