Out in Babylon yonder,
By the gas-lights' dull red glare,
In a stifling room--a living tomb,
With never a breath of air,
A slender girl is sitting;
At her feet a silken cloud,
Which music makes, while her young heart aches,
As she stitches the rustling shroud.
And this is the song the glistening silk
Sings, out in the work-room yonder:
"Quick! quick! quick!
"My lady is waiting to roam.
"If you wish to die, the needle ply;
"You can die when you reach your home."
And while the gas-lights flicker and play
The life of the sempstress ebbs away
In the West End work-room yonder.
Out in Babylon yonder,
In the blaze of the ball-room gay,
My lady sits; while round her flits
A skeleton slender and grey.
And the ghastly spectre standeth
By the side of my lady fair
So mournfully bland, and with bony hand
It plays with her costume rare.
And this is the song the ghostly guest
Sings, out in the ball-room yonder:
"Look! look! look!
"Sit ye scornful and proud.
"Your boddice a hearse; every stitch a curse;
"Your skirt a silken shroud."
For while the gas-lights flickered in play
The life of the sempstress ebbed away
In the West End work-room yonder.