THE BLACKSMITH.

How cheerful in the winter's night,

As down the lane I stray;

The blacksmith's forge shoots out its light,

And shines across the way!

The smith his labouring bellows blows,

And now his stroke repeats;

Beats the red iron, as it glows,

And shapes it as he beats.

While, flash! the frequent sparkles fly,

And tongs are hissing red;

Content and cheerful industry

Sweeten his daily bread.