“BLACK is the night—an outcast lad
Is wandering in our village, mother!
Thy daughter’s heart is very sad,
Sad even to death! He has no home:
O give him ours, he has no other,
And bid the lad no longer roam!”
‘Nay! daughter, let this outcast stray,
He is a proud and city youth;
Will ask for wine at break of day,
And costly meats at eve, forsooth,
And for his city-tutor’d head
Will want a soft and stately bed.’
“O mother! In God’s name divine,
Give the poor lad a shelter now:
My eyes shall serve instead of wine,
For costly meats my maiden brow.
My neck shall be his honey comb:
His bed the dewy grass shall be,
And heaven his stately canopy.
His head shall rest upon my arm.
O mother! give the youth a home,
And shelter, shelter him from harm.”