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 On the Lakes The waves beat roughly ‘gainst the rocks Of Superior’s northern shore, But long they’ve stood the thundrous shocks Of the storm’s relentless roar; And Thunder Cape looms up amain— The Sleeping Giant’s guardian fane. The steamers bearing ores, which mined On Minnesota’s shore, They leave a trail of smoke behind A-carrying valued store For mills to forge in Vulcan bars, In shapes for Eros or for Mars. The gulls sweep round our ship, the while— Their pinions never tire— Their actions oft bring forth a smile, And their graces we admire. They soar, they dive and then they float, Collecting morsels from our boat. A million gleams dance on the wave At near the close of day, While our good ship so stout and brave Speeds forward on her way. Across the bosom of the lake The sun declines midst pine and brake. The picture clouds in gold and blue Spread outward south and north;  A streaming sheen like golden dew Brings exclamations forth; The wavelets dancing in the glow Sparkle and gleam—a brilliant show. The full blown moon hangs far above The waves that roll beneath, A harbinger of hope and love— Its gleams the wavelet’s wreath— And here upon the inland main Smiles on the sailor’s fond refrain. ...

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