Poems (Argent)/At my Fireside

by Alice Emily Argent

AT MY FIRESIDE.

'TIS midnight, and the silent shadows creep
 Adown the stairs and through the old oak hall;
The firelight, its bright streamers seem to keep
 Both watch and ward upon the wainscot wall,
Where many a fair picture rests serene—
 Faces that smiled once in the long ago.
Here hangs a knight, and there a dainty queen,
 And here a lassie that I used to know;
A landscape by some gifted hand looks down
 From a recess, and opposite one sees
A stretch of mountains and of heather brown,
 And further on a glimpse of tall pine trees.
And all are mirrored in the flickering light,
 And from the canvas look as they must start
To life again, this cold, calm winter night,
 And nestle closelier down unto my heart.

I sit before my faithfullest of friends,
 The fire that warms me with a fairy glow;
Each burning coal a cheery aspect bends
 Upon me as I see old faces come and go,
And memories of old before me dance;
 From tongues of flame sweet spirits wander by,
And on my old sad heart look down and glance
 With gentlest gaze, as from some far-off sky.
This is my birthday eve; November's gloom
 Would seek to penetrate its ghostly ire;
But no, warm-sheltered is the cosy room
 Where I sit musing by my faithful fire.

Last year my dog sat with me, up and down
 His kind eyes followed all my thoughts, I ween,
Affection beamed from his dear eyes of brown,
 And I was happy 'neath that gaze serene.
Childhood to-night, with all its fleeting fun
 And love of play, has been around my feet,
And childhood's kisses fallen one by one
 Upon my brow, and I have felt them sweet.
Aspiring youth, with its long thoughts of fame,
 And visions of the future rich and blest,
Has been around me breathing soft my name,
 And waking melody within my breast;
And the kind thought of age, a gentle word
 And tender wish, have whispered in mine ear,
Till o'er my soul a beauteous dream hath stirred—
 A dream of living nobler year by year
But now the guests are gone. The house is still,
 Save for the clock that peals a silvery chime
As hours glide by, and midnight creeps at will
 On all earth's weariness and all her crime.
Yes! all the guests have vanished, only one
 Is with me now beside the glowing grate,
My faithful fire that thrills me like a sun,
 And still burns on, though it is growing late.
Imagination wakes! She throws her veil
 Of thinnest gauze no mortal eye may see,
All woven of the moon and starlight pale,
 And flung to-night resistlessly o'er me!

And lofty aspirations come and rise,
 And flitting footsteps tread the silent hall;
The mind expands and shows her painted skies,
 Fairer than those that hang upon the wall.
She lends me wings—and through the bolted doors
 And well-turned locks she flies away supreme,
Through all and everything she upward soars
 To bask beneath the radiance of a dream!

Time, with a gentle touch, hath gently laid
 A kindly finger on my cheeks and brow,
A woman's lot is mine—the sun and shade
 Of joy and grief I feel hath claimed me now.
I turn from what I am and seem to-day
 To what I was, in other years gone past,
And "auld lang syne" in beautiful array,
 Once more comes back, and holds me firm and fast.
I think how much this fire resembles life:
 Faith is the embers with their steadfast glow
The golden flames are Love that mounts o'er strife;
 The ashes, our dead Hopes that earth lies low;
The ruddy sparks are Friendships on our way,
 Lightening the toilsome path, and making sweet
The nooks and corners where the shadows lay,
 All intertwined round worn and weary feet.
But list! the clock strikes three, I bid good-night,
 And on my fire regretful glances bend,
I look back yearning on its aspect bright,
 And own in truth I boast one constant friend!