As he sinks in his watery tomb,
⁠His epitaph let me indite.
He hardly took up any room;
⁠His life was retired; his end bright.
⁠With destiny no one can fight
All poets and prosers agree,
⁠And a tribute to destiny's might
Is the song of the drowning fusee.

Friend! would you be gratified quite
⁠The first of our poets to be?
If so, I advise you to write
⁠The song of the drowning fusee.