The poetical works of John Nicholson ... Carefully edited from the original editions, with additional notes and a sketch of his life and writings. By W. G. Hird |
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THE MALT-KILN FIRE. |
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 | The poetical works of John Nicholson |  |
194
THE MALT-KILN FIRE.
When friends who loved from infant years,
Whose friendship ne'er went wrong,
Are met to tell their joys and cares,
Or join the cheerful song,
Whose friendship ne'er went wrong,
Are met to tell their joys and cares,
Or join the cheerful song,
What bard but to the utmost height
Would string the rustic lyre,
When friends with home-brewed drink are met
Around the Malt-kiln fire?
Would string the rustic lyre,
When friends with home-brewed drink are met
Around the Malt-kiln fire?
Sometimes we're faring low at home,
Then feasting with a squire;
But we've as much as we can wish
Around the Malt-kiln fire.
Then feasting with a squire;
But we've as much as we can wish
Around the Malt-kiln fire.
From this warm, happy, cheerful place,
Old sorrow must retire,
And nought but joy dare show her face
Around the Malt-kiln fire.
Old sorrow must retire,
And nought but joy dare show her face
Around the Malt-kiln fire.
We talk of friends we long have known,
Some fall'n, and some ris'n higher;
Happy as monarchs on the throne,
Around the Malt-kiln fire.
Some fall'n, and some ris'n higher;
Happy as monarchs on the throne,
Around the Malt-kiln fire.
195
What means our food? we pass away—
Of life begin to tire;
But never was a mournful day
Around the Malt-kiln fire.
Of life begin to tire;
But never was a mournful day
Around the Malt-kiln fire.
With snuff, tobacco, and a pipe,
And all we can desire,
Old Care's forgot, and pleasure shines
Around the Malt-kiln fire.
And all we can desire,
Old Care's forgot, and pleasure shines
Around the Malt-kiln fire.
No wife to scold, none to intrude,
We laugh until we tire;
With good strong drink as e'er was brewed,
Around the Malt-kiln fire.
We laugh until we tire;
With good strong drink as e'er was brewed,
Around the Malt-kiln fire.
Let blackguards swear, and rage, and fight,
And scuffle in the mire;
No angry word, for all is right,
Around the Malt-kiln fire.
And scuffle in the mire;
No angry word, for all is right,
Around the Malt-kiln fire.
Had we but spent more evenings there,
Our spirits had been higher,
And drunk less brandy, and more beer
Around the Malt-kiln fire.
Our spirits had been higher,
And drunk less brandy, and more beer
Around the Malt-kiln fire.
| The poetical works of John Nicholson | |