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AROUND the fire one wintry night
The farmer's rosy children sat;
The faggot lent its blazing light,
And jokes went round and careless chat.

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When, hark! a gentle hand they hear
Low tapping at the bolted door,
And thus, to gain their willing ear,
A feeble voice was heard t'implore.

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« Cold

The Beggar Man. of Cold blows the blast across the moor, The fleet drives hifling in the wind; Yon toilsome mountain lies before, A dreary treeless waste behind.

“ My eyes are weak and dim with age,
No road, no path, can I descry,
And these poor rags ill ftand the rage
Of such a keen inclement sky.

“So faint I am these tottering feet
No more my palfied frame can bear;
My freezing heart forgets to beat,
And drifting snows my tomb preparę.

“ Open your hospitable door,
And shield me from the biting blast:
Cold, cold it blows across the moor,
The weary moor that I have pass’d!”

With hafty step the farmer ran,
And clofe beside the fire they place
The poor half-frozen beggar man
With shaking limbs and blue-pale face.

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