Page:Poems Cook.djvu/350

For while the fagot burns
 To warm my cottage floor,
They never shall say the poor man turns
 A poorer from his door.
Then come to the ingle-side,
 The night is dark and drear;
The snow is deep, and the mountain wide,
 Oh! stay and rest thee here!

If thou seekest the castle gate,
 Though broad that gate may be,
A weary time thou'lt have to wait,
 For it lets in none like thee.
If thou cravest bit or sup
 Where courtly gallants feed,
Thou'lt find there is nor plate nor cup
 For the starving lips of need.
They have couches 'neath proud domes,
 And downy ones they are;
But the guests who sleep have as princely homes,
 And carry the pearl and star.
Then come to my ingle-side,
 For the night is dark and drear;
The snow is deep, and the mountain wide,
 Oh stay and rest thee here!

If thou wert rich and strong,
 I would not ask thee in;
But thy journey has been lone and long,
 And thy tatter'd garb is thin.
Thy limbs are stiff with cold,
 Thy hair is icy white;
Thou art a pilgrim far too old
 To face this bitter night.
Less pity might there be
 In a breast e'er warmly clad;
But I have been as poor as thee,
 As hungry and as sad.

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