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THE UNBIDDEN GUEST.
301
Comest thou to tell me of the soul's eclipse,
Where truth and honor seemed the life within,
Sparkling in gem-like glory from the lips?—
That they were only fraud, deceit, and sin?

Is then the casket, to such witcheries wed,
That once all praise and admiration won,
But the sarcophagus that contains the dead,
The whited walls that hold a skeleton?

Is this thy message, thou unbidden guest?
O, dire Suspicion! all thou knowest reveal!
Not only on my hearth thy foot is pressed,
But on my heart its crushing weight I feel.