With dizzy whirl, on rushed the wheels Along the City's murky street, And music's light, inspiring peals Rang out from folly's gay retreat; And busy footsteps hurried past, And human voices, harsh and wild, Commingling, floated on the blast; When the shrill accents of a child Rose mid the din, in tones forlorn, And cried, "Come, buy hot corn, hot corn!" Like some sad spirit wafted by, A stranger to the ways of earth, Came up that little plaintive cry-- Sweet discord to the sounds of mirth. Unheeded by the reckless crowd, There stood a girl, a pale, wan thing, And 'neath her bosom's tattered shroud There lurk'd an age of suffering; While e'en till night approached the morn, In feebler voice, she cried, "Hot Corn!" The gas lamp's glare fell on her face, But lighted not her languid eyes; And down her pallid cheeks, the trace Of tears, bespoke her miseries; With hunger gnawing at her heart, She shivered, as the night wind blew Her soiled and ragged clothes apart; Till all insensible she grew, And sinking in unblessed sleep, Forgot to cry, "Hot Corn," and weep. Alone, so young, how came she there? To sell hot corn so late at night; Had she no friends, no home, nowhere To rest, and hide her from the sight Of the rude world? No mother? Hush! That holy name is not the one For Katy's parent. Woman! blush For thy lost sister; blush to own That thou canst ever fall so low, To plunge thy children into woe. Within that mother's heart, the light Of love was quench'd, quench'd by the flood, The damning flood, whose waters blight All that is left of human good: And in her breast that demon reigned, Who "Give, give, give!" is ever crying; Demanding still to be maintained, While all within, around, is dying; Outpouring in its baneful breath, Destruction, sorrow, sin and death. The lips which should have kiss'd away Her daughter's tears, dealt curses forth; The hand which should have been her stay, Was but the minister of wrath; Blind to her wants, deaf to her prayers, Regardless of the driving storm, To open streets and midnight airs, She drove that little shrinking form, To earn a dram! In shame and scorn With famished lips to cry, "Hot corn!" "Hot corn, hot corn!"--night after night, More faint and feeble grew that voice-- Still fiercely burned each glaring light, Still music bade the town rejoice; The ceaseless footsteps passed along, Up came the wild discordant tones, The voices of the thoughtless throng,-- The bounding wheels rolled o'er the stones,-- But midst the din, the rush, the roar, Poor Katy's cry is heard no more.