Robert Southey (1774–1843)

STATELY yon vessel sails adown the tide,

To some far distant land adventurous bound;

The sailors’ busy cries from side to side

Pealing among the echoing rocks resound;

A patient, thoughtless, much-enduring band,

Joyful they enter on their ocean way,

With shouts exulting leave their native land,

And know no care beyond the present day.

But is there no poor mourner left behind

Who sorrows for a child or husband there?

Who at the howling of the midnight wind

Will wake, and tremble in her boding prayer?

So may her voice be heard, and Heaven be kind!

Go, gallant Ship, and be thy fortune fair!