Regardless of Wringing and Breaking a Heart

As some of my more faithful readers may remember, I've been attempting to read the entire Macmillan's Two Shilling Library of 1899. The current book I'm plowing through is "Marooned" by W. Clark Russell. It's the story of a young woman who (presumably) becomes marooned somewhere between London and Rio de Janeiro. I'm guessing that W. Clark Russell was a sailor, because the book has passages such as the following, filled with nautical terms I'm not quite familiar with:

The jib had been hoisted, and the brig's head was slowly paying off; hands aloft were shouting to the people below to hoist away and sheet home; the men on deck were hoarsely bawling as they dragged upon the sheets and halliards; purple-faced old Broadwater standing near the wheel was roaring out orders in whole volleys, and the mate in the waist, who had a singularly shrill voice for a man, heightened the general clamour by re-echoing the captain's orders in notes which sounded like screams.

I also came across this passage, with an allusion to a Cowper poem I wasn't familiar with:

I was up betimes, but Miss Aurelia was before me. She looked as fresh and as fragrant as Cowper's rose newly washed by a shower.

I decided to google "Cowper rose" and immediately discovered the poem to which Russell was referring. It's a short verse about a rose, wet from the rain, that is broken when plucked too harshly.

And if you're wondering, I'll only have three volumes of the two shilling library left to read after I finish "Marooned."