 
A child of Lancaster, upon this land Here was he born by Conowingo’s shade; Along these banks our youthful Fulton strayed Dreaming of Art. Then Science touched his hand, Leading him onward, when, beneath her wand, Wonders appeared that never more shall fade: He triumphed o’er the Winds and swiftly made The giant, Steam, subservient to command. How soft the sunlight lies upon the lea Around his home, where boyhood days were sped! These checkered shadows on the fading grass Symbol his fortunes, as they fleeting pass: “He did mankind a service,”—could there be A tribute more ennobling to the dead! Lloyd Mifflin. ROBERT FULTON |
|
