THE FIRE 0' LOGS.
They found small stint and little dearth : Tale two from out their goodly ways The wide-span walls and open hearth.
The hearth where all Mid gather round Set square wr shining metal dogs That hold wr hands of iron bands Their burden o' the bleizen logs.
No, no. I hold to what I own There's naught to beat the hearth o' stone.
For here the ileames'do leap and throw Their forked antlers fierce and tall And chase the chequered undeirglow All rosy on the whitewashed walL And here the sooty chimney-back For here's the seat beside the fire Where some mid sit and tetike their beer. And those that come in mean attire Are warmed alike, and find good cheer. And here the carrier from the road Looks in and ventures, "Who's to go P" And turns his feiiee towards the bleaze And stamps his girt boots free from snow.
Come in, come in. What news to-night? Yes, yes. The fire's a goodly sight."
And here from logs of hewen wood There pipes the sound o' winds they knew When they were standen tall and good A-wrastlen wi' the storms that blew.
And clear to eyes that come to see Beyond the pleiice where most do get They shed once more the glowing store Of summer suns long since a-set.
So I do hold, there's none so good 'S the fire that's piled wi' logs o' wood.