 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
THE LONDON CADGER.
An exile from the eyes of love and light,
He was the butt of vulgar hate and scorn,
And by the scourge of many winters worn,
A thing too vile for virtue's mark or slight.
He was the butt of vulgar hate and scorn,
And by the scourge of many winters worn,
A thing too vile for virtue's mark or slight.
The very stocks put forth their hands to smite,
And by the teeth of stones more cruel torn,
He wandered dimly into the dark night,
And every thought he leant on was a thorn.
And by the teeth of stones more cruel torn,
He wandered dimly into the dark night,
And every thought he leant on was a thorn.
The wind was wild and fought each feeble pace,
It clutched his throat and clogged his weary breath,
And its cold grip fell heavy on his face:
It clutched his throat and clogged his weary breath,
And its cold grip fell heavy on his face:
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But when the snow had bound his bitter wreath,
It stripped his form of all that made it base,
And clothed him in the dignity of death.
It stripped his form of all that made it base,
And clothed him in the dignity of death.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |