WILLOW, 
Despair. 
I launched a bark on Fate’s deep tide, 
A frail and fluttering toy, 
But freighted with a thousand dreams 
Of beauty and of joy. 
Ah me! it found no friend in them— 
The wave—the sky—the gale— 
Though Love enraptured took the helm— 
And Hope unfurled the sail! 
And you who should its pilot be— 
To whom in fear it flies— 
Forsake it, on a treacherous sea, 
To seek a prouder prize. 
Alas for Love! bewildered child! 
He weeps the helm beside, 
And Hope has furled her fairy sail, 
Nor longer tempts the tide. 
Despair and Pride in silence fling 
Its rich freight to the wave, 
And now an aimless wreck it floats, 
That none would stoop to save. 
