Perch’d on a barrel, block, or spar,
An upset boat, a riven mast,
A rope, that shone afresh with tar,
Which yielded to th’ unerring blast.
Or on, methinks, a sailor’s trunk
(Ransack’d in haste for some lov’d thing),
The bottle which, perhaps, got drunk
Him who was last to laugh and sing,—
Unwilling to believe his soul
Would vanish with another breath,