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 'Twas a propitious moment; for a while The waves of party were at rest. Upon Each complacent brow was gay good-humor's smile: And there was much of wit, and jest, and pun, And high amid the circle, in great glee, Sat Croaker's old acquaintance, John Targee.

His jokes excelled the rest, and oft he sang Songs, patriotic, as in duty bound. He had a little of the "nasal twang Heard at conventicle;" but yet you found In him a dash of purity and brightness, That spoke the man of taste and of politeness.

For he had been, it seems, the bosom friend Of England's prettiest bard, Anacreon Moore. They met when he, the bard, came here to lend His mirth and music to this favorite shore; For, as the proverb saith, "birds of a feather Instinctively will flock and fly together."

The winds that wave thy cedar boughs are breathing, "Lake of the Dismal Swamp!" that poet's name;