300
ALTON LOCKE.
cabin, dead, his head resting on the table as peacefully as if he had slumbered. On a sheet of paper by him were written the following verses; the ink was not yet dry:
"'MY LAST WORDS.
I.
" 'Weep, weep, weep, and weep,
For pauper, dolt, and slave;
Hark! from wasted moor and fen,
Feverous alley, workhouse den,
Swells the wail of Englishmen;
"Work! or the grave!"
II.
" 'Down, down, down, and down,
With idler, knave, and tyrant;
Why for sluggards stint and moil?
He that will not live by toil
Has no right on English soil;
God's word's our warrant!
III.
" 'Up, up, up, and up,
Face your game, and play it!
The night is past—behold the sun!—
The cup is full, the web is spun,
The Judge is set, the doom begun;
Who shall stay it?'"
THE END.
