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Excerpt from The Shipwreck: A Poem
To whom all Science, Arts, and Arms belong, Who bid the Trumpet of eternal Fame Exalt the Warrior's and the Poet's name, Or in lamenting elegies express The varied pang of exquisite distress; If e'er with trembling hope I fondly strayed In life's fair morn beneath your hallowed shade, To hear the sweetly-mournful lute complain, And melt the heart with ecstasy of pain, Or listen to the enchanting voice of Love, While all Elysium warbled through the grove; Oh! By the hollow blast that moans around, That sweeps the wild harp with a plaintive sound; By the long Surge that foams through yonder cave, Whose vaults re-murmur to the roaring wave; With living colours give my Verse to glow, The sad Memorial of a Tale of, Woe! The fate, in lively sorrow, to deplore Of Wanderers shipwrecked on a leeward shore. Alas! Neglected by the sacred Nine, Their Suppliant feels no genial ray divine Ah! Will they leave Pieria's happyoshore, I.
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