[i]O FLOOD! my Flood! our fearful trip is done; The thread has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won; The port is near, the bells I hear, the newbies all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: But O coup! coup! coup! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Flood lies, Fallen cold and dead[/i]