'Sound is their rest:—they little know
What pain, what cold, their Father feels;
But dream, perhaps, they see him now,
While each the promis'd Orange peels.
Would it were so!—the fire burns bright,
And on the warming trencher gleams;
In Expectation's raptur'd sight
How precious his arrival seems!
'I'll look abroad!—'tis piercing cold!—
How the bleak wind assails his breast!
Yet some faint light mine eyes, behold:
The storm is verging o'er the West.
'There shines a Star!—O welcome sight!—
Through the thin vapours brightening still!
Yet, 'twas beneath the fairest night
The murd'rer stained yon lonely Hill.
'Mercy, kind Heav'n! such thoughts dispel!
No voice, no footstep can I hear!
(Where Night and Silence brooding dwell,
Spreads thy cold reign, heart-chilling Fear.)
'Distressing hour! uncertain fate!
O Mercy, Mercy, guide him home!—
Hark!—then I heard the distant gate;—
Repeat it, Echo; quickly, come!
'One minute now will ease my fears—
Or, still more wretched must I be?
No: surely Heaven has spar'd our tears:
I see him, cloath'd in snow;—'tis he.—
'Where have you stay'd? put down your load.
How have you borne the storm, the cold?
What horrors did I not forebode—
That Beast is worth his weight in gold.'
Thus spoke the joyful Wife;—then ran
And hid in grateful steams her head:
Dapple was hous'd, the hungry Man
With joy glanc'd o'er the Children's bed.
'What, all asleep!—so best;' he cried:
O what a night I've travell'd through!
Unseen, unheard, I might have died;
But Heaven has brought me safe to you.