The winds were yelling, the waves were swelling, The sky was black and drear,When the crew with eyes of flame brought the ship without a name Alongside the last Buccaneer.
"Whence flies your sloop full sail before so fierce a gale, When all others drive bare on the seas?Say, come ye from the shore of the holy Salvador, Or the gulf of the rich Caribbees?"
"From a shore no search hath found, from a gulf no line can sound, Without rudder or needle we steer;Above, below, our bark, dies the sea fowl and the shark, As we fly by the last Buccaneer.
"To-night there shall be heard on the rocks of Cape de Verde A loud crash, and a louder roar;And to-morrow shall the deep, with a heavy moaning, sweep The corpses and wreck to the shore."
The stately ship of Clyde securely now may ride In the breath of the citron shades;And Severn's towering mast securely now flies fast, Through the sea of the balmy Trades.
From St. Jago's wealthy port, from Havannah's royal fort, The seaman goes forth without fear;For since that stormy night not a mortal hath had sight Of the flag of the last Buccaneer.
