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'Forth to the world, a widow'd wanderer driven, 'I pour to winds and waves the unheeded tear, 'Try with vain effort to submit to Heaven, 'And fruitless call on him—"who cannot hear."

'Oh! might I fondly clasp him once again, 'While o'er my head the infuriate billows pour, 'Forget in death this agonizing pain, 'And feel his father's cruelty no more!

'Part, raging waters! part, and show beneath, 'In your dread caves, his pale and mangled form; 'Now, while the Demons of Despair and Death 'Ride on the blast, and urge the howling storm!

'Lo! by the lightning's momentary blaze, 'I see him rise the whitening waves above, 'No longer such as when in happier days 'He gave the enchanted hours—to me and love.