And call'd, in tone subdued replies,
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,'--
Its genial warmth we own no more;
Our fireside wears an alter'd look,--
A gloom it never knew before;
The converse sweet--the cherish'd lore--
That once could cheer our stormiest day,--
Those revels of the soul are o'er;
Those simple pleasures past away.

Then chide me not, I cannot sing
A song befitting love and thee;--
My heart and harp have lost the string
On which hung all their melody;
Yet soothing sweet it is to me,
Since fled the smiles of happier years;
To know that still our hearts are free,
Betie what may, to mingle tears!"