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.