Fair ship, that from the Italian shore

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.