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276

LAND HO! OR THE SHIP IN PORT.

FROM THE SAME.

My heart has been the plaything, love, of woman, like a ship,
That every fickle wandering gale may toss about at will;
Now wooed to hidden danger, by the south wind's wanton lip,
Now shivering in the northern gale, with fever-fit, and chill.
But escaped from syren treachery, it has found a haven at last,
Where the whirlpool cannot lure to death, nor breakers lash its rails;
By thy dear side the pilot Love has moored it safe and fast,
Dropped anchor at thy fairy feet, and furled its flying sails!