Right in our path were set
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nd there, O sight forlorn !There, while the cannon Hurtled and thundered —(Ah, what ill ravenFlapped o'er the ship that morn ! ) —Caught by the under-death,In the drawing of a breathDown went dauntless Craven,He and his hundred ! A moment we saw her turret, A little heel she gave,And a thin white spray went o'er her,
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