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, d**h's simple duty, to bring thee; Unto the silent dust vainly to murmur a cry. Since thy form deep-shrouded an evil destiny taketh 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.