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At the farthest edge of the Atlantic shore,
a barefoot and disheveled lady peers
into the waves, at the foot of the mountains, and hears
the distant, weeping pines. She sits before
the swirling sea, propping her head in her hands,
and like a lioness, fixes her gazing eyes
on the gateway of the sun, while the ocean cries
its tragic songs of wonders and distant lands.
It sings of tragedies and fate, while she,
with her feet in the foaming surf, dreams of history—
dreams of that once-great empire doomed to be,
so suddenly, lost and drowned in the gloomy sea—
then stares, through the mist, as the King of mystery,
Dom Sebastian, rises from the sea.