THE BLACKSMITH.

1 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!

2 The smith his labouring bellows blows, And now his stroke repeats; Beats the red iron, as it glows, And shapes it as he beats.

3 While, flash! the frequent sparkles fly, And tongs are hissing red; Content and cheerful industry Sweeten his daily bread.