 | The poet, the fool and the faeries |  |
247
THE SPANISH MAIN
It's, Ho! for a sail and a good stiff breeze,
And a trail of foam, with the wind abaft!
When we turn our keel to the Caribbees,
And sweep the ocean of every craft,
Each hulk and hull that the Fiend hath sold,
With her Spanish hold crammed full of gold,—
Heave ho! my bullies!
To crowd her sail till she catch our hail,
A ten-pound shot through her quarter-rail—
Heave ho! my bullies! and a heave!
And a trail of foam, with the wind abaft!
When we turn our keel to the Caribbees,
And sweep the ocean of every craft,
Each hulk and hull that the Fiend hath sold,
With her Spanish hold crammed full of gold,—
Heave ho! my bullies!
To crowd her sail till she catch our hail,
A ten-pound shot through her quarter-rail—
Heave ho! my bullies! and a heave!
Tattooed and tanned, the Devil's own crew,
Dutch and Lascar, and French and Greek,
Of every Nation and every hue,
A cutlass scar on the brow or cheek,
And hair in queues of the murder-thumb,—
Made mad with rum for the work to come,—
Heave ho! my bullies!
To stake with a curse our lives for a purse,
And steer for Hell with a roaring verse,—
Heave ho! my bullies! and a heave!
Dutch and Lascar, and French and Greek,
Of every Nation and every hue,
A cutlass scar on the brow or cheek,
And hair in queues of the murder-thumb,—
Made mad with rum for the work to come,—
Heave ho! my bullies!
To stake with a curse our lives for a purse,
And steer for Hell with a roaring verse,—
Heave ho! my bullies! and a heave!
The sun goes down like a blot of blood
As our boats swarm up to her towering hull,
And her galleon decks with the battle thud,—
Yo ho! for the banner of bones and skull!
And the buccaneer crew that will have its fill:—
And it's “Cut and kill!” till the ship is still,—
Heave ho! my bullies!
Till pistol and dirk have done their pirate work,
And the last man yields as the night falls murk,—
Heave ho! my bullies! and a heave!
As our boats swarm up to her towering hull,
And her galleon decks with the battle thud,—
248
And the buccaneer crew that will have its fill:—
And it's “Cut and kill!” till the ship is still,—
Heave ho! my bullies!
Till pistol and dirk have done their pirate work,
And the last man yields as the night falls murk,—
Heave ho! my bullies! and a heave!
The moon comes up like a broad doubloon
As the last tar totters along the plank:
The women—ho! ho!—by the light of the moon
We dice for them while their eyes stare blank,
And they pray to God who heeds them not,
While we share each lot o' the loot we got,—
Heave ho! my bullies!
Then a torch to the hull as away we pull,
And a prayer that the Devil be bountiful,—
Heave ho! my bullies! and a heave!
As the last tar totters along the plank:
The women—ho! ho!—by the light of the moon
We dice for them while their eyes stare blank,
And they pray to God who heeds them not,
While we share each lot o' the loot we got,—
Heave ho! my bullies!
Then a torch to the hull as away we pull,
And a prayer that the Devil be bountiful,—
Heave ho! my bullies! and a heave!
| The poet, the fool and the faeries | |