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PIRATE'S SONG.
To the mast nail our flag it is dark as the grave, Or the death which it bears while it sweeps o'er the wave; Let our deck clear for action, our guns be prepared; Be the boarding-axe sharpened, the scimetar bared: Set the canisters ready, and then bring to me, For the last of my duties, the powder-room key.
It shall never be lowered, the black flag we bear; If the sea be denied us, we sweep through the air.
Unshared have we left our last victory's prey; It is mine to divide it, and yours to obey: There are shawls that might suit a sultana's white neck, And pearls that are fair as the arms they will deck; There are flasks which, unseal them, the air will disclose Diametta's fair summers, the home of the rose.
I claim not a portion: I ask but as mine-- 'Tis to drink to our victory--one cup of red wine.
Some fight, 'tis for riches--some fight, 'tis for fame: The first I despise, and the last is a name.
I fight, 'tis for vengeance! I love to see flow, At the stroke of my sabre, the life of my foe.
I strike for the memory of long-vanished years; I only shed blood where another shed tears, I come, as the lightning comes red from above, O'er the race that I loathe, to the battle I love.
FINIS.
