THE OLD HOUSE.
IN through the porch and up the silent stair ;
Little is changed, I know so well the ways ;- Here, the dead came to meet me ; it was there The dream was dreamed in unforgotten days.
But who is this that hurries on before, A flitting shade the brooding shades among P- She turned,—I saw her face,-0 God ! it wore The face I used to wear when I was young!
I thought my spirit and my heart were tamed To deadness ; dead the pangs that agonise.
The old grief springs to choke me,—I am shamed Before that little ghost with eager eyes.
0 turn away, let her not see, not know !
How should she bear it, how should understand P 0 hasten down the stairway, haste and go, And leave her dreaming in the silent land.