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Of them of high and mighty name and fame, 'Till strong he stood, in glory and command, And on a throne, magnificent and grand, Young Cando sat and gazed above the crowd, A monarch high, and laurel-crowned, and proud.
From distance dim, beyond the mighty throng, Came faintly now the reaper's harvest song. No more heard he the loving voice of home. The tinkling herd-bell in the soft'ning gloam, And lusty crow of doughty chanticleer Were sounds too far for Cando's kingly ear. Fame's vibrant tongue had 'whelmed the homely
strains Of Love's dear song and lullaby's refrains— He lived to learn that grand exalted state To lowly born is mockery of Fate.
A MODERN TEMPLE.
Not many short and fleeting years, With all their hopes, and joys, and fears, Have marched unhalting to the dead, With steady, stern and silent tread, Since o'er the hills and valleys here The red man chased the panting deer, And by the dark Missouri's tide The warrior wooed his dusky bride;