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NAUFRAGIUM.

Howling winds their courses run,

Lower sinks the autumn sun,

Lips have met,

Eyes are wet,

While the steamer parts from shore.

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Though the summer boats now glide

On Menona's peaceful tide,

Eyes of blue,

Tender, true,

Will return, ah! nevermore.

Summer skies their colors trace

On the lakelet's glassy face;

Ruined boat,

Still afloat,

Haunts Menona's reedy shores;

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