GOOD KING WENCESLAS

Good King Wenceslas look'd out,
On the feast of Stephen
When the snow lay round a bout,
Deep and crisp and even.
Brightly shone the moon that night,
Through the frost was cruel,
When a poor man came in sight,
Gath-'ring winter fuel.

"Hither, page, and stand by me,
If thou knows't it telling,
Yonder peasant, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?"
"Sire, he lives a good league hence,
Underneath the mountain,
Right against the forest fence,
By Saint agnes' fountain."

"Bring me flesh, and bring me wine,
Bring me pine logs hither;
Thou and I shall see him dine,
When we bear them thither."
Page and monarch, forth they went,
Forth they went together;
Through the rude wind's wild lament
And the bitter weather.