Arrived at home, how then they gazed around,
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In every place—where she no more was found;
The seat at table she was wont to fill;
The fire-side chair, still set, but vacant still;
The garden-walks, a labour all her own,
The latticed bower, with trailing shrubs o'ergrown;
The Sunday-pew she fill'd with all her race—
Each place of hers, was now a sacred place,
That, while it call'd up sorrows in the eyes,