With storms a-weather, rocks a-lee, The dancing skiff puts forth to sea. The lone dissenter in the blast Recoils before the sight aghast. But she, although the heavens be black, Holds on upon the starboard tack. For why? although today she sink Still safe she sails in printers’ ink, And though today the seamen drown, My cut shall hand their memory down.
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With Storms A-Weather, Rocks A-Lee
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