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DESOLATION.—ALL LONELY IS THE DWELLING.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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DESOLATION.—ALL LONELY IS THE DWELLING.

1.

All lonely is the dwelling now,
Where happy voices rang;
And gone to waste the pleasant bower
Where still the garlands hang;
And mute and motionless is all,
Once full of life and speech—
Ah, me! how much of human woe
Doth this sad ruin teach.

II.

How many hopes have here been crush'd,
As innocent as dear—
How many smiling eyes been taught
The language of a tear;
And dreams of early, rich delight,
Like specks upon the waste,
Have only come to cheat the sight,
While they defraud the taste!

III.

While thus I stand and look around
On scenes so lately gay,
And call to mind the happy tones
I heard but yesterday:

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That reverend father's friendly voice,
That merry maiden's song,
That sank so deep into my heart,
And warmed it well and long:

IV.

The wild-eyed boys that sprang to meet
When they beheld me near;
And even the household dog, that crouch'd,
My sure caress to share;
All gone—the little paling down,
The grass above the stone,
The shutter broken from its hinge,
And Ruin there alone:

V.

I can not weep, though sad the sight,
And sad the thought it brings,
Of what was dear, and what is lost,
Of sweet familiar things;
The voices at my heart grow dumb,
And like some dread despair,
They echo in their loneliness
The silence that is here.

VI.

And grief is lost in great surprise
That, in my manhood's noon,
I still should love the things so well,
That pass away so soon.
A flower that kiss'd me in a dream,
By zephyrs borne along,
Had filled my chamber with its bloom,
And lulled me with its song;

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VII.

An unsubstantial joy, the gift
Of warm and generous youth,
In one delirious moment fill'd
My yielding heart like truth;
Till, in my fond forgetfulness,
A shadow and a bird
Brought pictures to my pliant soul,
The sweetest seen and heard.

VIII.

The shadow and the bird are fled—
The kind hearts kindliest known,
More sweet and swift than summer flowers,
Are perished all, and gone;
They came like summer winds at night,
To win us with a breath,
Then sink, in quietude away,
To the pale groves of death.