Page:The Improvisatrice.pdf/211

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The wind rose up, and o'er the calm blue sky The tempest gathered, and the heavy rain Beat on the casement; but they press'd them round The blazing hearth, and sat while spoke Of the fierce battle; and all answered him With wonder, and with telling how they wept During his absence, how they numbered o'er The days for his return. Thrice hallowed shrine Of the heart's intercourse, our own fireside! I do remember in my early youth I parted from its circle; how I pined With happy recollections—they to me Were sickness and deep sorrow; how I thought Of the strange tale, the laugh, the gentle smile Breathing of love, that wiled the night away The hour of absence past, I was again