Laughton Osborn

FAST by the dike, where frown the granite eaves

Of the huge dome Manhattan rears for thieves,

A range of filthy dwelling houses stood,

Fac’d with dull brick, and bridg’d with steps of wood.

Here, in chalk’d spaces, seven feet by four,

Crowd various families a common floor;

The night’s straw sack their musty couch by day,

While on the loathsome plank their broken victuals lay.

Dogs, cats, and children in one litter cry,

And mud-cak’d pigs encroach upon the sty.

Without, all wreck and nastiness; within,

Starvation, sickness, vermin, stench, and sin.

Such hives as still are found, with ev’n less room,

In Laurens Street, the southern side of Broom.