But when the streams are frozen,
I tap at thy window-pane—
Oh, on the bird take pity,
Not a leaf, not a herb remain!
It is thy autumn comrade
Who makes appeal to thee;
By heaven, by all forsaken,
Woodman, oh, pity me!
Yes, in these days of famine
The little pilgrim keep;
On dainty crumbs regale him,
By the fireside let him sleep!
For I am the companion
Of the poor woodcutter!
THE NEST.