Part 1 — ALONE BY THE HEARTH

Here, in my snug little fire-lit chamber, Sit I alone: And, as I gaze in the coals, I remember Days long agone. Saddening it is when the night has descended, Thus to sit here, Pensively musing on episodes ended Many a year.

Still in my visions a golden-haired glory Flits to and fro; She whom I loved—but 'tis just the old story: Dead, long ago. 'Tis but a wraith of love; yet I linger (Thus passion errs), Foolishly kissing the ring on my finger— Once it was hers.

Nothing has changed since her spirit departed, Here, in this room Save I, who, weary, and half broken-hearted, Sit in the gloom. Loud 'gainst the window the winter rain dashes, Dreary and cold; Over the floor the red fire-light flashes Just as of old.

Just as of old—but the embers are scattered, Whose ruddy blaze Flashed o'er the floor where the fairy feet pattered In other days! Then, her dear voice, like a silver chime ringing, Melted away; Often these walls have re-echoed her singing, Now hushed for aye!

Why should love bring naught but sorrow, I wonder? Everything dies! Time and death, sooner or later, must sunder Holiest ties. Years have rolled by; I am wiser and older— Wiser, but yet Not till my heart and its feelings grow colder, Can I forget.

So, in my snug little fire-lit chamber, Sit I alone; And, as I gaze in the coals, I remember Days long agone!

George Arnold [1834-1865]