I
We are far from sight of the harbour lights,
Of the sea-ports whence we came,
But the old sea calls and the cold wind bites,
And our hearts are turned to flame.
And merry and rich is the goodly gear
We’ll win upon the tossing sea,
A silken gown for my dainty dear,
And a gold doubloon for me.
It’s the old old road and the old old quest
Of the cut-throat sons of Cain,
South by west and a quarter west,
And hey for the Spanish Main.