Hut is’t in mirth they always meet? 
Alas ! sometimes a vacant seat 
Bespeaks the circle incomplete; 
Some voice is mute, 
Whose welcome was aforetime sweet 
As evening lute. 
Then, then indeed a tear will stray, 
As they the lessened group survey, 
That group with other smiles once gay: 
And who would blame 
The tear affection well may pay 
To Memory’s claim? 
But whilst from Friendship’s silken string 
Each year some pearl is scattering, 
We ’re taught by each lost gem to cling 
More firm and true 
To those yet spared by Time’s rude wing,— 
The cherish’d few. 
