Author: Henry Lawson

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    You wonder why so many would be buried in the sea,
    In this world of froth and bubble,
    But I dont wonder, for it seems to me
    That it saves such a lot of trouble.
    And there aint no undertaker,
    Oh! there aint no order that your friends can give
    On the quiet to the coffin-maker,
    To a gimcrack coffin-maker,
    They make no differ twixt the absentee swell
    And the clerk that cut from a shortage,
    Oh! there aint no pauper funer-el,
    And there aint no impressive cortege.
    It may be a chap from the forard crowd,
    Or a member of the British Peerage,
    But they sew his nibs in a canvas shroud
    Just the same as the bloke from the steerage,
    As that poor bloke from the steerage.
    There aint no need for a gravedigger there,
    For you dig your own grave! Lord love yer!
    And there aint no use for a headstone fair
    When the waters close above yer!
    The little headstone where they come to weep,
    May be right for the lands dry-rotters,
    But you rest just as sound when youre anchored deep
    With the pigiron at your trotters,
    (Our fathers had iron at their trotters).
    The sea is democratic the wide world round,
    And it dont give a hang for no man,
    There aint no Church of England burial ground,
    Nor yet there aint no Roman.
    Orthodox and hetrodox by wreck-strewn cliffs,
    At peace in the stormiest weather,
    Might bob up and down like two brother stiffs,
    And rest in one shark together,
    And mix up their bones together.

    The bare-headed skipper is as good any day
    As an authorised shifter of sin is,
    And the tear of shipmate is better anyway
    Than the tear of the next-of-kin is.
    It saves your friends, and it fills your needs,
    It is best when all is reckoned,
    And she cant come there in her widder weeds,
    With her eyes on a likely second,
    And a spot for the likely second.

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Type of Poem: Ballad

Date Written:

Date Published:

Language: English

Keywords: Public Domain

Source: Public Domain Collection

Publisher:

Rights/Permissions: Public Domain

Comments/Notes: This poem offers a robust and thought-provoking exploration of mortality, equality, and the inexorable nature of the sea. The poem’s primary theme revolves around the sea as a final resting place, suggesting an impartiality to status and class distinctions. It emphasizes the sea's democratic nature, where both the "member of the British Peerage" and "the bloke from the steerage" meet the same fate. In this way, the poem presents death as the ultimate equalizer, rendering all human hierarchies insignificant.

The tone of the poem is both somber and defiant, challenging societal norms about burial practices and mourning rituals. The speaker seems to find comfort and a sense of justice in the idea of a sea burial, wherein there are no distinctions, no pomp or ceremony, just the simple, unadorned reality of death. The structure of the poem, with its regular rhyme scheme and steady rhythm, mirrors the relentlessness of the sea and its indifference to human life. Notable literary devices include the use of colloquial language which provides a sense of authenticity and immediacy to the speaker's voice. The repetition of "there ain't" emphasizes the absence of societal constructs and rituals associated with death in the sea. The poem's final lines encapsulate its central message: in the grand scheme of things, the sea can be a more honest, egalitarian place to face one's mortality, free of societal pressures and pretenses.