O'er the "living and the dead"
I my restless course have sped,
And many a work of woe, I ween,
Showeth where my flight hath been.
At a noble's dwelling, rich and high,
A beggar waited, with downcast eye;
His timeworn locks were silvery white,
And he prayed for shelter a single night;
But the haughty menials within the wall
Heeded not his weary call.