The Wandering Bard

Verse 1

Chill the wintry winds were blowing, Foul the murky night was snowing, Through the storm the minstrel, bowing, Sought the inn on yonder moor.

Verse 2

All within was warm and cheery, All without was cold and dreary, There the wand'rer, old and weary, Thought to pass the night secure.

Verse 3

Softly rose his mournful ditty, Suiting to his tale of pity; But the master, scoffing, witty, Check'd Inns strain with scornful jeer:

Verse 4

"Hoary vagrant, frequent comer, Canst thou guide thy gains of summer?-- No, thou old intruding thrummer, Thou canst have no lodging here."

Verse 5

Slow the bard departed, sighing; Wounded worth forbade replying; One last feeble effort trying, Faint he sunk no more to rise.

Verse 6

Through his harp the breeze sharp ringing, Wild his dying dirge was singing, While his soul, from insult springing, Sought its mansion in the skies.

Verse 7

Now, though wintry winds be blowing, Night be foul, with raining, snowing, Still the trav'ller, that way going, Shuns the inn upon the moor

Verse 8

Though within 'tis warm and cheery, Though without 'tis cold and dreary, Still he minds the minstrel weary, Spurn'd from that unfriendly door.