Now the civil war is ended, Now the strife by arms is over; And the city's star of fortune Beams with undiminished glory: All her brilliant constellation Wears new rays of future promise, All her plans for peace and progress Move to swifter execution. In eighteen hundred three and sixty, Of the late, eventful cycle, Was laid out a modern city Of the dead among the grasses; Was enclosed a cemetery, On a green and graceful summit, At the city's southeast section, On the street we call Crab Orchard. Shrubs and flowers lead the stranger To invade the sacred precinct, Clust'ring evergreens invite him To behold the sad environs. Gleaming shafts of purest marble, Greet the eye of friend and mourner, Costly slabs of stone and granite, Wearing strange device and fashion, Lie amid the urns and vases. Lie among the shells and mosses: Tell of forms long since departed, Tell of loved ones safely resting, Tell of fresh turned earth and sodding, Of green wreaths and floral tributes, Kindly tributes of affection. And the ancient trodden graveyard, Of the city's early ages, Lingers on with sunken tomb-stones, Lingers on with gray inscriptions, Lingers yet with moss and ivy, Winding close their clinging tendrils, Lingers now a small enclosure, In the suburbs of Lancaster. In eighteen hundred sixty-seven, Fell the second central court-house, In the middle of the city; Fell the tall and stately locusts, With their grateful, cooling shadows, Fell the ruined iron railing, Once so rich and ornamental. And a grand, imposing structure, At the open southwest corner, Now extends its costly apex Far above the churches' steeples, Reaches forth its white cupola, High into the azure ether. And the central, broad arena, Of the square, right-angle outlines, Has been leveled to the surface Of the streets and roads around it, Bears no pile of architecture,[9] To be seen afar and nearer, To be seen from hill and valley, By the traveler wand'ring hither. On the summit of the tower, Of the octagon bell-tower, Of this new and gorgeous building, With its porticos and stairways, With its halls and council chambers, Is a high observatory, Whence is viewed the distant landscape, Whence is seen the rural beauties Of this land of agriculture. Near this pinnacle so lofty, Is the ever-warning town-clock, Is the pendulum vibrating, To diurnal revolutions, Is the fire-alarm resounding, Over hill and dale and meadow, Is the heavy bell sonorous, With events of varied import.