Fair ship, that from the Italian shore
      Sailest the placid ocean-plains
      With my lost Arthur's loved remains,
Spread thy full wings, and waft him o'er.

So draw him home to those that mourn
      In vain; a favourable speed
      Ruffle thy mirror'd mast, and lead
Thro' prosperous floods his holy urn.

All night no ruder air perplex
      Thy sliding keel, till Phosphor, bright
      As our pure love, thro' early light
Shall glimmer on the dewy decks.

Sphere all your lights around, above;
      Sleep, gentle heavens, before the prow;
      Sleep, gentle winds, as he sleeps now,
My friend, the brother of my love;

My Arthur, whom I shall not see
      Till all my widow'd race be run;
      Dear as the mother to the son,
More than my brothers are to me.

Last modified 12 February 2010