Candle-flame

The stillness that is in it has a way would make you grieve, When you sit alone at shut of day and knit the soft grey sox; Who'd iver think at home they're singing in the Noel Eve With, "Shepherd's watched their flocks"?

'Tis time to set a candle by the silver frosted pane, Now dusk has veiled the prairie and its floating feathery foam; There sure must be a little shining path along the plain To let him know he's home.

The timber-wolves are running! There came their hunger cry! 'Tis like the keening at a wake for a dreadful death, and wrong. It's best I'd not be listening;—I'll kape the fire high For now he won't be long.

A white owl passed the window! I heard his muffled wings, And glimpsed the golden eyes of him the snow-shoe rabbits fear; Oh, wirra! Wirra!—Burrow deep you little trembling things For sorrow's flying near!

His wolf-dog went beside him, and himself knows the trail, But the whirling snow is able to make men daft or blind, And the North wind never pities them ashore or a-sail, And the dark is not kind.

The house is filled with panic! The sea is not more lone;— No! No! 'Tis filled with joy! Hark his whistle! Hark my name! "Come—draw the bolt!" he cries; "We lost—and found the trail, aroon! We saw the candle-flame!"

"Aroon"—An old Irish word meaning "my dear".