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THE STORM.
There was a vessel combating the waves,
Like one who struggles with adversity:
The sea has wash'd her decks, and the wet sails
Hang droopingly; by the blue lightning's flash—
Light horrible and strange—there might be seen
All shapes of wild despair; the clasped hands,
Rais'd in scarce-conscious prayer, the cold white lip,
The stern fix'd brow, which braves the death that yet
