"The Ocean Buried" had appeared in The Rural Repository, vol. XI [new series], no.13 (Nov. 29, 1834, p. 104), with some minor differences. The title is "Bury me not in the deep, deep Sea," and the author "E.H.C."

BURY ME NOT IN THE DEEP, DEEP SEA

'Bury me not in the deep, deep sea'--
The words came faint and mournfully
Form the pallid lips of a youth, who lay
On the cabin-couch, where day by day
He had wasted and pined, 'till o'er his brow
The death-shade had slowly passed, and now
When the land and his fond-loved home were nigh,
They had gathered around him to see him die.

'Bury me not in the deep deep sea,
Where the billowy shroud will roll over me,
Where no light can break through the dark cold wave,
And no sunbeam linger above my grave.
It boots not, I know I have oft been told,
Where the body shall lie, when the heart is cold,
Yet grant ye, oh! grant ye, this boon to me--
Bury me not in the deep, deep sea!

'For in fancy I've listened to well known words,
The free wild wind, and the song of birds;
I have thought of home, of cot and bower,
And of scenes that I loved in childhood's hour.
I have ever hoped to be laid, when I died,
In the church-yard there, on the green-hill side;
By the bones of my fathers my grave should be,
Bury me not in the deep, deep sea!

'Let my death-slumber be where a mother's prayer
And sisters' tears can be blended there,
Oh! 'twill be sweet, ere the heart's throb is o'er,
To know, when its fountain shall gush no more,
That those it so fondly has yearned for, will come
To plant the first wild-flower of Spring on my tomb;
Let me lie where the loved ones can weep over me,
Bury me not in the deep, deep sea!

'And there is another, her tears would be shed
For him who lay far in an ocean-bed;
In hours that it pains me to think of now,
She has twined these locks and kissed this brow.
In the hair that she wreathed shall the sea-snake hiss?
The brow she pressed shall the cold wave kiss?
For the sake of that bright-one who waits for me,
Bury me not in the deep, deep sea!

'She hath been in my dreams'--His voice failed there--
They gave no heed to his dying prayer,
They have lowered him slow o'er the vessel's side,
And above him hath closed the solemn tide,
Where do dip her wing, the wild-fowl rests,
Where the blue waves dance, with their foaming crests,
Where the billows bound and the winds sport free,
They have buried him there in the deep, deep sea!