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'Such, as when daring the enchafed sea, 'And courting dangerous toil, he often said 'That every peril, one soft smile from me, 'One sigh of speechless tenderness o'erpaid.

'But dead, disfigured, while between the roar 'Of the loud waves his accents pierce mine ear, 'And seem to say—Ah, wretch! delay no more, 'But come, unhappy mourner!—meet me here.

'Yet, powerful Fancy! bid the phantom stay, 'Still let me hear him!'Tis already past! 'Along the waves his shadow glides away, 'I lose his voice amid the deafening blast!

'Ah! wild Illusion, born of frantic Pain! 'He hears not, comes not from his watery bed! 'My tears, my anguish, my despair are vain, 'The insatiate ocean gives not up its dead!