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A tale begun in other days,
When summer suns were glowing------
A simple chime, that served to time
The rhythm of our rowing------
Whose echoes live in memory yet, Though envious years would say " forget."
Come, hearken then, ere voice of dread,
With bitter tidings laden, Shall summon to unwelcome bed
A melancholy maiden! We are but older children, dear, Who fret to find our bedtime near.
Without, the frost, the blinding snow, The storm-wind's moody madness------
Within, the firelight's ruddy glow And childhood's nest of gladness.
The magic words shall hold thee fast:
Thou shalt not heed the raving blast. |
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