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Poem by James McIntyre
Westward it winds past each town, Growing broader as it flows down. Onward it glides, never weary, Meandering so soft and cheery. The sunbeams on the waters glance, Skipping about in silvery dance, From morn till eve the cattle feed 'Neath lofty elms along the mead. And on its banks, in warrior pride, The brave Tecumseh fought and died, Peace and prosperity now reigns Along the fertile vale of Thames. Now soon the waters meet and pair With the wavelets of St. Clair ; As maids when wed do lose their names, No longer is it called the Thames.
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