By the fireside

Out of doors to-night there is a storm,

Earth is shrouded in a snowy dress;

But within, this little room is warm --

And a place of peaceful loneliness.

Here I sit and dream of many things

By the brightly blazing hearth, and low

At my side the boiling kettle sings

As I used to hear it long ago.

And the kitten crouches by the fire,

Warms its little paws and purrs aloud;

While the flames dance gaily, leaping higher,

Through my mind the strangest fancies crowd.

Dim and misty shapes before my eyes,

Pictures of forgotten days and dead,

Like some pale and faded pageant rise,

Or some quaint old-fashioned masquerade.

Lovely women first, with earnest face,

Beckon, with a sweet mysterious air;

Then, among them, harlequins grimace,

Laugh, and cut their capers here and there.

Marble gods, with features still and grave,

Greet me from afar; and round them grow,

In the moonlight, fairy flowers that wave

Dreamily their petals to and fro.

Presently a castle old and grey,

With a heavy tread, appears in sight;

After it come riding fast, a gay

Company of knights, in armour bright.

One by one the pictures fade and grow

Misty, and I bid them all farewell...

Ah! the kettle's boiling over now,

And the scalded kitten gives a yell!