And in its place life's common views arise.
Sometimes a party, row'd from town, will land
On a small islet form'd of shelly sand,
Left by the water when the tides are low,
But which the floods in their return o'erflow:
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There will they anchor, pleased awhile to view
The watery waste, a prospect wild and new;
The now receding billows give them space
On either side the growing shores to pace;