The Widow.

SAPPHICs.     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.