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OOPER, whose name is with his country’s woven,
 * First in her files, her of mind—

A wanderer now in other climes, has proven
 * His love for the young land he left behind;

And throned her in the senate-hall of nations,
 * Robed like the deluge rainbow, heaven-wrought;

Magnificent as his own mind’s creations,
 * And beautiful as its green world of thought:

And faithful to the Act of Congress, quoted
 * As law authority, it passed nem. con.:

He writes that we are, as ourselves have voted,
 * The most enlightened people ever known:

That all our week is happy as a Sunday
 * In Paris, full of song, and dance, and laugh;

And that, from Orleans to the Bay of Fundy,
 * There’s not a bailiff or an epitaph: