Over the town of Lynn.
Like sportive deer they coursed about,
And shouted as they ran—
Turning to mirth all things[1096] of earth,
As only boyhood can,
But the usher[1097] sat remote from all,
A melancholy man!
His hat was off, his vest apart,
To catch Heaven’s[1098] blessed breeze;
For a burning thought was in his brow,