244 



THE SONG. 



It is thy autumn comrade 

 Who makes appeal to thee ; 

 By heaven, by all forsaken, 

 Woodman, oh, pity me ! 



Yes, in these days of famine 

 The little pilgrim keep ; 

 On dainty crumbs regale him 

 By the fireside let him sleep ! 



For I am the companion 

 Of the poor woodcutter ! 



