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 * “On Susquehanna’s side, fair Wyoming!”
 * Image of many a dream, in hours long past,
 * When life was in its bud and blossoming,
 * And waters, gushing from the fountain-spring
 * Of pure enthusiast thought, dimmed my young eyes,
 * As by the poet borne, on unseen wing,
 * I breathed, in fancy, ’neath thy cloudless skies,

The summer’s air, and heard her echoed harmonies.


 * In life, a vision of the brain no more.
 * I’ve stood upon the wooded mountain’s brow,
 * That beetles high thy lovely valley o’er;
 * And now, where winds thy river’s greenest shore,
 * Within a bower of sycamores am laid;
 * And winds, as soft and sweet as ever bore
 * The fragrance of wild flowers through sun and shade,

Are singing in the trees, whose low boughs press my head.