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*** The poem called “The Morning Glory," on page 131, it is proper
to state, is by another hand.

POEMS.

POEMS.

COLUMBUS.

The cordage creaks and rattles in the wind,
With freaks of sudden hush; the reeling sea
Now thumps like solid rock beneath the stern,
Now leaps with clumsy wrath, strikes short, and, falling
Crumbled to whispery foam, slips rustling down
The broad backs of the waves, which jostle and crowd
To fling themselves upon that unknown shore,
Their used familiar since the dawn of time,
Whither this foredoomed life an eminent surge
Chance-heaped a breath's space o'er the weltering press,

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