Chapter_326

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Almost broken was the lyre

In the hands of bard McIntyre,

Who long had mused beside the stream,

Till rudely wakened from his dream.

The waters high in each dam pent,

Rushed furious when they found vent;

Through the flood gates opened wide

Madly raged the foaming tide.

He heard the waters awful dash,

And he heard his warehouse crash,

And saw the waves in wild commotion

Bearing his stock to the ocean.

Now thanks he gives unto each friend,

Who a helping hand did lend;

With gratitude they did inspire

The heart-felt thanks of McIntyre.

Old friends and new he’ll gladly meet

On the west side of Thames street,

Where he has a foundation sure,

And a good stock of furniture.