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 Across the meadows, by the gray old manse, The historic river flowed: I was as one who wanders in a trance, Unconscious of his road.

The faces of familiar friends seemed strange; Their voices I could hear, And yet the words they uttered seemed to change Their meaning to my ear.

For the one face I looked for was not there, The one low voice was mute; Only an unseen presence filled the air, And baffled my pursuit.