Around the room soft falls a quivering beam,
Cast from the brands that on the hearth are fired;
The tempest lulls apace, until he seems
To hear from neighboring woods the panther’s screams.
XIX.
“But what is that?—a knocking?—and once more?
Some way-lost wanderer seeks a shelter here;
Ah, wretched man, amid the boisterous roar
Of snow and wind, thy sufferings are severe!”
He raised the bar that kept the outer door,