As we steadfastly gazed on the grave of the dead,
And we sighed, "Who will lead us to-morrow?"
We thought as they filled in his narrow bed,
Of his struggles across the billows;
And we dreamt that all ages would honour the dead,
As a Captain above his fellows.
Lightly men speak of him now that he's gone,
And grudge e'en the recompense paid him:
But little he'll reck if they'll let him sleep on,
In the tomb where a grateful land laid him.