 | [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet |  |
THE SEAMAN'S FUNERAL
'Twas midnight—and the waters slept
Beneath the light the pale moon gave,
And wreathless was the mist that wrapt
The tranquil bosom of the wave.
The ocean wind was chained—its breath
Scarce moved the pennon's drooping fold,
All seemed to suit the scene of death
That bowed the spirits of the bold.
Beneath the light the pale moon gave,
And wreathless was the mist that wrapt
The tranquil bosom of the wave.
The ocean wind was chained—its breath
Scarce moved the pennon's drooping fold,
All seemed to suit the scene of death
That bowed the spirits of the bold.
They raised the form of him they loved,
To bear it to its lowly home;
Each generous seaman's heart was moved,
Each aspect wore the shade of gloom,
As slowly down the vessel's side,
They lowered the life-deserted clay,
To meet the chill and noiseless tide,
That opened to receive its prey.
To bear it to its lowly home;
Each generous seaman's heart was moved,
Each aspect wore the shade of gloom,
As slowly down the vessel's side,
They lowered the life-deserted clay,
To meet the chill and noiseless tide,
That opened to receive its prey.
[OMITTED]
135
And there is naught to mark his grave;
The moonlight falls as sweetly there—
As lightly rolls the sparkling wave,
As gayly melts the mist in air,
As if no funeral's dull array
Had e'er disturbed its solitude—
As if no mortal relics lay
Beneath the cold, unconscious flood.
The moonlight falls as sweetly there—
As lightly rolls the sparkling wave,
As gayly melts the mist in air,
As if no funeral's dull array
Had e'er disturbed its solitude—
As if no mortal relics lay
Beneath the cold, unconscious flood.
Yet calm he rests, as those who sleep
Beneath the green earth's flowery sod,
Although his mansion, chill and deep,
Shall ne'er by weeping friends be trod.
And though no stone with sculptured line,
His name, his birth, his fortune tells,
Pure at affection's living shrine,
The memory of the seaman dwells.
Beneath the green earth's flowery sod,
Although his mansion, chill and deep,
Shall ne'er by weeping friends be trod.
And though no stone with sculptured line,
His name, his birth, his fortune tells,
Pure at affection's living shrine,
The memory of the seaman dwells.
Stanzas 1, 2, 6, 7 Haverhill Gazette, June 16, 1827
| [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet | |