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of the rising Sun! thy words were fair, And should ere this have claimed my answering care, But age is tardy, and the truth to tell, I boast no clerkly skill, like those who dwell Where every little district hath its school, The pen, that subtle wand of thought to rule. Yet still I give thee thanks, for long thy name Hath been familiar, and its annaled fame, Thine open bosom at thy Country's need, Thy prompt allegiance to her hero's deed, Thy staunch secretiveness, thy fair renown, The waving honors of thy verdant crown; And should a despot's step again invade Her peaceful counsels, or her quiet shade, May other veterans at her summons leap, And other sacred Oaks her archives keep.

Far into times remote, my memory strays, And with the mist of buried ages plays,