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Hark! in the trembling leaves, Mysterious whispers: hark! a rushing sound, Sweeps through yon twilight depth! e'en now they come, They throng to greet their guest! and who are they! Rejoicing each with each in stately joy, As a King's children gathered for the hour Of some high festival! exultingly, And kindred-like and God-like, on they pass, The glorious wandering shapes! aged and young Proud men and royal women! Lo my race, My sire's ancestral race!