The man kept on staring with hungry eyes,
Pointing at it, till I trembled to see;
Then said in a whisper, 'It's Jack Devize!'--
Shook himself wildly and turn'd upon _me_.
His hand sought his brow in a weak sad way,
A pitiful look came into his face:
'It is a brain-phantom,' I heard him say,
'Which my weary brain engenders in space!'
'No, Harry,' I whisper'd, 'it is not so;
I wish that it was--from my heart I do'--
I held him tight, whispering very low,
'Tis a real ghost, for--I see it too!'
I felt his arm quiver under my clasp;
He started backwards with such a great start;
He flung up his arms, and cried with a gasp,
'Oh speak to me, Jack, whatever thou art!'
The ghost caught his hands with a cheer almost,
And shook them right manfully where it stood,
Shouting 'I'm neither a phantom nor ghost;
I am Jack Devize, and am flesh and blood!'
And so the sorrow was only a dream
(As the sun uprises the dream departs);
And the false false sorrow did only seem,
And the true true joy came into our hearts.
I had so determin'd to be resign'd,
And to school myself to a patient mood,
That I felt a little ill-used to find
There was no occasion for being good.
But oh the joy, like the sweetest surprise,
With a light light heart and nothing to bear!
And oh to be looking in Harry's eyes
And never a fear of what I see there!
And when earth is deck'd in eternal spring,
Singing we go on a flowery way;
And happiness _is_ such a happy thing,
And it seems so natural to be gay.
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