Ii

The chimes of bells were in the air, And sounds of mirth in hall and street, With pealing laughter everywhere And throb of dancing feet:

The mirth and the convivial din Of revelers in wanton glee, With tunes of harp and violin In tangled harmony.

But with a sense of nameless dread, I turned me, from the merry face Of this newcomer, to my dead; And, kneeling there a space,

I sobbed aloud, all tearfully:-- By this dear face so fixed and cold, O Lord, let not this New Year be As happy as the old!