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Rh

The gilt, fairy ship, with its ribbon-sail spreading, They launch on the salt pool the tide left behind; Ah! victims—for whom their sad mother is dreading The multiplied miseries that wait on mankind!

To fair fortune born, she beholds them with anguish, Now wanderers with her on a once hostile soil, Perhaps doom'd for life in chill penury to languish, Or abject dependence, or soul-crushing toil.

But the sea-boat, her hopes and her terrors renewing, O'er the dim grey horizon now faintly appears; She flies to the quay, dreading tidings of ruin, All breathless with haste, half expiring with fears.