Iv

Kinsman and cousin of the Faëry Race, All winter long he sets his sober mirth,-- That brings good-luck to many a fireplace,-- To folk-lore song and saga of the hearth. Between the back-log’s bluster and the slim High twittering of the kettle,--sounds that hymn Home-comforts,--when, outside, the starless earth Is icicled in every laden limb,-- Defying frost and all the sad and sere,-- Like love that dies not and is always near,-- We hear his Cheer, cheer, cheer.