Poetry: The Sentimental Manufacturer: To The Factory Girl

Dear Maid, a sonc to titee I bring, Wlio wel! (escrve the lay, Aibeit my iip'a unnsed to siriu, Exco)t wherc eongg wíll pay, But looking o'er ni y Icdger, lovc - Thtit book oí books to me - I feit the erudita iii.it I saw VVeic owing all to líieu. Whilo 'niid iho din ol whirling wheels And c!ashQg ! j tms (huu &rt, I Bit at eaee n my arm-chair, Or count my gaine apart. I know thy hands have earned them all, And giv n ihem al! to mí - "Wbile thou íor me urt weaving cloth, 111 weave asongfyr thec. Spirit nnd sou! of divideeds, In maideti lorm arrnytd ; Thuu Mirest giti ihat Mammon sends, Ot Piiitus made ; Thy fingere, Miiiuf-'ike, hare ttirncd My cokton intogold ; T money ihat thy hands have carned, lliio my coffers reliedYet would thy lovc for me, fair maid, Wort' puro as mino for thee : For then befare my nchinjj eye No p-iy-roll shutild 1 aee. 0 I bauish - baiiiu-h ('rom thy brcast, The Lase doeiro to hourd ; How harshly graten upon my ear, a Thre dollira snd thy board." 1 cannot deem thy wonian's heari - So filled with lum of yain - 1 fee! ihe base reward of grecd Muat lill tliat licart wnh puin. - O ! iast ns turn my factory whtcls, May tirno biing round the day, Whon nll thy wom eciinl I be for love, A nuw il is for pay.