Song Supposed To Be Song By The Chain Gangs At The Conclusion Of Labour In The Gardens Of The Prisoners.
Air--The Meeting of the Waters.
Oh ! there's not in the wide world a garden so sweet
As the garden where convicts and cabbages meet ;
Oh ! the last hope of pension and place shall depart,
Ere the fruit of that garden shall cease in the mart.
It was not that crime had spread over the whole
Its darkest of sorrow, Its chilliest of soul ;
'Twas not the sweet absence of cost and of bill,
Oh ! no ! It was something more exquisite still.
'Twas that place and its profits must hang to those bonds.
That made every dear clank of those fetters more fond ;
And showed how the bright gold of profit improves,
When gratis the labour that tolls in our groves.
Sweet rogues of old London, how calm could I rest
With the salaries and slaves and police I love best ;
And feel as each day saw your numbers Increase,
Your crimes and my wishes yet mingling in peace.
Notes
From the Tasmanian Newspaper The Colonial Times 4 Jun 1852 p. 3.
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