She came the other day when you
Was sitting here with me;
Almira sewed, you had a book,
And read quite prettily.
She tried to do her errand twice;
But when she came to speak,
I saw her turn aside and wipe
A tear from off her cheek.
I thought it strange, and led her out;
“What ails you, child,” said I;
“Pray have you hurt yourself, or what
Can thus have made you cry?”
“Oh, no,” she said, “I am not hurt;
I am to blame, I fear;
But such a tender sight as this
Will always force a tear.
“For I had tender parents once,—
Affectionate and kind;
But they are dead; they both have gone,
And left their child behind.
“I had a little sister, too,
And many a pleasant day
We with our mother worked and read
The cheerful hours away.
“But when we lost our parents, ma’am,
Our living all was fled;
And we were placed in strangers’ hands,
To earn our daily bread.
“My sister could not long support
The hardship of her fate;
She left this miserable world
And sought a happier state.
“Since then I have mourn’d my heavy lot;
Alone, without relief,—
I have no friend to pity me
Or listen to my grief.
“My mistress lives in wealth and ease,
From want and sorrow free;
She never knew what labor was,
Nor can she feel for me.