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THE LOST GALLEON.
In sixteen hundred and forty-one,
The regular yearly galleon,
Laden with odorous gums and spice,
India cottons and India rice,
And the richest silks of far Cathay,
Was due at Acapulco Bay.
Due she was and over-due,
Galleon, merchandise and crew,
Creeping along through rain and shine,
Through the tropics, under the Line.
