Come, Hearken then, ere voice of dread, with bitter tidings laden, shall summon to unwelcome bed a melancholy maiden! We are but older children, dear who fret to find our bedtime near. Without the frost, the blinding snow, the storm-wind's moody madness- within, the firelight's ruby glow, and children's nest of gladness. the magic worlds shall hold thee fast: thou shalt not heed the raving blast.
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