 | Poems |  |
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THE DIRGE OF THE MARINER.
I ask not to sleep where the ancient church bell
Its echoes will ring o'er my grave,
More dear than its chime is the requiem swell
And musical moan of the wave:
Let not the frail herbage grow over my bones
Which the winter gales cover with snow,
O bury me not where memorial stones
Earth's chronicled sepulchres show!
Its echoes will ring o'er my grave,
More dear than its chime is the requiem swell
And musical moan of the wave:
Let not the frail herbage grow over my bones
Which the winter gales cover with snow,
O bury me not where memorial stones
Earth's chronicled sepulchres show!
But place me away where the curlews sweep
Round the ocean's unlaurelled goal,
On the sparkling beach where the surges sleep,
And crags the tide control;
I have lived on its mighty and solemn breast,
And I love it far more than land,
O, when I am dead, let my ashes rest
Entombed on the desolate strand!
Round the ocean's unlaurelled goal,
On the sparkling beach where the surges sleep,
And crags the tide control;
I have lived on its mighty and solemn breast,
And I love it far more than land,
O, when I am dead, let my ashes rest
Entombed on the desolate strand!
For there the green billows with chaplets of foam,
Will come from the midst of the sea,
Like friends from the haunts of my olden home,
To utter their sorrow for me;
They will bring gay weeds from the fathomless caves
And twine them above my head,
And the ambient gleam of the playful waves
They'll cast on my peaceful bed:
Will come from the midst of the sea,
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To utter their sorrow for me;
They will bring gay weeds from the fathomless caves
And twine them above my head,
And the ambient gleam of the playful waves
They'll cast on my peaceful bed:
And shells like the rainbow, with pebbles rare,
They'll strew on the lonely strand,
While the signs of their faithful vigils there
Will be traced on the glistening sand:
Sadly the sound of their mournful retreat
In the distance will die away,
And wildly the sobs of their coming will greet
The home of the mariner's clay.
They'll strew on the lonely strand,
While the signs of their faithful vigils there
Will be traced on the glistening sand:
Sadly the sound of their mournful retreat
In the distance will die away,
And wildly the sobs of their coming will greet
The home of the mariner's clay.
They'll haste on the wings of the tempest to wail,
Or under the starlight to sigh,
They'll throng like an army its chieftain to hail,
Or meekly creep thither to die;
Let my slab be inscribed by the radiant wave,
My shroud be enwove from the surge,
Let no tears but the spray wet the mariner's grave,
And the sea breathe forever his dirge!
Or under the starlight to sigh,
They'll throng like an army its chieftain to hail,
Or meekly creep thither to die;
Let my slab be inscribed by the radiant wave,
My shroud be enwove from the surge,
Let no tears but the spray wet the mariner's grave,
And the sea breathe forever his dirge!
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