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Stand there on marble pedestal The great of olden time; Marvel ye minstrel's brow is flush'd With thoughts and hopes sublime?

The moonshine of the midnight Is abroad upon the plain; Where gather'd morning's glorious ranks, There welter now the slain. Thousands are sunk there dying, Pillow'd upon the dead; The banner lies by the white plume, But both alike are red.

The moonshine of the midnight Is abroad upon the seas, The waves have risen in their might To battle with the breeze.