 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
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THE OLD HEARTH-FIRE.
The hearth-fire of our fathers,
With back-logs, huge and round,
Of maple, beech, or hickory,
The largest to be found;
And on it piled the cord wood sticks
To crackle and to roar
And snap responses to the wind
That howled outside the door.
With back-logs, huge and round,
Of maple, beech, or hickory,
The largest to be found;
And on it piled the cord wood sticks
To crackle and to roar
And snap responses to the wind
That howled outside the door.
The hearth-fire of our fathers!
Each syllable recalls
The doings in that red-clay farm
Which lay by Glyndon Falls—
The husking-time, the thrashing-time—
Ah! that we know no more,
When up and down the merry flails
Made music on the floor.
Each syllable recalls
The doings in that red-clay farm
Which lay by Glyndon Falls—
The husking-time, the thrashing-time—
Ah! that we know no more,
When up and down the merry flails
Made music on the floor.
The hearth-fire of our fathers,
Where, on the winter days,
John came from barn at dinner-time
To warm him at the blaze;
Where hung the caldron o'er the flame
By hook suspended low,
Looking at jolly Johnny-cakes
All baking in a row.
Where, on the winter days,
John came from barn at dinner-time
To warm him at the blaze;
Where hung the caldron o'er the flame
By hook suspended low,
Looking at jolly Johnny-cakes
All baking in a row.
The hearth-fire of our fathers,
Where, on the winter nights,
The boys and girls were gathered round
To find the same delights;
The hickory-nuts on sad-irons cracked,
The apples from the bin—
They munched at these while granny dozed,
And gran'ther stroked his chin.
Where, on the winter nights,
300
To find the same delights;
The hickory-nuts on sad-irons cracked,
The apples from the bin—
They munched at these while granny dozed,
And gran'ther stroked his chin.
The hearth-fire of our fathers,
With neighbors gathered round;
Perchance the minister dropped in
To give them precepts sound;
His talk how heaven is filled with love
Made such impression there,
That Peter's hand crept slowly o'er
The back of Susan's chair.
With neighbors gathered round;
Perchance the minister dropped in
To give them precepts sound;
His talk how heaven is filled with love
Made such impression there,
That Peter's hand crept slowly o'er
The back of Susan's chair.
The hearth-fire of our fathers,
Where oft the tale was told,
While listening children sat in awe
Of ghosts and witches old;
Where, too, the baby crowed and jumped,
And laughed the children all,
When father with his joined hands made
The rabbit on the wall.
Where oft the tale was told,
While listening children sat in awe
Of ghosts and witches old;
Where, too, the baby crowed and jumped,
And laughed the children all,
When father with his joined hands made
The rabbit on the wall.
The hearth-fire of our fathers!
'Twill never blaze again;
Its great, wide chimney shows no more
To glad the eyes of men;
Its embers quenched, its ashes strown,
No more its light shall gleam;
The hearth-fire of the past is now
A memory and a dream.
'Twill never blaze again;
Its great, wide chimney shows no more
To glad the eyes of men;
Its embers quenched, its ashes strown,
No more its light shall gleam;
The hearth-fire of the past is now
A memory and a dream.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |