Classic Poem

Low , low he lies, without a grave,
My only hope, my Harry, O,
Entomb'd within yon briny wave,
Far distant frae his Mary, O!
Trafalgar's shores, where, sadly gay,
Triumphant Victory, in dismay,
Wept o'er her Nelson, cold as clay,
And my last hopes o' Harry, O!

Oft have I o'er the sea-beach stray'd,
With anxious thoughts, and weary, O;
His dangers made me oft afraid,
Till soothing Hope would cheer me, O.
While whirling sea-birds round would cry,
With uncouth notes, alang the sky,
Waken my smiling, sleeping boy,
My only pledge o' Harry, O.

Full soon the busy news arriv'd,
Of victory an' of Harry, O;
Of pleasing comfort it depriv'd
His luckless, lonely Mary, O!
His gentle spirit's now at rest;
But mine, alas! is sore deprest;
No balm shall soothe this troubled breast,
Till join'd again to Harry, O!