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There thy bright eye the dubious pilot guides, The faint oar struggling with the scalding tides On as thou lead'st the bold, the glorious prow, Mild, and more mild, the sloping sunbeams glow; Now weak and pale the lessen'd lustres play, As round th' horizon rolls the timid day; Barb'd with the sleeted snow, the driving hail, Rush the fierce arrows of the polar gale; And through the dim, unvaried, ling'ring hours, Wide o'er the waves incumbent horror lours."
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