1832.] 
BURIAL. 
331 
There is something connected with a funeral at sea that calls 
forth all the fine sensibilities of the heart. When, on shore, we 
consign the remains of some loved one to their narrow clay-made 
couch, and turn from the place made for all living, we do not feel 
the separation so severely. We can return to the spot, and the 
very scene around will awaken the slumbering memory, as the 
many virtues of the deceased will again pass in revision before 
us • and it is then, if the departed possessed any foibles, we can 
so easily forgive them. 
" Pensive memory then retraces 
Scenes of bliss for ever fled, 
Lives in former times and places, 
Holds communion with the dead." 
Not so as regards the sea-buried mariner. Beneath the ever- 
restless waves, cradled in some " oozy corner of the deep," he 
finds his long resting-place. Though his memory may be cher- 
ished most fondly by relations and friends, yet his grave is far 
distant and unknown. The spot cannot be designated, much less 
can we watch the early progress of the spring flowers, so em- 
blematic of another spring of life, or watch their decay beneath 
the chilly frosts of premature autumn, reminding us that we too 
must die. The very nature of the burial-place is calculated to 
impress every one with the deepest feelings of awe ; the ship, 
tossing on amid high and faithless billows, agitated by winds still 
more fickle. But what matters it whether his requiem be chanted 
amid the thick foliage of the cypress, or by the harsh-sounding 
gale, since the promise has gone forth — " I am the resurrection, 
and the life," and, " The sea shall give up her dead." 
" Give back the lost and lovely — those for whom 
The place was kept, at board and hearth, so long ; • 
The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom, 
And the vain yearning woke midst festal song. 
Hold fast thy buried isles — thy towers o'erthrown — 
But all is not thine own. 
" To thee the love of woman hath gone down — 
Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head, 
O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown ; 
Yet must thou hear a voice — ' Restore the dead !' 
Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee — 
* Restore the dead, thou sea !' " 
