The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. | III. THE BLACK FLAG
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| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
66
III. THE BLACK FLAG
Would you know the life that is fair and free?
Climb the downs, and gaze o'er the open sea.
See you the schooner at anchor there,
And the black flag, strange in the sunny air?
That is the bark of the pirate king,
And this is the song the pirates sing:
“We scuttle a galleon every day,
And the blue sea washes the stains away;
Can drowned men rise from sleep?”
Climb the downs, and gaze o'er the open sea.
See you the schooner at anchor there,
And the black flag, strange in the sunny air?
That is the bark of the pirate king,
And this is the song the pirates sing:
“We scuttle a galleon every day,
And the blue sea washes the stains away;
Can drowned men rise from sleep?”
Yesterday morning, rank on rank
They stood, while a doomed man walked the plank.
Soon only a bubble marked the spot,
But the light-heart pirates heeded not;
They danced on deck, and they laughed and sang
Till the ship's old timbers echoed and rang—
“Though the deck run red with the signs of the fray,
The sea can wash all stains away,
And we are the lords of the deep.
They stood, while a doomed man walked the plank.
Soon only a bubble marked the spot,
But the light-heart pirates heeded not;
They danced on deck, and they laughed and sang
Till the ship's old timbers echoed and rang—
67
The sea can wash all stains away,
And we are the lords of the deep.
“Men think they love, on the dull stale shore;
We love, where the billows plunge and roar.
We take our pick of the captured girls;
Some like black tresses, some love gold curls;
We take our pick, and the rest we drown,
And they tumble after their sweethearts down
To the blue clear depths of the Indian bay,
And the tide will carry them right away
While their sisters wail and weep.
We love, where the billows plunge and roar.
We take our pick of the captured girls;
Some like black tresses, some love gold curls;
We take our pick, and the rest we drown,
And they tumble after their sweethearts down
To the blue clear depths of the Indian bay,
And the tide will carry them right away
While their sisters wail and weep.
“Then under the trees, if ever we land,
Close to the waves on the golden sand,
We spread for ourselves a royal feast;
The wine shall flow for a night at least!
And there by the firelight on the shore
Our jolly old chorus loud we roar,
‘Will the waves betray us? Nay, nay, nay!
For the sea can wash all stains away,
Though the prisoners die in a heap.’
Close to the waves on the golden sand,
We spread for ourselves a royal feast;
The wine shall flow for a night at least!
And there by the firelight on the shore
Our jolly old chorus loud we roar,
‘Will the waves betray us? Nay, nay, nay!
For the sea can wash all stains away,
Though the prisoners die in a heap.’
68
“One of the captured girls we crown—
The one with the eyes of lovely brown.
She sorrowed at first. She is reconciled,
And there isn't a pirate heart more wild.
Bride she shall be of the pirate king,
And her bright red laughing lips shall sing
‘When the sea-king speaks the waves obey,
And they wash the blood of his foes away,
And their bones the green depths keep.’”
The one with the eyes of lovely brown.
She sorrowed at first. She is reconciled,
And there isn't a pirate heart more wild.
Bride she shall be of the pirate king,
And her bright red laughing lips shall sing
‘When the sea-king speaks the waves obey,
And they wash the blood of his foes away,
And their bones the green depths keep.’”
That is the life that is fair and free—
So the pirates think—on the fair blue sea.
But if ever a king's ship spies them out
They must sharpen their cutlas-blades, no doubt,
For the king's stout sailors will harry them then
And their one last chance is to die like men,
Die in a frenzy, fierce and gay,
And the sea will wash their blood away,
And the waves will over them leap.
So the pirates think—on the fair blue sea.
But if ever a king's ship spies them out
They must sharpen their cutlas-blades, no doubt,
For the king's stout sailors will harry them then
And their one last chance is to die like men,
Die in a frenzy, fierce and gay,
And the sea will wash their blood away,
And the waves will over them leap.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |