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I SAW three ships go sailing, And two I’ve seen come back; A ship of war, and a merchant ship,— And the third was a fisher-smack.

The first is back with glory, The next with treasure stor’d.— But the little smack, she’ll ne’er be back, That had my love aboard.

Seven riding-lights but now; Now, only three. And still creeps the sheeted fog Across the numb sea.