Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/234

230 Threshold! which I oft have prest, More a habitant than guest, For their blessed sakes who shed Oil of gladness on my head, Brows with hoary wisdom drest, Saints, who now in glory rest, Fain had I, though tear-drops fell, Said to thee one kind farewell, Fain with tender, grateful sigh, Thanked thee for the days gone by.

Hearth-stone! where the ample fire Quelled Old Winter's fiercest ire, While its blaze reflected clear On the friends who gathered near, On the pictures quaint and old, Thou of quiet pleasures told; Knitting-bag, and storied page, Precepts grave from lips of age, Made the lengthened evening fleet Lightly, with improvement sweet.

Fallen dome! beloved so well, Thou could'st many a legend tell, Of the chiefs of ancient fame, Who to share thy shelter came. Rochambeau and La Fayette Round thy plenteous board have met,