Burial of the Dane.

Waikato Times, Volume XXII, Issue 1797, 12 January 1884, Page 2 (Supplement)

Burial of the Dane.

Blue Gulp all around us, Blue sky overhead — Muster all on the quarter, We must bury the dead 1 It is but a Danish sailor, Bugged of front and form ; A common son of the forecastle, Grizzled with sun and storm. His name, and the strand he hailed from, We know — and there's nothing more I But perhaps his mother is On tho lonely island of Fohr. Still, as he lay there dying, Reason drifting awreck, " 'Tis my watch, he would mutter, " I must go upon deck I " Ay, on deck — by the foremast 1 — But watch and lookout are done ; The Union-Jack laid o'er him, How quiet he lies in the sun ! Slow the ponderous engine, Stay the hurrying shaft. Let the roll of the ocean Cradle our giant craft — Gather around the grating, Carry your messmate aft I Stand in order, and listen To the holiest page of prayer ! Let every foot be quiet, Every head be bare — The soft trade-wind is lifting A hundred locks of hair. Our captain reads the service, (A little spray on his cheeks), The grand old words of burial, And the trust a true heart seeks— " We therefore commit hia body To the deep " — and, as he speaks, Launched from the weather railing, Swift as the eye can mark, The ghastly, shotted hammook Plunges away from the shark, Down, a thousand fathoms, Down into the dark 1 A thousand summers and winters The stormy Gulf shall roll High o'er his canvas coffin — But, silence to doubt and dole 1 There's a quiet harbor somewhere For the poor a weary soul. Free the fettered engine, Speed the tireless shaft I Loose to'gallant and top-sail, The breeze is fair abaft ! Blue sea all round us, Blue sky bright o'erhead — Every man to hia duty 1 We have buried our dead.

— Henry Howard Broionell