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Chapter 67 No.67

White as a white sail on a dusky sea,

When half the horizon's clouded and half free,

Fluttering between the dun wave and the sky,

Is Hope's last gleam in Man's extremity.

Her anchor parts; but still her snowy sail

Attracts our eye amidst the rudest gale:

Though every wave she climbs divides us more,

The heart still follows from

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