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[173] And the bear on Ossipee
     Climbed the topmost crag to see
The strange thing drifting under;
     And, through the haze of August,
Passaconaway and Paugus
     Looked down in sleepy wonder.

All the pines that o'er her hung
     In mimic sea-tones sung
The song familiar to her;
     And the maples leaned to screen her,
And the meadow-grass seemed greener,
     And the breeze more soft to woo her.

The lone stream mystery-haunted,
     To her the freedom granted
To scan its every feature,
     Till new and old were blended,
And round them both extended
     The loving arms of Nature.

Of these hills the little vessel
     Henceforth is part and parcel;
And on Bearcamp shall her log
     Be kept, as if by George's
Or Grand Menan, the surges
     Tossed her skipper through the fog.

And I, who, half in sadness,
     Recall the morning gladness
Of life, at evening time,
     By chance, onlooking idly,
Apart from all so widely,
     Have set her voyage to rhyme.

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