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Rh Last eve Anselmo's bark return'd, and yet

His only tidings that they had not met!

Though wild, as now, far different were the tale

Had Conrad waited for that single sail.

The night-breeze freshens—she that day had past

In watching all that Hope proclaimed a mast;

Sadly she sate—on high—Impatience bore

At last her footsteps to the midnight shore,

And there she wandered heedless of the spray

That dash'd her garments oft, and warn'd away:

She saw not—felt not this—nor dared depart,

Nor deemed it cold—her chill was at her heart;

Till grew such certainty from that suspense—

His very Sight had shock'd from life or sense!

It came at last—a sad and shattered boat,

Whose inmates first beheld whom first they sought—

Some bleeding—all most wretched—these the few—

Scarce knew they how escaped— this all they knew.

In silence darkling each appeared to wait

His fellow's mournful guess at Conrad's fate.