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which we now stood; narrow indeed, and buffeted by storms, was our footway
overhanging the great sea of calamity--
As an unsheltered northern shore
Is shaken by the wintry wave--
And frequent storms for evermore,
(While from the west the loud winds rave,
Or from the east, or mountains hoar)
The struck and tott'ring sand-bank lave.[1]
It required more than human energy to bear up against the menaces of
destruction that every where surrounded us.
After the lapse of three days, the gale died away, the sea-gull sailed upon
the calm bosom of the windless atmosphere, and the last yellow leaf on the
topmost branch of the oak hung without motion. The sea no longer broke with
fury; but a swell setting in steadily for shore, with long sweep and sullen
burst replaced the roar of the breakers. Yet we derived hope from the
change, and we did not doubt that after the interval of a few days the sea
would resume its tranquillity. The sunset of the fourth day favoured this
idea; it was clear and golden. As we gazed on the purple sea, radiant
beneath, we were attracted by a novel spectacle; a dark speck--as it
neared, visibly a boat--rode on the top of the waves, every now and then
lost in the steep vallies between. We marked its course with eager
questionings; and, when we saw that it evidently made for shore, we
descended to the only practicable landing place, and hoisted a signal to
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