"Or clock, that blind against the wanderer borne.

In wolfish hunger howls and whines; The traveller's pony scents him, snorting The heedful wanderer breathless takes His way in haste beyond the mountains!

THE WANDERER Wandering minstrel at my gate, Shivering in the winter gloaming, How appalling seems your fate, Destined to be always roaming, Singing for a bit of bread