“Fine!” said Woodes Rogers, chuckling.
And that is the way the old sea-barnacle spent his declining years, dying at the tropic isle on July 16th, 1732. Hail to this Prince of Privateers!
TWILIGHT AT SEA
The twilight hours like birds flew by,
As lightly and as free;
Ten thousand stars were in the sky,
Ten thousand on the sea;
For every wave with dimpled face,
That leaped up in the air,
Had caught a star in its embrace,
And held it trembling there.
[!-- unnumbered title page --]