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(From Bride Brook) WHEN this fair town was Nam-e-aug, | |
A bleak, rough waste of hill and bog, | |
In huts of seaweed, thatch, and log, | |
Our fathers few, but strong and cheery, | |
Sate down amid these deserts dreary. | 5 |
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T was all a wild, unchristian wood; | |
A fearful, boisterous solitude; | |
A harbor for the wild-fowls brood, | |
Where countless flocks of every pinion | |
Held oer the shores a bold dominion. | 10 |
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The sea-hawk hung his cumbrous nest, | |
Oak-propped, on every highland crest; | |
Cranes through the seedy marshes prest; | |
The curlew, by the river lying, | |
Looked on Gods image, him defying. | 15 |
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The eagle-king soared high and free, | |
His shadow on the glassy sea | |
A sudden ripple seemed to be; | |
The sunlight in his pinions burning | |
Shrouded him from eyes upturning. | 20 |
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They came; the weary-footed band, | |
The paths they cleared, the streams they spanned; | |
The woodland genius grew more bland; | |
In haste his tangled vines unweaving, | |
Them and their hopes with joy receiving. * * * * * | 25 |
Great hearts were those that hither came, | |
A Winthrop of undying fame, | |
A Brewster of an honored name, | |
Great hearts, the growth of three great nations, | |
Laid deep for us these firm foundations. * * * * * | 30 |
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