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Rh Captain, mate, cook, and seamen
 * (They were in all but three),

Were saved by swimming fast and well,
 * And their gallows-destiny.

But two, a youth and maiden,
 * Were left to brave the storm,

With unpronounceable Dutch names,
 * And hearts with true-love warm.

And they, for love has watchers
 * In air, on earth, and sea,

Were saved by clinging to the wreck,
 * And their marriage-destiny.

From sunset to night’s noon
 * She had leaned upon his arm,

Nor heard the far-off thunder toll
 * The tocsin of alarm.

Not so the youth—he listened
 * To the cloud-wing flapping by;

And low he whispered in Low Dutch,
 * “It tells our doom is nigh.

“Death is the lot of mortals,
 * But we are young and strong,

And hoped, not boldly, for a life
 * Of happy years and long.