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 IS o’er—the fatal hour has come, The voice of eloquence is dumb,
 * Mute are the members of the Forum!

We’ve shed what tears we had to spare, There now remains the pious care
 * Of chanting a sad requiem o’er ’em.

The Roman drank the Tiber’s wave, Ilissus’ stream its virtues gave
 * To bid the Grecian live forever;

Our Forum orators a draught Of greater potency have quaffed,
 * Sparkling and pure from the North River!

Proudly our bosoms beat to claim Communion with our country’s fame
 * From Bunker’s Hill to Chippewa.

All who on battle-field or wave, Have met the death that waits the brave, Or pealed, above their foeman’s grave,
 * The victor’s wild hurrah!