 | Sea Songs |  |
35
OUR FINE OLD COMMODORE.
LORD ANSON. 1740 1750.
You may prate of Hawke and Rooke,
Of Rodney, Howe and more,
But none better suit my book
Than our brave old Commodore;
From Drake's to Cochrane's name,
We've heroes many a score,
But who is worthier fame
Than our fine old Commodore,
Our brave old Commodore,
Our dauntless Commodore,
Who glory found
The whole world round,
Like a fine old Commodore?
Of Rodney, Howe and more,
But none better suit my book
Than our brave old Commodore;
From Drake's to Cochrane's name,
We've heroes many a score,
But who is worthier fame
Than our fine old Commodore,
Our brave old Commodore,
Our dauntless Commodore,
Who glory found
The whole world round,
Like a fine old Commodore?
36
With all the heart of Drake,
Before his sails were furled
He dared our flag to take
Right round the trackless world;
The Dons', the tempests' wrath
Might in his sea-road roar;
Through all, he fought his path,
Did our fighting Commodore,
Our brave old Commodore,
Our dauntless Commodore,
Who plunder found
The whole world round,
Like a fine old Commodore.
Before his sails were furled
He dared our flag to take
Right round the trackless world;
The Dons', the tempests' wrath
Might in his sea-road roar;
Through all, he fought his path,
Did our fighting Commodore,
Our brave old Commodore,
Our dauntless Commodore,
Who plunder found
The whole world round,
Like a fine old Commodore.
How London's bells rang out,
As through her thronged ways rolled,
Through one long thundering shout,
Spain's galleon's captured gold!
Again his fame they clashed
For treasure won once more;
This time the French he'd thrashed,
Our fighting Commodore,
Our brave old Commodore,
Our dauntless Commodore,
At Spithead, lay
Ten sail that day
Won by our Commodore.
As through her thronged ways rolled,
Through one long thundering shout,
Spain's galleon's captured gold!
Again his fame they clashed
For treasure won once more;
This time the French he'd thrashed,
Our fighting Commodore,
Our brave old Commodore,
Our dauntless Commodore,
At Spithead, lay
Ten sail that day
Won by our Commodore.
37
Cool, steadfast, patient, brave,
How well he played his part!
Where'er he rode the wave,
There sailed an English heart
Kind friend and dreaded foe,
Till fleets we need no more,
May England always show
Such a fine old Commodore,
As our brave old Commodore,
Our conquering Commodore,
Of whom the most
We love to boast
As our fine old Commodore.
How well he played his part!
Where'er he rode the wave,
There sailed an English heart
Kind friend and dreaded foe,
Till fleets we need no more,
May England always show
Such a fine old Commodore,
As our brave old Commodore,
Our conquering Commodore,
Of whom the most
We love to boast
As our fine old Commodore.
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