When the tempestuous sea did foam and roar,
Tossing the bark from the long-wish’d-for shore,
With false affected fondness it betray’d,
Striving to keep what perish’d, if it stay’d.
Such is the love of impious men, where’re
Their cruel kindness lights, ’tis to ensnare:
I, toss’d in tedious storms of troubled thought,
Was careless of the waves the ocean brought.
My anchor Hope was lost, and too too near
On either hand were rocks of sad despair,
Mistaken seamen prais’d my fearless mind,
Which, sunk in seas of grief, could dare the wind.
In Life, tempestuous Life, is dread and harm,
Approaching Death had no unpleasing form;
Approaching Death appeases ev’ry storm.
– Anne Wharton (17th c.)