- end_line
- 10864
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:18.539Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 10822
- text
- And now, while in the still midnight, all present were gazing down into
the ocean, watching the white wake of the corpse, ever and anon
illuminated by sparkles, an unknown voice was heard, and all started
and vacantly stared, as this wild song was sung:—
We drop our dead in the sea,
The bottomless, bottomless sea;
Each bubble a hollow sigh,
As it sinks forever and aye.
We drop our dead in the sea,—
The dead reek not of aught;
We drop our dead in the sea,—
The sea ne’er gives it a thought.
Sink, sink, oh corpse, still sink,
Far down in the bottomless sea,
Where the unknown forms do prowl,
Down, down in the bottomless sea.
’Tis night above, and night all round,
And night will it be with thee;
As thou sinkest, and sinkest for aye,
Deeper down in the bottomless sea.
The mysterious voice died away; no sign of the corpse was now seen; and
mute with amaze, the company long listed to the low moan of the billows
and the sad sough of the breeze.
At last, without speaking, the obsequies were concluded by sliding into
the ocean a carved tablet of Palmetto, to mark the place of the burial.
But a wave-crest received it, and fast it floated away.
Returning to the isle, long silence prevailed. But at length, as if the
scene in which they had just taken part, afresh reminded them of the
mournful event which had called them together, the company again
recurred to it; some present, sadly and incidentally alluding to
Borabolla’s banquet of turtle, thereby postponed.
- title
- Chunk 3