As if he feard to wake the dead.
Where is the blithe companion gone,
Whose sports he lov'd to guide and share?
Where is the merry eye that won
All hearts to fondness? Where, oh where?
The empty crib—the vacant chair—
The favourite toy—alone remain,
To whisper to our hearts' despair,
Of hopes we cannot feel again.
Ah, joyless is our 'ingle nook,'—