224 A GRAVE IN THE OCEAN. 



Ye, who, unworn, have heard the sound 

 Of struggling winds rage fierce around 

 Till sea and sky, in one black pall, 

 Seemed gathering for the doom of all. 



Men of the Sword and Storm ! Ye shave, 

 Though voiceless all, the holy prayer 

 That yields a brother to his grave, 

 Beneath the lurid sea's dun wave. 



Tis meet that brave ones here should shed 

 Tears for the young but gallant dead : 

 Tis meet that dauntless hearts should show, 

 On the broad main, this sacred woe. 



Who closed the dying seaman's eye ? 

 Who heard his last strong struggling cry? 

 Who watched his countenance grow still, 

 And sunken, from convulsion's thrill ? 



These comrade men. No mother's care, 

 No sister's soothing words were there; 

 No wife, no children, stood beside 

 The small, rude hammock where he died. 



In scenes like this the firmest soul 

 Will yield to sympathy's control, 

 And iron nerves bow down to see 

 Pale and protracted agony. 



Twill chill the soul with far more power 

 Than reeking decks in battle's hour, 

 Where the mad blood boils out in fight, 

 Ere Havock hath outspent her might. 



Their's is no mock or pompous woe 

 Prepared with sighs and tears for show, 

 But the strong breast a moment rent : 

 The hr;w In 'art, in its struggle, spent. 



FA AM. 



