Classic Poem

A throng is gathering; for the hallow'd dome
At evening-tide is rich with sparkling light,
And from its verdant bound each rural home
Sends forth its blossom'd gifts, profusely bright;
While here and there, amid the clustering flowers,
Some stately chief or painted warrior towers,
Hail'd as a brother mid the festal rite:
Peace waves her garland o'er the favour'd place
Where weds the new-born West with Europe's lordly race.