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As he sinks in his watery tomb,
His epitaph let me indite.
He hardly took up any room;
His life was retired; his end bright.
With destiny no one can fight
All poets and prosers agree,
And a tribute to destiny's might
Is the song of the drowning fusee.
His epitaph let me indite.
He hardly took up any room;
His life was retired; his end bright.
With destiny no one can fight
All poets and prosers agree,
And a tribute to destiny's might
Is the song of the drowning fusee.
Friend! would you be gratified quite
The first of our poets to be?
If so, I advise you to write
The song of the drowning fusee.
The first of our poets to be?
If so, I advise you to write
The song of the drowning fusee.
Reflector, Jan., 1889.
