Hold up thy head, thou timid voyager!
  Vex'd by the storm-clouds as they darkly roll,
And by the fiercely tossing waves that stir
  Thy slender root, and try thy gentle soul,—
Sad change from thy sweet garden, where the dew
  Each morning glistened in thy grateful eye,
And where the roughest guest thy bosom knew
  Were busy bee or gadding butterfly:
It grieves me sore to see thy beauties fade,
  Wearing the plague-spot of the sickening spray,
And know what trouble I for thee have made;
  Yet still bear on, meek partner of my way,
For in thy life I hold the flowery chain
Of home and its delights,—here, on the lonely main.