"Once more, yet once again, with all our strength,
Cry to the land--we may be heard at length."
Vain hope if yet unseen! but hark! an oar,
That sound of bliss! comes dashing to their shore;
Still, still the water rises; "Haste!" they cry,
"Oh! hurry, seamen; in delay we die;"
(Seamen were these, who in their ship perceived
The drifted boat, and thus her crew relieved.)
And now the keel just cuts the cover'd sand,
Now to the gunwale stretches every hand:
With trembling pleasure all confused embark,
And kiss the tackling of their welcome ark;
While the most giddy, as they reach the shore,
Think of their danger, and their GOD adore.
LETTER X.
Non iter lances mensasque nitentes,
Cum stupet insanis acies fulgoribus, et cum
Acclinis falsis animus meliora recusat:
Verum hic impransi mecum disquirite.
HORACE, Satires.
O prodiga rerum
Luxuries, nunquam parvo contenta paratu,
Est quaesitorum terra pelagoque ciborum
Ambitiosa fames, et lautae gloria mensae.
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