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Who takes account of that? Thou wert awake, Else thou, belike, hadst ta'en the mighty blast For the quick waving of some gallant's hat To cool thy glowing cheek, or the soft winnowing Of outstretch'd pinions—Cupid's wings, perhaps; Or those of downy swans, as I have seen them, Scared from the sedgy margin of the lake, Bending their hurried flight across thy path.

I was, indeed, awake, and heard with awe The war of elements, whose mingled roar Brought to mine ear the howl of raging fiends, The lash of mountain billows, the wild shrieks Of sinking wretches; and at intervals Cross'd strangely with the near distinctive sounds Of clatt'ring casements, creaking beams and doors Burst from their fastenings, swinging in the blast. It was a fearful night; and many a soul, On sea and land, have found a dismal end.

Ay, we shall hear sad tales of this ere long, When seated round our evening fire. Alas! It will be piteous; but, the ill then past, It will be soft and pleasing piteousness.

Sad tales, I fear! O how my sympathy