His body lies upon the shore, Afar from his beloved land, And over him shine tropic suns; No more he thrills at sound of guns, No longer, cutlass in his hand, Cries, “Follow me!” and goes before. Above him droop the languid trees, Athirst and fainting with the noon; Around him drowsy lizards crawl. No more he hears the boatswain’s call, Nor sees the waters rock the moon, Nor smells the keen and salty breeze. Vain roars old Ocean in his ear, Calling to him from mighty deeps, Yearning for him who loved the main. Never shall he make sail again; Under the restless sands he sleeps, He is at rest, he cannot hear. But when the Trumpet sounds alarms On that great day when all shall rise, And earth and sea give up their dead, Then out from his unquiet bed Where now heroic SOMERS lies His soul will leap to Ocean’s arms!
Richard Somers
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Into the caverns of the sea Shall all at last descend, Who now press forward gallantly Unrecking of the end. And no man knoweth what is there, Nor when his time shall come To yield his soul and take his share With all those gone and dumb. It may be we shall find our kin Waiting to...
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His body lies upon the shore, Afar from his beloved land, And over him shine tropic suns; No more he thrills at sound of guns, No longer, cutlass in his hand, Cries, “Follow me!” and goes before. Above him droop the languid trees, Athirst and fainting with the noon; Around him...