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How could I bear to see her youth Bow'd to the dust by abject toil, Till misery urge the soul to guilt, From which its nature would recoil?

The bitterness of poverty, The shame that adds the worst to woe,— I think upon the life I've known, Upon the life that I shall know.

Look through yon street,—a hundred lamps Are lighting up the revels there,— Hark! you can hear the distant laugh Blending with music on the air.