| |
| CROSS-LEGG’D on the board we sat, | |
| Like spiders spinning, | |
| Stitching and sweating, while fat | |
| Old Moses, with eyes like a cat, | |
| Sat greasily grinning; | 5 |
| And here Tom said his say, | |
| And prophesied Tyranny’s death; | |
| And the tallow burned all day, | |
| And we stitch’d and stitch’d away | |
| In the thick smoke of our breath. | 10 |
| Poor worn-out slops were we, | |
| With hearts as heavy as lead; | |
| But “Patience! she’s coming!” said he; | |
| “Courage, boys! wait and see! | |
| Freedom’s ahead!”… | 15 |
| |
| But Tom was little and weak, | |
| The hard hours shook him; | |
| Hollower grew his cheek, | |
| And when he began to speak | |
| The coughing took him. | 20 |
| And at last the cheery sound | |
| Of his voice among us ceased, | |
| And we made a purse, all round, | |
| That he mightn’t starve, at least. | |
| His pain was awful to see, | 25 |
| Yet there, on his poor sick-bed, | |
| “She’s coming, in spite of me! | |
| Courage, and wait!” cried he; | |
| “Freedom’s ahead!” | |
| |
| Ay, now Tom Dunstan’s cold, | 30 |
| All life seems duller; | |
| There’s a blight on young and old, | |
| And our talk has lost the bold | |
| Red-republican color. | |
| But we see a figure gray, | 35 |
| And we hear a voice of death, | |
| And the tallow burns all day, | |
| And we stitch and stitch away | |
| In the thick smoke of our breath; | |
| Ay, while in the dark sit we, | 40 |
| Tom seems to call from the dead— | |
| “She’s coming! she’s coming!” says he; | |
| “Courage, boys! wait and see! | |
| Freedom’s ahead!” | |
| |
