R. S. S., at Deer Island on the Merrimac

MAKE, for he loved thee well, our Merrimac,

From wave and shore a low and long lament

For him, whose last look sought thee, as he went

The unknown way from which no step comes back.

And ye, O ancient pine-trees, at whose feet

He watched in life the sunset’s reddening glow,

Let the soft south wind through your needles blow

A fitting requiem tenderly and sweet!

No fonder lover of all lovely things

Shall walk where once he walked, no smile more glad

Greet friends than his who friends in all men had,

Whose pleasant memory to that Island clings

Where a dear mourner in the home he left

Of love’s sweet solace cannot be bereft.