SONNET XI.

My friendly fire, thou blazest clear and bright,

Nor smoke nor ashes soil thy grateful flame;

Thy temperate splendour cheers the gloom of night,

Thy genial heat enlivens the chill'd frame.

I love to muse me o'er the evening hearth,

I love to pause in meditation's sway;

And whilst each object gives reflection birth,

Mark thy brisk rise, and see thy slow decay:

And I would wish, like thee, to shine serene,

Like thee, within mine influence, all to cheer;

And wish at last, in life's declining scene,

As I had beam'd as bright, to fade as clear:

So might my children ponder o'er my shrine,

And o'er my ashes muse, as I will muse over thine.