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     Something like a gleam of gladness,
As he stooped him down
     To the fountain's grassy side,
And his eager thirst supplied.

With the oak its shadow throwing
     O'er his mossy seat,
And the cool, sweet waters flowing
     Softly at his feet,
Closely by the fountain's rim
     That lone Indian seated him.

Autumn's earliest frost had given
     To the woods below
Hues of beauty, such as heaven
     Lendeth to its bow;
And the soft breeze from the west
     Scarcely broke their dreamy rest.

Far behind was Ocean striving
     With his chains of sand;
Southward, sunny glimpses giving,
     'Twixt the swells of land,
Of its calm and silvery track,
     Rolled the tranquil Merrimac.

Over village, wood, and meadow
     Gazed that stranger man,
Sadly, till the twilight shadow
     Over all things ran,
Save where spire and westward pane
     Flashed the sunset back again.

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