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And gusts of wind swept o'er the troubled main Like hasty threats, and then were calm again: That night young Hero by her beacon kept Her silent watch, and blamed the night, and wept, And scarcely dared to look upon the sky: Yet lulling still her fond anxiety— With, "Surely in such a storm he cannot brave, If but for my sake only, wind and wave."** At length Aurora led young Day and blushed, In her sweet presence sea and sky were hushed; What is there beauty cannot charm? her power Is felt alike, in storm and sunshine hour; And light and soft the breeze which waved the veil Of Hero, as she wandered, lone and pale, Her heart sick with its terror, and her eye Roving in tearful, dim uncertainty.