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By Edmund Gosse

ancient Rome, the secret fire,—
 * An intimate and holy thing,—

Was guarded by a tender choir
 * Of kindred maidens in a ring;

Deep, deep within the house it lay,
 * No stranger ever gazed thereon,

But, flickering still by night and day,
 * The beacon of the house, it shone;

Thro' birth and death, from age to age, It passed, a quenchless heritage;

And there were hymns of mystic tone
 * Sung round about the family flame,

Beyond the threshold all unknown,
 * Fast-welded to an ancient name;

There sacrificed the sire as priest, Before that altar, none but he, Alone