No after fortune can restore;

The perfect lot, designed for Man,

That should be mine, but is no more.”

Still later, he gave expression to his loneliness in that most pathetic of all his writings, “The Phantom.”

“Again I sit within the mansion,

In the old, familiar seat;

And shade and sunshine chase each other

O’er the carpet at my feet.”

“And many kind, remembered faces

Within the doorway come,—