The palmer

"O open the door, some pity to shew,

"Keen blows the northern wind;

"The glen is white with the drifted snow,

"And the path is hard to find.

"A weary Palmer, worn and weak,

"I wander for my sin;

"O open for our lady's sake,

"A pilgrim's blessing win!

"Farewell, farewell! and Mary grant,

"When old and frail you be,

"You never may the shelter want,

"That's now denied to me."

For lo, when through the vapours dank,

Morn shone on Ettrick fair,

A corpse amid the alders rank,

The Palmer welter'd1 there.