Riddle 75

A traveler rode hard and fast,
Shivering with cold and dread.
“If I can but reach my first in my last,
I shall then be safe,” he said.

The way was rocky and dark and steep,
My last was flying past;
He sought for an inn where he might sleep,
Sheltered from storm and blast.

He traveled on, through mud and mire,
When, to his great delight,
He saw an inn and a friendly fire,
And went there for the night.

And from him shouts of laughter burst--
He reveled in my whole,
Which quickly made my last my first,
And cheered his lonely soul.