SONNET XI.

My friendly fire, thou blazest clear and bright, Nor smoke nor ashes soil thy grateful flame; Thy temperate splendour cheers the gloom of night, Thy genial heat enlivens the chill'd frame. I love to muse me o'er the evening hearth, I love to pause in meditation's sway; And whilst each object gives reflection birth, Mark thy brisk rise, and see thy slow decay: And I would wish, like thee, to shine serene, Like thee, within mine influence, all to cheer; And wish at last, in life's declining scene, As I had beam'd as bright, to fade as clear: So might my children ponder o'er my shrine, And o'er my ashes muse, as I will muse over thine.