''Who's that below my window calls,
And breaks the silence of the night?
Who wak'd me from my slumbers sweet,
When dreaming of my soul's delight?
Was it the night--breeze in the wood?
Was it the streams that rapid flow?
It seem'd the moan of shiv'ring want;
It seem'd the hollow voice of woe!''

'''Twas not the night--breeze in the wood:
'Twas not the streams that rapid flow:
It was the moan of shiv'ring want--
It was the hollow voice of woe:
A houseless, helpless, friendless man,
Implores your goodness with a sigh:
Throw me a crust, for hunger craves,
And with the cattle let me lie!''

''If pity e'er warm'd female breast,
I feel the glow of pity here:
Come, stranger, rest thy wearied limbs,
And welcome share our humble cheer!
The storm is up, the air is keen,
The hour is late, the first cock crows;
A blazing fire will give new life,
And help to court thee to repose.''

''Thanks, lovely tender--hearted maid,
Thy guest I'll sit till dawning day;
And O, may Heav'n that knows thy worth,
With plenty still such worth repay.
Hear, Mary! hear a lover's voice,
Who came to prove thy feeling heart;
And by thy sighs in pity's cause,
I swear we never more will part!''