Perhaps, than even the mental pangs of dying;
To find our hearthstone turned into a tomb,
And round its once warm precincts palely lying
The ashes of our hopes, is a deep grief,
Beyond a single gentleman's belief.
LII.
He entered in the house—his home no more,
For without hearts there is no home;—and felt
The solitude of passing his own door
Without a welcome: there he long had dwelt,