I’ve aboard a hundred messmates
Better than these ’long-shore knaves. 
There is wreckage on the shallows;
It’s the open sea that saves.

Hark, lad, dost not hear it calling? 
That’s the voice thy father knew,
When he took the King’s good cutlass
In his grip, and fought it through.

Who would palter at press-money
When he heard that sea-cry vast? 
That’s the call makes lords of lubbers,
When they ship before the mast.

Let thy cronies of the tavern
Keep their kisses bought with gold;
On the high seas there are regions
Where the heart is never old,

Where the great winds every morning
Sweep the sea-floor clean and white,
And upon the steel-blue arches
Burnish the great stars of night;

There the open hand will lose not,
Nor the loosened tongue betray. 
Signed, and with our sailing orders,
We will clear before the day;

On the shining yards of heaven
See a wider dawn unfurled.... 
The eternal slaves of beauty
Are the masters of the world.

THE BUCCANEERS.

Oh, not for us the easy mirth
Of men that never roam! 
The crackling of the narrow hearth,
The cabined joys of home! 
Keep your tame, regulated glee,
O pale protected State! 
Our dwelling-place is on the sea,
Our joy the joy of Fate!

No long caresses give us ease,
No lazy languors warm,
We seize our mates as the sea-gulls seize,
And leave them to the storm. 
But in the bridal halls of gloom
The couch is stern and strait;
For us the marriage rite of Doom,
The nuptial joy of Fate.

Wine for the weaklings of the town,
Their lucky toasts to drain! 
Our skoal for them whose star goes down,
Our drink the drink of men! 
No Bacchic ivy for our brows! 
Like vikings, we await
The grim, ungarlanded carouse
We keep to-night with Fate.

Ho, gamesters of the pampered court! 
What stakes are those at strife? 
Your thousands are but paltry sport
To them that play for life. 
You risk doubloons, and hold your breath. 
Win groats, and wax elate;
But we throw loaded dice with Death,
And call the turn on Fate.

The kings of earth are crowned with care,
Their poets wail and sigh;
Our music is to do and dare,
Our empire is to die. 
Against the storm we fling our glee
And shout, till Time abate
The exultation of the sea,
The fearful joy of Fate.

THE WAR-SONG OF GAMELBAR.

Bowmen, shout for Gamelbar! 
Winds, unthrottle the wolves of war! 
Heave a breath
And dare a death
For the doom of Gamelbar! 
Wealth for Gamel,
Wine for Gamel,
Crimson wine for Gamelbar!