How whistle rash bids tempests roar,
Of witch, of mermaid, and of sprite,
Of Erick's cap and Elmo's light.
Or of that Phantom Ship whose form
Shoots like a meteor through the storm,
When the dark scud comes driving hard,
And lowered is every topsail-yard,
And canvas wove in earthly looms,
No more to brave the storm presumes!
*Sir Walter Scott
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