1 8 2G . ] Mach inery-dist resses. 569 



No room is left for consideration of those below us ; all our efforts are 

 spent in lifting up ourselves among those above us — displaying a cheer- 

 ful and glittering outside with misery in our chambers and desperation 

 in our hearts. In the country and in the manufactory it is the same. 

 The landlord grinds his tenant, the tenant his labourer, and the labourer 

 descends from his bacon and his beer to bread, potatoes, and water. 

 The manufacturer must and will live like a gentleman ; competition 

 lowers his profits but he will not lower his style of living ; the labourer 

 gets less and less, sinking gradually from comfort to starvation — till, at 

 last, we have come to be a nation, consisting of a few hundreds of 

 Leviathans, wallowing in enormous wealth; a few thousands striving and 

 struggling to ape the wealthy ; obliged to spend all upon themselves, 

 and make little go far ; and the millions in misery. 



STANZAS. 



Bahny Zephyr ! should my Love 



Feel midst her locks thy soft breath rove, 



As she with roses wreathes them : 

 Tell her, the breezes as they rise 

 Are all composed of amorous sighs; 



But tell her jiot who breathes them. 



Limpid River ! should she pace 



Thy banks, let wild flowers spring t'embracc 



The gentle foot that treads them ; 

 And tell her that the waves she hears, 

 Soft murm'ring, are a lover's tears; 



But tell her not who sheds them.* 



Mournful Cypress ! should the maid 

 Seek shelter in thy cooling shade. 



Say (and mark how she bears it !) 

 That he whose brows thy dark wreaths wear. 

 Once hoped to bind the myrtle there j 



But tell her not who wears it. 



Sweet Philomela ! in her ear 

 Warble thy tale of love and fear. 



Till her cold bosom feel it ; 

 And say for her one feels the same. 

 As true, and constant — and his name. 



Say the grave will reveal it. 



Thou grass-green Sod ! when thou art prest 

 Upon this now uneasy breast. 



Then my sad tale discover ; 

 And should she to thy mound repair. 

 Tell her, her own true love lies there, 



And name that hapless lover ! 



• The two first stanzas are imitated from the Italian. 



M.M.Nexv Series Vol.1. No. 6 4D 



