That I was linked with toiling slaves,
Whose very life-blood had been bought
By selfish and designing knaves.
But all too late conviction came,
And with a down-cast, tearful eye.
I thought with anguish and with shame
I’d chased an echo here—to die!
O, vain was all our strife for wealth,
We ploughed the bed of many a stream,
All idly, and with ruined health,