"I have long duties; ask thou not my name
Some say I fret at a fair destiny.
Many I have to tend; to make my claim
Some venture: we shall see."

"I trust, good lady, that in a fair field,
The case 'twixt you and tyranny will be tried,"
I said; then turning promptly I appealed
To one who stood beside.

She said, "Poor pay, and plenteous fines, and worse,
Made me rebel amidst my mates' applause.
To insubordination I'm averse,
But have I not good cause?

"We are cut off from hope in our hard place,
Sweet factory? Ah, well, _our_ sweets are few.
We strike for justice. Man might show some grace,
I think, Sir; do not you?"

Turning I saw, ranging a flowery pile,
One sitting in an entry dark and cold;
A girl with hectic cheeks, and hollow smile;
Wired roses there she sold,

Or strove to sell; but often on her ear
The harrying voice of stern policedom struck,
And chased her from her vantage, till a tear
Fell at her "wretched luck."