The Hillsborough Recorder

For the Hillsborough Recorder.

Lament over the Grave of a Young Seaman.

In Imitation of Scott's Coronach.

Thou hast fallen as the flower
That's freshest and sweetest,
Thou hast fled as the hour
That's brightest and fleetest.
To our hearts thou wert dearest,
Thou hast left them in mourning:
And our fond hopes were fairest,
But they know no returning.
The roar of the ocean,
Where thy gallant ship boundeth,
In its wildest commotion
But thy requiem soundeth.
For that ocean storm sweeping:
Disturbs not thy ashes:
And unheard in thy sleeping.
The mountain wave dashes.
Thine eye beam'd the brightest
For it told thy soul's gladness;
But no more thou delightest,
Thou hast left us in sadness.
That eye is now beamless,
And our full hearts are breaking:
For thy slumber is dreamless,
And shall know no awaking.
O'er the breast of the billow
No longer thou sweepest,
But cold is the pillow
Where in darkness thou sleepest;
And life-full gleaming
Shall return to thee never,
It hath flash'd its last gleaming,
It hath vanish'd for ever.

E. K.