Classic Poem

Cold was the night wind, drifting fast the snow 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 reflections,
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 heath a chariot rattled by her,
“Pity me!” feebly cried the lonely wanderer
“Pity me, strangers! lest with cold and hunger
Here I should perish.

“Once I had friends,—though now by all forsaken
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.
Then on the snow she laid her down to rest her;
She heard a horseman; “Pity me!” she groan'd out;
Loud was 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 seized her senses;
There did the traveller find her in the morning;
God had released her.