Vanity Fair — Chapter 4

Ah! bleak and barren was the moor,Ah! loud and piercing was the storm,The cottage hearth was shelter'd sure,The cottage hearth was bright and warm—An orphan boy the lattice pass'd,And, as he mark'd its cheerful glow,Felt doubly keen the midnight blast,And doubly cold the fallen snow.

They mark'd him as he onward prest,With fainting heart and weary limb;Kind voices bade him turn and rest,And gentle faces welcomed him.The dawn is up—the guest is gone,The cottage hearth is blazing still;Heaven pity all poor wanderers lone!Hark to the wind upon the hill!