Ellen Sturgis Hooper (1812–1848)

SWEEP ho! Sweep ho!

He trudges on through sleet and snow.

Tired and hungry both is he,

And he whistles vacantly.

Sooty black his rags and skin,

But the child is fair within.

Ice and cold are better far

Than his master’s curses are.

Mother of this little one,

Could’st thou see thy little son!

Sweep ho! Sweep ho!

He trudges on through sleet and snow.

At the great man’s door he knocks,

Which the servant maid unlocks.

Now let in with laugh and jeer,

In his eye there stands a tear.

He is young, but soon will know

How to bear both word and blow.

Sweep ho! Sweep ho!

In the chimney sleet and snow.

Gladly should his task be done,

Were’t the last beneath the sun.

Faithfully it now shall be,

But, soon spent, down droppeth he.

Gazes round as in a dream,

Very strange, but true, things seem.

Led by a fantastic power

Which sets by the present hour,

Creeps he to a little bed,

Pillows there his aching head,

And, poor thing! he does not know

There he lay long years ago!