"Fair ship, that from the Italian shore
Sailest the placid ocean-plains
With my lost Arthur's loved remains,
Spread thy full wings and waft him o'er.
So draw him home to those that mourn
In vain; a favourable speed
Ruffle thy mirror'd mast, and lead
Through prosperous floods his holy urn.
All night no ruder air perplex
Thy sliding keel till Phosphor, bright
As our pure love, through early light
Shall glimmer on thy dewy decks.
Sphere all your lights around, above,
Sleep, gentle heavens, before the prow;
Sleep, gentle winds, as he sleeps now,
My friend, the brother of my love."
(Note especially the truly seraphic ineffability of the passage in G
flat). It is such music as might have accompanied Him who made the
storm his mere mantle, and the raging sea the mere pathway of power;
of Him who had the right of all men to say--out of whose mouth the
word sounded fullest--Peace!