ARK! the Christmas bells ring round!
Many light hearts with joy abound!
They come and go upon the wind,
"Peace and goodwill to all mankind!"
Vile fumes, with subtle poison-breath,
That fouls the throat, killed one young child :
Roofs bulge in this abode of death,
Walls totter and tumble, damp-defiled;
While on the too scant space intrude
Rats, hustling the young human brood.
A mean bed, table, broken chair,
Furnish the degraded room;
A print, some delf, one flower fair,
Are fain to mitigate the gloom.
Bitter winter wind shrilled through
Rotten door and window when it blew.
She, working early, working late,
Breathes no impatient word nor wail:
Her heavy task may ne'er abate,
Though eyesight fade and strength may fail.
Her husband, long through accident
Disabled, might no more endure
To watch her, burden-bowed and bent,
The wife, whom these dark dens immure,
Whom no longing love may cure,
Nor share her load, tho' bruised and rent-
Nor ease her load, who hath been his bride!
Confused, heartbroken, he will hide
His eyes for ever under tide
Of deeply, darkly rolling Thames,
That quenches hottest human flames.
Merry Christmas bells ring round!
Many light hearts with joy abound;
They come and go upon the wind,
"Peace and goodwill to all mankind!"
Merry Christmas chimes rang round,
When he sought the river's bank,
Rang over him the while he drowned,
And in the depths a third time sank,
While laughing youth's swift-flying feet
To music danced in yonder street,
And in gay halls glad masquers meet.
Now the flickering lamplights float
Idly over corpse and boat;
From tower and temple London frowns
On all this ruin of her sons;
On her huge dome the cross of gold
Gleams in winter starlight cold;
Nor storied old-world obelisk,
Nor the illumined horal disk
High orbed on stately Westminster,
Where the Parliaments confer,
Take any heed of the black spot
That doth the silver moonlight blot
A human shape unhearing hours
Pealed now from modern, ancient towers; But dark on turbid water ridges
Rocks in reflected flame from bridges Where steam lit trains, with living freight,
Going to glad homes elate,
Near ships laden with merchandise,
Spice, or silk of gorgeous dyes,
Where men from far realms of sunrise
Wait, forgetting care and sorrow,
In hope to greet dear friends to-morrow,
While their paddlewheel foams over
The swaying corse, a senseless rover.
He turned from life, but left some words
Dyed in the anguish of his soul;
Deep anguish the brief page records,
Before dull waters o'er him roll.
"Upon the bed, or broken chair,
I sit and brood in my despair,-
Those Christmas bells! it is two years
Since our sweet little boy went home;
I see him now through blinding tears,
The snowflakes melting on him, come,
Delighted, babbling of the joys
Behind a lighted window-pane-
Firs taper-lit, festooned with toys,
Sweets, trinkets, woolly lamb, doll, train-
For he had peeped in from the flags,
Where the lustrous hall discloses
To the boy in faded rags,
Happy children, pink like roses,
Playful, laughter-loving posies,
Clustered flowers with coloured dresses;
One pretty girl had such long tresses!
And then, the feast in all its pride!
Our cold, wan child stood eager-eyed,
Until some menial waved aside-
Another little waif stood far:
On his thin face he wore a scar;
Half naked; matted ringlets curled;
He had no friend in all the world.
He peers in where these wonders are;
O'er him wavers the snowstar,
Ghostly in the yellow gleam
From the mansion's window-beam.
Willie took him by the hand:
'Won't you with me nearer stand?'
He entered, shaking off the snow,
Shone for us, laughing, our sunshine,
Exhilarating hearts like wine;
The dear glad face was all aglow,
Though mostly pale from want, like mine.
Then Mary took his jacket off,
Put the small torn boots to dry,
And we made little of the cough
That on our hearts weighed heavily.
A Christmas treat with cakes and tea
We gave our bairns; the fare was rough;
Yet this poor Yule-meal by the fire
We all enjoyed, a lordly feast!
She rested from long toils that tire,
And my small wage the store increased;
I got a little bit of green
To try and brighten up the scene.
But now, skilled craftsman I, unused
To ruder labour, weights must lift,
That overstrain my strength abused;
Famine else will give short shrift!
So to this impotence I drift!
At times my brain seems all confused-
To watch my Mary's failing eyes,
And youth consumed with too much toil,
While patient at her task she dies!
I, pinioned, helpless, may not foil
Slow deaths that round my dear ones coil!
Over a new dress sits she bowed?—
I thought it was her own white shroud;-
Our wee Willie, like a weed,
Thrown into a nameless grave—
I am but one more mouth to feed!
They starve here, and I cannot save.
am but one more mouth to feed! .
We could not even put a stone,
To show where Willie lies alone!
When I left home, my love would write
That, ere our Willie went to bed,
He, wishing father a goodnight,
Kissed the written words, she said,
Ere softly slept the curly head.
Ah! and now the boy is gone!—
We could not even put a stone !
"O Christmas bells, ye chime to jeer Poor folk shut in with mortal fear!
'Peace and goodwill to all mankind!'
-Save those whom want and rich men grind—
Art, Science, Banquet, Church, and Revel
Westward feed sense, heart and mind;
Down East, the unshared rule of the devil!
Long have I sought; I cannot find
God who delivers men from evil! . . .
(Bells peal)". . . Well loved those chimes
Once more we have our cheerful home,
Around the window roses blow;
I see my Mary fair as foam,
Blithely singing, come and go,
While rosed with health the children roam.
Now we are ground 'twixt two millstones-
The man that wrings the murderous rent,
Yet shelters not the naked bones
Cooped in his plague-fraught tenement,-
And vampires who suck sleek content
From human anguish, tears, and groans,
Clutch the fruit of our life's toil,
And batten upon the unholy spoil-
Throwing a wage-scrap back for fuel,
Lest man-mills stop the labour cruel,
And cease with Death unequal duel.
Shall we, chained starvelings, go, buy law,
To save us from the robber's claw?
Law is a cumbrous thing to move;
It will not come and help for love!
Buy women to starve at 'market-price,'
Gallio-Law, with looks of ice,
Smiles placid; poor man, steal a crust,
To feed them, Jefferies, judge most just,
Thee, wrath-red, into gyves will thrust.
'Church and State will guard,' saith he,
'The sacred rights of property!"
England wrestles for the slave
Enthralled beyond the alien wave;
Why doth this mother of the free
Let her strong sons with cruel glee
Crush weak sisters at her knee?
Set thine own house in order-then
Go and preach to evil men!
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