He died, his office was no more.
The kennel stands upon the ground,
With something of the former sound.”
“O then,” the grieving Man replied, 200
“No further, lassie, let me stray;
Here’s nothing left of ancient pride,
Of what was grand, of what was gay;
But all is chang’d, is lost, is sold—
All, all that’s left is chilling cold.
I seek for comfort here in vain;