THE SUNKEN IRON-CLAD.
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O concentration of brute force! Rhinoceros of the deeps! O ugly Delos on whose shores No soft Latona sleeps! Scant room in thee for birth or love 'Mid monsters furnace-born, The iron-throated guns above, Below, the ripping horn. Heaven grant ere long we find in thee An emblem of all war Beneath the waves of Time's deep sea Buried for evermore! |
THE MASTER'S WILL.
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Two Caravels to sea were gone, Two striplings passed the city gate; A shattered hull returns alone, A brother wails a brother's fate. But who elects for good or ill? Distrust not mercy though bereft; Though storm winds shriek the Master's will, One taken and the other left. |