Chill the wintry winds were blowing,|
Foul the murky night was snowing,
Through the storm the minstrel, bowing,
Sought the inn on yonder moor.
All within was warm and cheery,
All without was cold and dreary,
There the wand'rer, old and weary,
Thought to pass the night secure.
2. Softly rose his mournful ditty,
3. Slow the bard departed, sighing;|
Wounded worth forbade replying;
One last feeble effort trying,
Faint he sunk no more to rise.
Through his harp the breeze sharp ringing,
Wild his dying dirge was singing,
While his soul, from insult springing,
Sought its mansion in the skies.
4. Now, though wintry winds be blowing,
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