Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By BarrettEastman

1604 Richard Somers

HIS body lies upon the shore,

Afar from his beloved land,

And over him shine tropic suns;

No more he thrills at sound of guns,

No longer, cutlass in his hand,

Cries, “Follow me!” and goes before.

Above him droop the languid trees,

Athirst and fainting with the noon;

Around him drowsy lizards crawl.

No more he hears the boatswain’s call,

Nor sees the waters rock the moon,

Nor smells the keen and salty breeze.

Vain roars old Ocean in his ear,

Calling to him from mighty deeps,

Yearning for him who loved the main.

Never shall he make sail again;

Under the restless sands he sleeps,

He is at rest, he cannot hear.

But when the Trumpet sounds alarms

On that great day when all shall rise,

And earth and sea give up their dead,

Then out from his unquiet bed

Where now heroic SOMERS lies

His soul will leap to Ocean’s arms!