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XVIII.
Unlike to worldly friends were they,
Who separate in Fortune’s blast—
They still were near when fair the sky,
But nearer still when overcast.
XIX.
When Lubin’s random step involv’d
His body ’neath the drifted snow,
Tray help’d him forth; and when Tray fell,
Poor Lubin dragg’d him from below.
XX.
Thus, ’midst the horrors of the night,
They enter’d on the houseless heath;
Above their heads no comfort broke.
Nor round about, nor underneath.
XXI.
No little cheering star they saw,
To light them on their dreary way;
Nor yet the distant twinkling blaze
Of cottage industry saw they.
XXII.
Nay, e’en that most officious guide
Of those who roam and those who mope;
Retiring Will-o -th’-Wisp, refus’d
To trim the lamp of treach’rous hope.
XXIII.
Nor parish bell was heard to strike,
The hour of “tardy-gaited night;”
No noise—but winds and screams of those
Ill-omen’d birds that shun the light.
