When the tempests fly
O'er the cloudy sky,
And the piping blast sings wearily,
O! sweet is the mirth
Of the social hearth,
Where the flames are blazing cheerily.

The moonbeam bright
Of the summer night
Shineth but sad and wearily,
But jolly's the glow
Where the wine-cups flow,
And the bright fire blazes cheerily.

Let the storms without,
In their midnight rout,
Howl through the casement drearily,
We're merry within,
Round the blazing linn,
Where the wine-cup circles cheerily.