Without, the frost, the blinding snow,

The storm-wind's moody madness — Within, the firelight's ruddy glow, And childhood's nest of gladness. The magic words shall hold thee fast: Thou shalt not heed the raving blast. And, though the shadow of a sigh May tremble through the story. For happy summer days" gone by. And vanish' d summer glory — It shall not touch, with breath of bale. The pleasance of our fairy-tale. 136