Dagger and cutlass, stained to the hilt,
Lying so still—Death for your bride—
In your splendid courage and guilt.
You have fought the fight, you have paid the vow,
Sleep an ye can, then, under the years;
We drain one beaker unto you now:
I give you: The Buccaneers!
“Who hath not cried ‘Thalassa’ in his soul?”