To the wild shore went hurrying down,
And tenderly dead eyes would close,
And smooth dead limbs for long repose.
Full many a weary, storm-tossed wight,
Year after year, in quiet was laid,
Safe from the blustering storms of night,
In this green spot, and undismayed,
Slept close beside the breakers’ roar,
Whose wrath should mar his rest no more.
And over each low-sleeping head,