O Capiton! my Capiton! our fearful thread is done, The forums weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won, The end is near, the bans I hear, the users all exulting, While follow eyes the steady feel, the ninjas grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Capiton lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Capiton! my Capiton! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the threads a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Capiton! dear father! This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck, You’ve fallen cold and dead. My Capiton does not answer, his hands are pale and still, My keyboard does not feel my arm, it has no pulse nor will, The thread is locked safe and sound, its posting closed and done, From fearful post the victor does come in with object won; Exult O shores, and ring O bells! But I with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Capiton lies, Fallen cold and dead.