When Erie tuned to strains of grief
The hollow voices of the surge,
And for that monarch of the shade,
By whom his shore is classic made,
Raised a low, mournful dirge.
The pilgrim from Ausonian clime,
Rich in remains of olden time,
Brings marble relics o’er the deep—
Memorials of deathless mind,
Of hallowed ground where, grandly shrined,