BY J. BAYARD TAYLOR.
They sat by the hearth-stone, broad and bright,
Whose burning brands threw a cheerful light
On the frosty calm of the winter's night.
Her radiant features wore the gleam
Which childhood learns from an angel-dream,
And her bright hair stirred in the flickering beam.
Those tresses soft to his lips were pressed,
Her head was leaned on his happy breast,
And the throb of the bosom his soul expressed;
And ever a gentle murmur came
From the clear, bright heart of the wavering flame,
Like the faltering thrill of a worshiped name.
He kissed her on the warm, white brow,
And told her in fonder words, the vow
He whispered under the moonlit bough;
And o'er them a steady radiance came
From the shining heart of the mounting flame,
Like a love that burns through life the same.
The maiden smiled through her joy-dimmed eyes,
As he led her spirit to sunnier skies,
Whose cloudless light on the future lies—
And a moment paused the laughing flame,
And it listened awhile, and then there came
A cheery burst from its sparkling frame.