The Widow

Cold was the night wind, drifting fast the snows fell,

Wide were the downs and shelterless and naked,

When a poor Wanderer struggled on her journey

Weary and way-sore.



Drear were the downs, more dreary her reflexions;

Cold was the night wind, colder was her bosom!

She had no home, the world was all before her,

She had no shelter.



Fast o'er the bleak heath rattling drove a chariot,

"Pity me!" feebly cried the poor night wanderer.

"Pity me Strangers! lest with cold and hunger

Here I should perish.



"Once I had friends,--but they have all forsook me!

"Once I had parents,--they are now in Heaven!

"I had a home once--I had once a husband--

"Pity me Strangers!



"I had a home once--I had once a husband--

"I am a Widow poor and broken-hearted!"

Loud blew the wind, unheard was her complaining.

On drove the chariot.



On the cold snows she laid her down to rest her;

She heard a horseman, "pity me!" she groan'd out;

Loud blew the wind, unheard was her complaining,

On went the horseman.



Worn out with anguish, toil and cold and hunger,

Down sunk the Wanderer, sleep had seiz'd her senses;

There, did the Traveller find her in the morning,

GOD had releast her.

0 commentaires:

Twitter Delicious Facebook Digg Stumbleupon Favorites More