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The distant lighthouse hears, and with his flaming

signal

Answers you, passing the watchword on, O Bells

of Lynn!

And down the darkening coast run the tumultuous

surges,

And clap their hands, and shout to you, O Bells

of Lynn !

Till from the shuddering sea, with your wild

incantations,

Ye summon up the spectral moon, O Bells of

Lynn!

And startled at the sight, like the weird woman of

Endor,

Ye cry aloud, and then are still, O Bells of

Lynn!

[graphic]

KILLED AT THE FORD.

HE

E is dead, the beautiful youth,

The heart of honor, the tongue of truth,

He, the life and light of us all,

Whose voice was blithe as a bugle-call,

Whom all eyes followed with one consent,

The cheer of whose laugh, and whose pleasant

word,

Hushed all murmurs of discontent.

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