“But thrice we met” the old man said,
But thrice in youthful joy and pride,
When all for whom this board was spread
Were seated gaily at my side.
Then first we placed an empty chair
And ev’ry breast was filled with gloom,
For he we knew, who should be there,
That hour was absent in the tomb.
The jest and song were check’d awhile,
But quickly we forgot the dead,
And o’er each face th’ arrested smile
In all its former freedom spread.
For still our circle seem’d intact.
The lofty chorus rose as well
As when our numbers had not lack’d
That voice the more in mirth to swell.
But we parted with a sadder mien
And hands were clasped more kindly then,
For each one knew where death had been
We might expect him o’er again.
Ah! wondrous soon our feast before
A lessening group was yearly spread,
And all our joys were ruffled o’er
With somber mem’ries of the dead.
The song and jest less rude became,
Our voices low and looks more kind,
Each toast recall’d some cherish’d name
Or brought a buried friend to mind.
At length, alas! we were but two
With features shrivel’d, shrunk, and changed,
Whose faded eyes could scarcely view
The vacant seats around us ranged.
But fancy, as we passed the bowl,
Fill’d ev’ry empty chair again.
Inform’d the silent air with soul
And shaped the shadowy void to men.
The breezy air around us stirr’d
With snatches of familiar song,
Nor cared we then how fancy err’d
Since her delusion made us strong.