We gathered round the festive board,
The crackling faggot blazed,
But few would taste the wine that poured.
Or join the song we raised.
For there was now a glass unfilled —
A favored place to spare;
All eyes were dull, all hearts were chilled —
The loved one was not there.

No happy laugh was heard to ring,
No form would lead the dance;
A smothered sorrow seemed to fling
A gloom in every glance.
The grave had closed upon a brow,
The honest, bright, and fair;
We missed our mate, we mourned the blow —
The loved one was not there.