Such modes!—away, ’tis nothing worth,
Give me the old-time glowing hearth.
I ever feel for that dear spot,
A home-sick love that ceases not;
Whate’er I do, where’er I roam,
My heart returns to that hearth-home;
I never can recall the cheer
Of that old hearth, without a tear.
There lay the back-log round and thick;
In front a row of stone or brick;