Here the driver swore fearfully, and still more apaulin’ sight to me, Betsey opened her paper and commenced readin’:
STANZES, WRITTEN ON THE DEEP.
BY BETSEY BOBBET.
The ground seems hollow unto me;
Men’s vests but mask deep perfidee;
My life has towered so hard and steep,
I seek the wild and raging deep.
Such knawing pains my soul doth rack,
That even the wild horse on the track