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But let the barriers of the sea give way, When mind sweeps onward with a conquerer's sway! And let the Rhine divide high souls no more From mingling on its old heroic shore, Which, e'en like ours, brave deeds through many an age, Have made the Poet's own free heritage!

To us, though faintly, may a wandering tone Of the far minstrelsy at last be known; Sounds which the thrilling pulse, the burning tear, Have sprung to greet, must not be strangers here. And if by one, more used, on march and heath, To the shrill bugle, than the muse's breath, With a warm heart the offering hath been brought, And in a trusting loyalty of thought,— So let it be received!—a Soldier's hand Bears to the breast of no ungenerous land A seed of foreign shores. O'er this fair clime, Since Tara heard the harp of ancient time,