THE FIRST FIRE. OCTOBER 1st, 1815. HA, old acquaintance! many a month has past Since last I viewed thy ruddy face; and I, Shame on me! had mean time well nigh forgot Welcome now! That such a friend existed. When summer suns ride high, and tepid airs Dissolve in pleasing languor; then indeed We think thee needless, and in wanton pride Mock at thy grim attire and sooty jaws, And breath sulphureous, generating spleen, As Frenchmen say; Frenchmen, who never knew The sober comforts of a good coal fire. -Let me imbibe thy warmth, and spread myself Before thy shrine adoring :-magnet thou Of strong attraction, daily gathering in Friends, brethren, kinsmen, variously dispersed, All the dear charities of social life, To thy close circle. Here a man might stand, And say, This is my world! Who would not bleed Rather than see thy violated hearth Prest by a hostile foot? The winds sing shrill; Nor sparkling glass, nor wit, nor music, cheer Homeward returning, to behold the blaze The cheerful scene within! There sits the sire, Age gladly yields up all precedence else In gay and bustling scenes,-supports his limbs. Cherished by thee, he feels the grateful warmth Creep through his feeble frame and thaw the ice -Nor less the young ones press within, to see Or touch with lighted reed thy wreaths of smoke; Thy bright blue scorching flame and aspect clear, Denoting frosty skies. Thus pass the hours, While Winter spends without his idle rage. -Companion of the solitary man, From gayer scenes withheld! With thee he sits, Converses, moralizes; musing asks How many æras of uncounted time Have rolled away since thy black unctuous food Was green with vegetative life, and what This planet then: or marks, in sprightlier mood, Thy flickering smiles play round the' illumined room, And fancies gay discourse, life, motion, mirth, And half forgets he is a lonely creature. -Nor less the bashful poet loves to sit On thy bright face; and still at intervals, -O wretched he, with bolts and massy bars Thy purifying influence! Sad he sits Day after day, till in his youthful limbs From his wan cheek.-And scarce less wretched he When wintry winds blow loud and frosts bite keen,— The dweller of the clay-built tenement, Poverty-struck, who, heartless, strives to raise From sullen turf, or stick plucked from the hedge, The short-lived blaze; while chill around him spreads The dreary fen, and Ague, sallow-faced, Stares through the broken pane;—Assist him, ye On whose warm roofs the sun of plenty shines, And feel a glow beyond material fire! |