AS one softly sea-rocked, listening
To some old familiar tune,
Sits and views the rippling pathway
Silvered by the gentle moon, -
So I sit to-night, enraptured
By the strains of History's lyre,
While the past, resplendent glowing
In imagination's fire,
Forms a long and glorious pathway
Over which my vision flies, -
Storied pathway, all along which
Many a deed immortal lies.
And as on the moonlit wave-way
Countless are the ripples bright,
And the eye with careless pleasure
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