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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