For he lay where he scarce would remain long at rest,
With the ocean washing round him.
None at all were the prayers we read;
And we felt more of rage than sorrow,
As we thought on the brutes who insult us when dead,
And don't pay us alive what they borrow
We thought as we hollowed his shelly bed,
And smoothed down his pebbly pillow,
That the crabs and the lobsters would creep o'er his head,
And we with our fleets on the billow!