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"Swift, o'er the plain of burning Sand
 * "My course I bent to thee;

"And soon I reach'd the billowy strand
 * "Which bounds the stormy Sea.—

" my Love! Oh yet, thy 's soul "Springs ardently to thee,—impatient of controul.

"Again the lightning flashes white—
 * "The rattling cords among!

"Now, by the transient vivid light,
 * "I mark the frantic throng!

"Now up the tatter'd shrouds my flies— While o'er the plunging prow, the curling billows rise.

"The topmast falls—three shackled slaves—
 * "Cling to the Vessel's side!

"Now lost amid the madd'ning waves—
 * "Now on the mast they ride—

"See! on the forecastle my stands "And now he waves his chain, now clasps his bleeding hands.