FEUERBILDER.

The children sit by the fireside With their little faces in bloom; And behind, the lily-pale mother, Looking out of the gloom,

Flushes in cheek and forehead With a light and sudden start; But the father sits there silent, From the firelight apart.

"Now, what dost thou see in the embers? Tell it to me, my child," Whispers the lily-pale mother To her daughter sweet and mild.

"O, I see a sky and a moon In the coals and ashes there, And under, two are walking In a garden of flowers so fair.

"A lady gay, and her lover, Talking with low-voiced words, Not to waken the dreaming flowers And the sleepy little birds."

Back in the gloom the mother Shrinks with a sudden sigh. "Now, what dost thou see in the embers? Cries the father to the boy.

"O, I see a wedding-procession Go in at the church's door,— Ladies in silk and knights in steel,— A hundred of them, and more.

"The bride's face is as white as a lily, And the groom's head is white as snow; And without, with plumes and tapers, A funeral paces slow."

Loudly then laughed the father, And shouted again for cheer, And called to the drowsy housemaid To fetch him a pipe and beer.