Borne o'er many a land, o'er many a level of ocean,
Here to the grave I come, brother, of holy repose,
Sadly the last poor gifts, death's simple duty, to bring thee;
Unto the silent dust vainly to murmur a cry.
Since thy form deep-shrouded an evil destiny taketh 5
From me, O hapless ghost, brother, O heavily ta'en,
Yet this bounty the while, these gifts ancestral of usance
Homely, the sad slight store piety grants to the tomb;
Drench'd in a brother's tears, and weeping freshly, receive them;
Yea, take, brother, a long Ave, a timeless adieu. 10