SONG OF THE SPIRIT OF POVERTY.
They come to be girded with leather and link,
And away at my bidding they go,
To toil where the soul-less beast would shrink,
In the deep, damp caverns below.
And away at my bidding they go,
To toil where the soul-less beast would shrink,
In the deep, damp caverns below.
Daughters of Beauty, they, like ye,
Are of gentle womankind,—
And wonder not if little there be
Of angel form and mind:
Are of gentle womankind,—
And wonder not if little there be
Of angel form and mind:
If I'd held your cheeks by as close a pinch,
Would that flourishing rose be found?
If I'd doled you a crust out, inch by inch,
Would your arms have been so round?
Would that flourishing rose be found?
If I'd doled you a crust out, inch by inch,
Would your arms have been so round?
Oh, I am Queen with a despot rule,
That crushes to the dust;
The laws I deal bear no appeal,
Though ruthless and unjust.
That crushes to the dust;
The laws I deal bear no appeal,
Though ruthless and unjust.
I deaden the bosom and darken the brain,
With the might of a demon's skill;
The heart may struggle, but struggle in vain.
As I grapple it harder still.
With the might of a demon's skill;
The heart may struggle, but struggle in vain.
As I grapple it harder still.
Oh, come with me, and ye shall see
How well I begin the day;
For I'll hie to the hungriest slave I have,
And snatch his loaf away.
How well I begin the day;
For I'll hie to the hungriest slave I have,
And snatch his loaf away.
Oh, come with me, and ye shall see
How my skeleton victims fall;
How I order the graves without a stone,
And the coffins without a pall.
How my skeleton victims fall;
How I order the graves without a stone,
And the coffins without a pall.
Then a song, a song for the beldame Queen—
A Queen that ye fear right well;
For my portal of state is the workhouse gate,
And my throne, the prison cell.
A Queen that ye fear right well;
For my portal of state is the workhouse gate,
And my throne, the prison cell.
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