Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/313

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THE HAPPINESS OF A WINTER'S FIRESIDE.
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On, ever on, until she seemSome petty speck in Phoebus' beam,Then vanishes, like passing dream,Across the silvery tide.
And so the good ship disappearsFrom eyes bedewed with parting tears,Whilst sweetheart, wife, and sister pray,That He who stills the tempest mayWatch o'er them on their watery way,And guard them from all fears.
Thus do our hardy seamen roam,Over the wild sea, far from home,'Midst dangers of the mighty mainThey firmly strive—Jet's hope not vain,But that they may return again,Safe o'er the surging foam.
The Happiness of a Winter's Fireside.
Winter, thou daughter of the storm,I love thee when the day is o'er,Spite of the tempest's outward roar;Queen of the tranquil joys that weaveThe charm around the sudden eve;The thickening footsteps through the gloom,Telling of those we love come home;The candles lit, the cheerful board,The dear domestic group restored;The fire that shows the looks of glee,The infants standing at our knee;The busy hews, the sportive tongue,The laugh that makes us still feel young;The health to those we love, that nowAre far as ocean winds can blow;The health to those who with us grew,And still stay with us tried and true;The wife that makes life glide away,One long and lovely marriage day.Then music comes till—round us creepThe infant listeners half asleep;And busy tongues are loud no more,And winter, thy sweet eve is o'er.
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