XVIII

The stormy evening closes now in vain,

Loud wails the wind and beats the driving rain,

While here in sheltered house

With fire-ypainted walls,

I hear the wind abroad,

I hark the calling squalls —

‘ Blow, blow,’ I cry,‘ you burst your cheeks in vain!

Blow, blow,’ I cry,‘ my love is home again!’

Yon ship you chase perchance but yesternight

Bore still the precious freight of my delight,

That here in sheltered house

With fire-ypainted walls,

Now hears the wind abroad,

Now harks the calling squalls.

‘ Blow, blow,’ I cry,‘ in vain you rouse the sea,

My rescued sailor shares the fire with me!’