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A FIRESIDE STORY.
The snow fell all the winter night,
The snow fell still at morn:
Said the woodman to his busy wife,
“Be sure, till I return,
The snow fell still at morn:
Said the woodman to his busy wife,
“Be sure, till I return,
“You keep the children safe at home;
For yesterday a herd
Of hungry wolves were in the wood,
And more than once I heard
For yesterday a herd
Of hungry wolves were in the wood,
And more than once I heard
“Their howl come sweeping up the glade,
And o'er the windy plain:
So, goodwife, make the wicket fast
Till I come back again.”
And o'er the windy plain:
So, goodwife, make the wicket fast
Till I come back again.”
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The woodman kiss'd his little ones
He kiss'd their mother too;
And o'er his shoulders presently
His trusty axe he threw;
He kiss'd their mother too;
And o'er his shoulders presently
His trusty axe he threw;
Then forth he went, with sturdy step,
Across the frozen moor;
While his goodwife made the wicket fast,
And barr'd the cottage door.
Across the frozen moor;
While his goodwife made the wicket fast,
And barr'd the cottage door.
The children sat before the fire,
A comely boy and girl:
The boy, with flashing eyes and bold,
And many an ebon curl;
A comely boy and girl:
The boy, with flashing eyes and bold,
And many an ebon curl;
The girl, a little laughing thing,
With chubby cheek and fair,
And cherry lip, and dimpled chin,
And clustering auburn hair.
With chubby cheek and fair,
And cherry lip, and dimpled chin,
And clustering auburn hair.
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They sat before the cottage fire,
And basking in the flame,
Between them sat a little dog,
And Thistle was his name.
And basking in the flame,
Between them sat a little dog,
And Thistle was his name.
No curly locks, you'll well believe,
Nor comely looks, had he;
A shaggy sheep-dog was his sire,
As rough as rough could be.
Nor comely looks, had he;
A shaggy sheep-dog was his sire,
As rough as rough could be.
But underneath that tangled coat,
Its homeliness disproving,
There beat a stout and stedfast heart,
And faithful, too, and loving.
Its homeliness disproving,
There beat a stout and stedfast heart,
And faithful, too, and loving.
Whene'er his master's step he heard,
He leap'd and bark'd for joy;
But most of all did Thistle love
That little girl and boy.
He leap'd and bark'd for joy;
But most of all did Thistle love
That little girl and boy.
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Their pet beside the winter hearth,
Their playmate full of glee,
Their guardian in the summer woods,
And watchful friend was he.
Their playmate full of glee,
Their guardian in the summer woods,
And watchful friend was he.
Now when the sun that day had set
The western hills below,
And wilder grew the whistling wind,
And faster fell the snow,
The western hills below,
And wilder grew the whistling wind,
And faster fell the snow,
The goodwife clear'd the window-pane,
And gazed with anxious eyes,
Where bleak the frozen moorland lay
Beneath the leaden skies.
And gazed with anxious eyes,
Where bleak the frozen moorland lay
Beneath the leaden skies.
But vain her search! then busily
She moved about the fire,
And poked the smouldering logs, and made
The crackling flame leap higher;
She moved about the fire,
And poked the smouldering logs, and made
The crackling flame leap higher;
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And in the window-sill she set
A lantern, that afar
The woodman might be cheer'd to see
His home's sure beacon star.
A lantern, that afar
The woodman might be cheer'd to see
His home's sure beacon star.
But dark and darker grew the night;
Great stormy gusts swept by,
And tore the branches from the trees,
And toss'd the snow on high.
Great stormy gusts swept by,
And tore the branches from the trees,
And toss'd the snow on high.
The goodwife's face wax'd sharp and pale,
She listen'd at the door;
No voice, no kind familiar shout,
Came sounding o'er the moor.
She listen'd at the door;
No voice, no kind familiar shout,
Came sounding o'er the moor.
Then up and spake the little boy:—
“Oh! mother, let me run
Just twenty steps along the road;
'Twill be such famous fun!
“Oh! mother, let me run
Just twenty steps along the road;
'Twill be such famous fun!
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“I'll take the lantern in my hand,
And presently, you'll see,
I'll find my father on the moor,
And bring him back with me!”
And presently, you'll see,
I'll find my father on the moor,
And bring him back with me!”
The mother smiled, the mother frown'd,
She knew not what to do;
Then up and spake the little girl:—
“And oh! let me go too!”
She knew not what to do;
Then up and spake the little girl:—
“And oh! let me go too!”
“Now nay, now nay, my children dear,
Too wild the winter weather;
Ye could not face the bitter blast. . .”
“Then we'll go all together!”
Too wild the winter weather;
Ye could not face the bitter blast. . .”
“Then we'll go all together!”
Cried both at once. The little girl
Her mother's mantle fetch'd;
On tiptoe, from the window-sill,
The boy the lantern reach'd.
Her mother's mantle fetch'd;
On tiptoe, from the window-sill,
The boy the lantern reach'd.
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Still paused the goodwife, but the lad
Unbarr'd the cottage-door;
And, hand-in-hand, those three went forth
Across the frozen moor.
Unbarr'd the cottage-door;
And, hand-in-hand, those three went forth
Across the frozen moor.
And Thistle leap'd, and Thistle bark'd,
And bounded to and fro;
And laugh'd the children, loud and shrill,
Amidst the driving snow.
And bounded to and fro;
And laugh'd the children, loud and shrill,
Amidst the driving snow.
And when they reach'd the nearest ridge,
Two little shouts together,
Of “Father, father!” sounded clear,
Above the angry weather.
Two little shouts together,
Of “Father, father!” sounded clear,
Above the angry weather.
The dame held up the light, and tried
To shout in stronger tone;—
Alas! her voice so shook with fear,
It died into a moan.
To shout in stronger tone;—
Alas! her voice so shook with fear,
It died into a moan.
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They listen'd—still the piping wind
And whistling sleet whirl'd by;
But no kind voice across the moor
Gave back an answering cry;
And whistling sleet whirl'd by;
But no kind voice across the moor
Gave back an answering cry;
No father's voice, but in its stead,
So fierce and wild a yell,
That on the hearts of all the three
A sudden terror fell.
So fierce and wild a yell,
That on the hearts of all the three
A sudden terror fell.
“The wolf! the wolf!” the mother scream'd,—
“Away! dear bairns, away!”
The boy alone stood bold and strong
As any stag at bay.
“Away! dear bairns, away!”
The boy alone stood bold and strong
As any stag at bay.
And where the lantern threw afar
Its wav'ring light and dim,
He saw the wolf come tearing on,
With gaping jaws and grim.
Its wav'ring light and dim,
He saw the wolf come tearing on,
With gaping jaws and grim.
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And “Thistle, Thistle!” loud he cried;—
Oh! then 'twas clear to see,
How true a friend in hour of need
A trusty dog may be!
Oh! then 'twas clear to see,
How true a friend in hour of need
A trusty dog may be!
One eager look he gave the boy,
And, ready for the fray,
Plung'd through the drifting snow, and stopp'd
The hungry wolf half way.
And, ready for the fray,
Plung'd through the drifting snow, and stopp'd
The hungry wolf half way.
One sharper yell, one ringing bark,
Proclaim'd the foes had met;
Brave Thistle! in the wolf's gaunt throat,
His stubborn fangs were set!
Proclaim'd the foes had met;
Brave Thistle! in the wolf's gaunt throat,
His stubborn fangs were set!
A little dog was Thistle,—big
And brawny, I've been told,
That gristly wolf, yet, true as steel,
The dog made good his hold.
And brawny, I've been told,
That gristly wolf, yet, true as steel,
The dog made good his hold.
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Though rudely toss'd from side to side,
Though dash'd upon the ground,
Brave Thistle's fangs the faster clung
Within the wid'ning wound.
Though dash'd upon the ground,
Brave Thistle's fangs the faster clung
Within the wid'ning wound.
Up sprang the wolf, with foaming jaws,
And limbs all bloody red,
And rear'd and rush'd, and strove to fling
The dog above his head;
And limbs all bloody red,
And rear'd and rush'd, and strove to fling
The dog above his head;
But vain his rage, and vain, no less,
His cruel craft, for still
Brave Thistle clutch'd the gory throat
With just the same good will.
His cruel craft, for still
Brave Thistle clutch'd the gory throat
With just the same good will.
Then on the hard and trodden ground
The wolf roll'd to and fro,
With many a fierce and frantic plunge,
In hope to crush his foe.
The wolf roll'd to and fro,
With many a fierce and frantic plunge,
In hope to crush his foe.
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But hark! a footstep on the moor,—
A voice, in shrillest tone!
Hark! true and stout, an axe rings out,
And rends through flesh and bone!
A voice, in shrillest tone!
Hark! true and stout, an axe rings out,
And rends through flesh and bone!
Down drops the wolf, down drops the axe—
The woodman's stalwart arm
Enfolds his wife and children dear,
Safe shelter'd, now, from harm.
The woodman's stalwart arm
Enfolds his wife and children dear,
Safe shelter'd, now, from harm.
He clasps them with a fervent clasp,
Their stammer'd tale he hears;
And now he roughly chafes and chides,
And now as roughly cheers.
Their stammer'd tale he hears;
And now he roughly chafes and chides,
And now as roughly cheers.
But Thistle, Thistle?—at their feet
The faithful creature lies,
With just the last faint spark of life
Left shining in his eyes.
The faithful creature lies,
With just the last faint spark of life
Left shining in his eyes.
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The woodman lifts him tenderly,
With many a kind caress;
His little son breaks out in sobs,
The girl, in mute distress,
With many a kind caress;
His little son breaks out in sobs,
The girl, in mute distress,
With trembling fingers strokes his head,
And pats him o'er and o'er;
But vainly—ne'er to love's appeal,
Will Thistle answer more.
And pats him o'er and o'er;
But vainly—ne'er to love's appeal,
Will Thistle answer more.
Oh, faithful friend! oh, stedfast love!
One farewell look he cast,
One lingering look on boy and girl,
And then his spirit pass'd.
One farewell look he cast,
One lingering look on boy and girl,
And then his spirit pass'd.
And sadly went they o'er the moor,
With faltering feet and slow;
The night, so dark and drear before,
Grew darker, drearier now.
With faltering feet and slow;
The night, so dark and drear before,
Grew darker, drearier now.
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The very wind did seem to bear
A sorrow not its own,
And through the swinging branches gush'd,
With sob and sigh and moan.
A sorrow not its own,
And through the swinging branches gush'd,
With sob and sigh and moan.
Oh! sadly, sadly, through the snow,
The little band return'd;
With streaming eyes, and mournful talk,
And tender hearts that yearn'd.
The little band return'd;
With streaming eyes, and mournful talk,
And tender hearts that yearn'd.
Oh! sadly, sadly, one and all
They track'd the frozen moor;
And sadly, sadly, reach'd at last
The gleaming cottage door.
They track'd the frozen moor;
And sadly, sadly, reach'd at last
The gleaming cottage door.
The goodman laid poor Thistle down,
With reverent care, and then
He set the outer wicket fast,
And barr'd the door agen;
With reverent care, and then
He set the outer wicket fast,
And barr'd the door agen;
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And after, on the cottage floor—
His dear ones by his side—
With folded arms, he knelt and pray'd,—
And “Oh! thank God!” he cried.
His dear ones by his side—
With folded arms, he knelt and pray'd,—
And “Oh! thank God!” he cried.
“Thank God, for wife and bairns, this night,
From dread and danger freed!
Thank God!” with wavering voice, he pray'd,
“For that good friend in need!”
From dread and danger freed!
Thank God!” with wavering voice, he pray'd,
“For that good friend in need!”
Without, a sudden quiet stole
Across the angry weather;
Within, upon the silence broke
Two little sobs together.
Across the angry weather;
Within, upon the silence broke
Two little sobs together.
“Oh! Thistle, Thistle!” cried the boy,
As stooping down once more,
He kiss'd the friend so still and cold,
That was so fond of yore.
As stooping down once more,
He kiss'd the friend so still and cold,
That was so fond of yore.
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“Oh! Thistle, Thistle!” cried they both,
As if their hearts would break.
In sleep, that night, the tear-drops lay
Undried on either cheek.
As if their hearts would break.
In sleep, that night, the tear-drops lay
Undried on either cheek.
They buried Thistle in a grave,
Deep down beneath the snow,
Where in the golden summer waved
The green laburnum bough;
Deep down beneath the snow,
Where in the golden summer waved
The green laburnum bough;
Where first the merry sunbeams came,
And through the noontide hours,
The bee flew buzzing, in and out,
Amongst the cowslip flowers.
And through the noontide hours,
The bee flew buzzing, in and out,
Amongst the cowslip flowers.
And when, from its long winter sleep,
The drowsy earth arose,
Upon the little grassy mound
They set a fair white rose.
The drowsy earth arose,
Upon the little grassy mound
They set a fair white rose.
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The years have fled—that boy and girl
Are aged people now,
With failing sight and hair as white
As any winter's snow.
Are aged people now,
With failing sight and hair as white
As any winter's snow.
But in the same old house they dwell,
And wait life's peaceful close,
And still on Thistle's honour'd grave
There grows a fair white rose.
And wait life's peaceful close,
And still on Thistle's honour'd grave
There grows a fair white rose.
And when, on summer eves, they sit
Recalling childhood's hours,
Full oft their wistful glances turn
To Thistle's mound of flowers.
Recalling childhood's hours,
Full oft their wistful glances turn
To Thistle's mound of flowers.
Oh! still the tears o'erflow their eyes,
And still their true hearts bleed,
Whene'er the simple tale they tell
Of that good friend in need.
And still their true hearts bleed,
Whene'er the simple tale they tell
Of that good friend in need.
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