2HTE SONG OF LANCASTER.



With its tales of peace and plenty,
With its tales of Indian warfare,
With its nights and days of watching,
With the camp-fires all a-gleaming,
And the white man's deadly peril,
I should answer, I should tell you,
'T is the city of Lancaster,
In the county we call Garrard,
In the State of old Kentucky,
In America, the nation
On the continent Northwestern,
Found by Christopher Columbus.
Once a tangled, gloomy woodland,
With the music of its rivers,
As they wound along the grasses,
With the singing of its birdlings,
As they flew among the maples,
With the hissing of its reptiles,
Crawling o'er the sylvan meadows,
With the growling of its wild beasts,
Lurking in the dells and caverns.
Angels gazed with pleasure on it,
On this Eden habitation,
On this work so calm and lovely;
On the moonlit,, velvet carpet,
Where the fairies held their revels,
On the broad expanse of verdure,
With the sunbeams slanting o'er it,



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