THE VISIONARY.
Silent is the house: all are laid asleep: One alone looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep, Watching every cloud, dreading1 every breeze That whirls the wildering drift, and bends the groaning2 trees.
Cheerful is the hearth3, soft the matted floor; Not one shivering gust4 creeps through pane5 or door; The little lamp burns straight, its rays shoot strong and far: I trim it well, to be the wanderer's guiding-star.
Frown, my haughty6 sire! chide7, my angry dame8! Set your slaves to spy; threaten me with shame: But neither sire nor dame, nor prying9 serf shall know, What angel nightly tracks that waste of frozen snow.
What I love shall come like visitant of air, Safe in secret power from lurking10 human snare11; What loves me, no word of mine shall e'er betray, Though for faith unstained my life must forfeit12 pay
Burn, then, little lamp; glimmer13 straight and clear—— Hush14! a rustling15 wing stirs, methinks, the air: He for whom I wait, thus ever comes to me; Strange Power! I trust thy might; trust thou my constancy.