The Sallor’s Grave.

The Sallor’s Grave.
370.4

Our bark was for for from the land
When the fairest of our gallant band
Grew deadly mals, and waned away.
Like the twilight of an autumn day.
We had watched him through long hours of pain,
Our cares were great, our hones in vain:
Death’s stroke, he gave no coward’s alarm.
But he umiled and died in his messmate’s arms.

We had no costly winding sheet,
We placed two round shots at his feet.
He lies in his hammock, as anur and as sound
As a king in his long shroud, marble bound.
We proudly decked his funeral vest.
With the starry flag upon his breast!
We gave him this, as a badge of the brave.
And then he was fit for a anilor’s grave,

Our voices broke and hearts turned weak,
Ott tears were seen on the brownest check.
The quiver played on the lips of pride
As we lowered him down the ship’s dark side
Then a solash and a plunge and our task was o’er,
And the billows rolled as they roiled before.
And many wild prayers hallowed the waver.
And he sank beneeth a snilor’s grave.