Classic Poem

O lay her in the stormy grave,
And soft her slumbers be,
Her pillow is the mountain wave,
Her tomb the boundless sea.

Old Ocean round the maiden's breast
His mantle green shall fold,
And angels guard her silent rest
Beneath the waters cold.

Still shall the angry tempests sweep,
The ceaseless tide shall flow;
But wind, nor wave, shall break her sleep
Who lies in peace below.

Farewell! The waves are closing fast
Around thy fading form;
O may thy spirit find at last,
A home without a storm.