Poems (Eytinge)/The song of the tramp
THE SONG OF THE TRAMP.
(Dedicated to Annie Bartel, the Female Pedestrian.)
With head bent wearily down, With footsteps heavy as lead,A woman walked in a tinsel gown, Bedecked with ribbons of red.Walk, walk, walk! With dull, monotonous stamp,And still with step that none could balk She sang the song of the tramp.
Walk, walk, walk! While the wheel is turning aloof;And bang, crash, bang, The music raises the roof.'Tis oh! to be a slave, And work at a cobbler's trade,Where woman has never a soul to save, And heels are fairly made.
Walk, walk, walk!My labor never flags.And what are it's wages? A sawdust track, A careless nurse,—and wags;This wooden room, that steamer chair,And a bed so rough that sometimes it's tough,— I sometimes must lie there.
Oh! but to breathe the breath Of the gently lowing kine,As they wander near the brook, By the trailing ivy vine; For only one short hour To sit on a three-legged stool,And draw the snowy liquid foam, At twilight pure and cool!
Oh, men, with sisters dear! Oh, men, with better halves;It is not leather you're wearing out, But human creatures' calves!Walk, walk, walk! Boldly without a fear;Moving along with a double tread, And a foot that is somewhat queer.
But why do I talk of feet, Those phantoms of grisly bone![ do not care for their terrible shape If the boys would let 'em alone!—If the boys would let 'em alone, And think of the laps I make,I'd do my best for quickest time, And surely win dat cake.
Oh! but for one short hour, A respite, however slight!No blessed leisure for sleep or dress, Not even a moment at night!A little eating would ease me some, But in its china plateMy meal must stay, for food, they say, My power would abate.
With head bent wearily down, And footsteps heavy as lead,A woman walked in a tinsel gown, Bedecked with ribbons of red.Walk, walk, walk! With dull monotonous stamp,And still with step that none could balk She sang this song of the tramp.