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THE DESERTED COTTAGE. 137 |
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Nor song of bird, that touched the soul
With loneliness so strange,— It was a thought that o'er me stole—
A thought of death and change.
I heard the step that once rung there— The tones that cheered that spot,
And saw once more the faces fair Of that deserted cot.
Conversing with the past, I felt
'Twas consecrated-ground, Where joy or sorrow once had dwelt,
Or love a place had found.
There hope had sweetly swelled the heart,
And fear had^been a guest'; There death had shot his sudden dart,
And stilled the throbbing breast.
And footsteps here, once echoing round, .
Were hushed within the tomb, And some a watery grave had found,
Far in the ocean's foam.
Just as the slanting sun-rays shed
Their beauty round that spot, I passed, with slow and thoughtful tread,
From the deserted cot. |
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