This child is not mine as the first was;

I cannot sing it to rest;

I cannot lift it up fatherly,

And bless it upon my breast.

Yet it lies in my little one's cradle,

And sits in my little one's chair,

And the light of the heaven she's gone to

Transfigures its golden hair.

James Russell Lowell (1819-1891): The Changeling.

There is no flock, however watched and tended,

But one dead lamb is there;

There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,

But has one vacant chair.

Henry W Longfellow (1807-1882): Resignation.

Stretch'd on the rack of a too easy chair,

And heard thy everlasting yawn confess

The pains and penalties of idleness.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): The Dunciad. Book iv. Line 342.

Than Timoleon's arms require,

And Tully's curule chair, and Milton's golden lyre.

Mark Akenside (1721-1770): Ode. On a Sermon against Glory. Stanza ii.