The Murdered Traveller

Loud blew the wind across the heath,
To summon forth the friends of death,
And ride upon the storm;
The tempest howl?d the night was dark,
For not one star with twinkling spark,
Shone on the traveller?s form.

Deep on the ground the white snow lay,
And fill?d up all the foot path way,
And left no track behind;
Directed by love?s potent pow?r
Edward, set out in such at hour,
Spite of the piercing wind.

His constant Kate the long night o?er.
Sits list?ning to the tempest?s roar,
And trims her wooden fire;
She counts the minutes ? wipes the tear,
She hugs her infant ? shakes with fear,
And trembles for her sire.

No morrow?s sun with cheering ray,
Will light poor Edward on his way,
To greet his wife again,
His manly form with many a wound,
Lies murder?d on the cold damp ground,
Wept by the drenching rain.

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