1806.
THE cold wind blows,
O'er the drifted snows ;
Loud howls the rain-lashed naked wood ;
Weary I stray
On my lonesome way,
And my heart is faint for want of food.
Pity a wretch left all forlorn,
On life's wide wintry waste to mourn ;
The gloom of night fast veils the sky,
And pleads for your humanity.
On valour's bed
My Henry died,
In the cheerless desert is his tomb ;
Now lost to joy,
With my little boy,
In woe and want I wander home.
Oh ! never, never will you miss
The boon bestow'd on deep distress,
For dear to Heav'n is the glist'ning eye,
That beams benign humanity.
This song first appeared in the Glasgow Nightingale of 1806, page 79, See first Note to No. 13.—Ed.
[Semple 99]