Of many radiant faces. Stillness deep,
And mournful as the charnel, brooding there,
Is now exchanged for music far more sweet
Than harp or viol; voices breathing forth
Affections purest tones, rich words of joy,
And sprightly laughter from the gladsome heart!
How rich the happiness Sir Arthur feels,
And how enhanced, when with the dreary past
Contrasted. His unfolding lot in life
Seems like a plant, whose form in winter months