No food this howling forest yields;

     I've nought in store or expectation!

     There's nought before me but starvation."

     "Not quite so bad," a voice replied;

     Quickly the traveller turned aside,

     And saw the satyr of the wood,

     Who close beside his dwelling stood.

     "Here is my cave hard by," said he,

     "Walk in, you're welcome, pray be free."

     The traveller did not hesitate,

     Hoping for something good to eat,

     But follow'd to his heart's content,

     Blowing his finger as he went.

     "Pray," said the satyr, "may I know

     For what you blow your fingers so?"

     "What! need you," said the man, "be told?—

     To

      warm

     my fingers, 'numb'd with cold."

     "Indeed!" was all his host replied,

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