Jane Smith

1 
I journeyed, on a winter's day, 
   Across the lonely wold;
No bird did sing upon the spray, 
   And it was very cold.
2 
I had a coach with horses four,
   Three white (though one was black), 
And on they went the common o'er,
   Nor swiftness did they lack.
3 
A little girl ran by the side,
   And she was pinched and thin.
'Oh, please, sir, do give me a ride!
   I'm fetching mother's gin.'
4 
'Enter my coach, sweet child,' said I; 
  'For you shall ride with me,
And I will get you your supply 
  Of mother's eau-de-vie.'
5 
The publican was stern and cold, 
  And said:'Her mother's score
Is writ, as you shall soon behold, 
  Behind the bar-room door!'
6 
I blotted out the score with tears, 
  And paid the money down,
And took the maid of thirteen years 
  Back to her mother's town.
7 
And though the past with surges wild 
  Fond memories may sever,
The vision of that happy child 
  Will leave my spirit never!

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