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Rh And Doctor Mitchill, Ll. D.,
 * And Tompkins, Lord of Staten Island!

Hushed be the strain of mirth and glee,
 * ’Twere reason now to laugh or smile.

Long has proud Albany, elate,
 * Reared her two steeples93 high in air,

And boasted that she ruled the State,
 * Because the Governor lives there.

But loftier now will be her tone
 * To know, within her walls are met

The brightest gems that ever shone
 * Upon a city’s coronet.

Though heavy is our load of pain
 * To feel that Fate has so bereft us,

Some consolations yet remain,
 * For Dicky Riker still is left us!

And Hope, with smile and gesture proud,
 * Points to a day of triumph nigh,

When, like a sunbeam from the cloud,
 * That dims awhile an April sky,

Our champions shall again return,
 * Their pockets with new honors crowded,