She crept, to look along the bleak, black moor.
He comes--he comes!--and, quivering all with dread,
She spoke kind welcome to that sinful man.
His sole reply,--'Get supper--give me bread!'
Then, with a sneer, he tauntingly began
To mock the want that stared him in the face,
Her bitter sorrow, and his own disgrace.
"'I have no money to procure you food,
No wood, no coal, to raise a cheerful fire;
The madd'ning cup may warm your frozen blood--