The Return Home, 5

The night is damp and stormy,
No star is in the sky;
In the wood, ’neath the rustling branches
In silence wander I.

A distant light is twinkling
From the hunter’s lonely cot;
But within, the scene is but saddening,
And the light can allure me not.

The blind old grandmother’s sitting
In her leather elbow-chair,
All-gloomily fix’d like a statue,
Not a word escapeth her there.

With curses to and fro paces
The forester’s red-headed son;
With fury and scorn he’s laughing,
As he throws ’gainst the wall his gun.

The fair spinning-maiden’s weeping,
And moistens the flax with her tears;
The father’s terrier, whining,
Curl’d up at her feet appears.