Classic Poem

Lo! how the sailor in a stormy night
Wails and complains till he the star perceive
Whose situation and assured height,
Should guide him thro' the strong and wat'ry wave.
As many motives, wretched soul, I have
For to regret, as few as to rejoice,
In seeing all things, once this sight I crave,
Since I the load-star of my life did lose,—
And what is worse, amidst those many woes,
Amidst my pain, which passes all compare,
No help, no hope, no comfort, no repose,
No sun appears to clear these clouds of care,
Save-this, that fortune neither may nor dare
Make my mishaps more hapless than they are.