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Yet none could touch the other's hand, For none could feel his own.

Like statues fixed, that gallant band Stood on the dread deck to die; The sleet was their shroud, the wind their dirge, And their churchyard the sea and the sky.

Fond eyes watch'd by their native shore, And prayers to the wild winds gave; But never again came that stately ship To breast the English wave.

Hope grew fear, and fear grew hope, Till both alike were done: And the bride lay down in her grave alone, And the mother without her son.