AS in the wastes of arctic snow
The seaman's eyes, when slumber-sealed,
See in a mocking dream revealed
His land - his home - in summer glow;
But ere he speaks the tender words
That from his lips unbidden start,
Or clasps his loved ones, heart to heart,
He wakes to look on glassy fjords,
And fields of ice that coldly glare
Beneath the flushing northern light,
Whose crimson beacons of the night
Show only desolation there;
So I, in rough and cheerless ways,
By fate confined with harsh decree,
Have dreamt an idle fantasy
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Republican Dinner.