On scent of game from town to town he flew,
  The soldier’s curse pursued him on his way;
Care in his eye, and anguish on his brow,
  He seemed a sea-hawk watching for his prey.

With soothing words the widow’s mite he gained,
  With piercing glance watched misery’s dark abode,
Filched paper scraps while yet a scrap remained,
  Bought...