Silent is the house: all are laid
One alone looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep,
Watching ever cloud, dreading every breeze
That whirls the wildering drift, and bends the groaning
Cheerful is the hearth, soft the matted
Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door;
The little lamp burns straight, its rays shoot strong and
I trim it well, to be the wanderer's guiding-star.
Frown, my haughty sire; chide, my angry
Set your slaves to spy; threaten me with shame!
But niether sire, nor dame, nor prying serf shall know
What angel nightly tracks that waste of frozen snow.
What I love shall come like visitant of
Safe in secret power from lurking human snare;
What loves me, no word of mine shall e'er betray,
Though for faith unstained my life must forfeit pay.
Burn, then, little lamp; glimmer
straight and clear -
Hush! a rustling wing stirs, methinks, the air:
He for whom I wat, thus ever comes to me;
Strange power! I trust thy might; trust thou my