 | Poems And Songs |  |
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A SONG OF “KING COAL.”
[_]
[The Author's aim, while composing this song, was to imitate “The Song of the Shirt” as closely as the difference of the subject would permit.]
With a lamp on his dreamy head,
And a damp on his gummy brow,
A miner sat, in dusty rags,
Deep in a mine below.
He dug—dug—dug,
In the sepulchre-seeming hole,
And still, with a voice of sorrow deep,
Sang he this song of “King Coal.”
And a damp on his gummy brow,
A miner sat, in dusty rags,
Deep in a mine below.
He dug—dug—dug,
In the sepulchre-seeming hole,
And still, with a voice of sorrow deep,
Sang he this song of “King Coal.”
“Dig—dig—dig,
'Neath the horses' clay-clad hoof,
And dig—dig—dig,
'Neath the darkly threatening roof.
Fallen spirits seem we—
Children of gloom and fire;
But ne'er an Orpheus here will come
With gloom-dispelling lyre.
'Neath the horses' clay-clad hoof,
And dig—dig—dig,
'Neath the darkly threatening roof.
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Children of gloom and fire;
But ne'er an Orpheus here will come
With gloom-dispelling lyre.
“Dig—dig—dig,
Till the labouring bosom heaves,
As each clogged lung expands in pain
With the poison it receives.
Hole and tumble and draw,
Crawl and sweat and gasp,
Till the pick becomes an unwieldy weight
In the toil-enfeebled grasp.
Till the labouring bosom heaves,
As each clogged lung expands in pain
With the poison it receives.
Hole and tumble and draw,
Crawl and sweat and gasp,
Till the pick becomes an unwieldy weight
In the toil-enfeebled grasp.
“Lords in costly halls,
Princes on gilded thrones,
Hear ye e'er, by your cheerful hearths,
A miner's dying moans?
We dig in a starless gloom,
To be shunned as a vicious crew;
And dig—untimely graves for us,
While we dig for warmth for you.
Princes on gilded thrones,
Hear ye e'er, by your cheerful hearths,
A miner's dying moans?
We dig in a starless gloom,
To be shunned as a vicious crew;
And dig—untimely graves for us,
While we dig for warmth for you.
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“Yes, die!—where no children's tears
May fall on the chilling cheek,
Where we may hear no sigh that tells
The tale that no tongue can speak;
Nor earnest prayer breathed
By the pious for our behoof,
Nor aught save our dying comrades' cry
And the crash of the falling roof.
May fall on the chilling cheek,
Where we may hear no sigh that tells
The tale that no tongue can speak;
Nor earnest prayer breathed
By the pious for our behoof,
Nor aught save our dying comrades' cry
And the crash of the falling roof.
“The strain of racking toil
We day by day endure,
The endless gloom, were trivial things
Could we feel our lives secure.
Even now, relentless Doom
His wings may o'er us wave,
And the gloom around becomes at once
Of a hundred men the grave.
We day by day endure,
The endless gloom, were trivial things
Could we feel our lives secure.
Even now, relentless Doom
His wings may o'er us wave,
And the gloom around becomes at once
Of a hundred men the grave.
“Spurned, despised, crushed,
Like soulless things, together,
Here, in the June of life,
Like autumn leaves we wither.
Wither—unlike the leaves—
Slowly and painfully;
Wither, with scarce a gleam of hope
That thus 'twill always be.
Like soulless things, together,
Here, in the June of life,
Like autumn leaves we wither.
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Slowly and painfully;
Wither, with scarce a gleam of hope
That thus 'twill always be.
“Oh! to be with our hearts
In our homes on upper earth,
With loving ones that feel how much
Our lowly lives are worth!
Dear are we to the hearts at home
As life, or the light of day,
Though some may deem us scarcely worth
The weight of ourselves in clay.
In our homes on upper earth,
With loving ones that feel how much
Our lowly lives are worth!
Dear are we to the hearts at home
As life, or the light of day,
Though some may deem us scarcely worth
The weight of ourselves in clay.
“The slaves of other climes
Have a sun 'neath which to toil—
Some snowy cloudlet's antique form
May care of power beguile.
No sun or cloudlet here see we,
To put our cares to flight;
Eternal dread hangs o'er us still,
With the gloom of endless night:
Have a sun 'neath which to toil—
Some snowy cloudlet's antique form
May care of power beguile.
No sun or cloudlet here see we,
To put our cares to flight;
Eternal dread hangs o'er us still,
With the gloom of endless night:
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“True, we may see the sun
Start from the east one day—
May hear the blackbird's song, and see
The dew on the blossomed spray.
Ah! but the beam of joy
That scatters our cloud of sorrow,
Fades fast before the fear of what
Awaits us here to-morrow.”
Start from the east one day—
May hear the blackbird's song, and see
The dew on the blossomed spray.
Ah! but the beam of joy
That scatters our cloud of sorrow,
Fades fast before the fear of what
Awaits us here to-morrow.”
Thus, with an aching heart
And a sweating, clammy brow,
A miner, in his dusty rags,
Sang in a mine below—
A place that a ghost would shun,
A worm-detested hole;
Thus, with a voice of sorrow deep,
That might have made old Nero weep,
Sang he this song of “King Coal.”
And a sweating, clammy brow,
A miner, in his dusty rags,
Sang in a mine below—
A place that a ghost would shun,
A worm-detested hole;
Thus, with a voice of sorrow deep,
That might have made old Nero weep,
Sang he this song of “King Coal.”
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