Oh! Hurray for the deck of a galleon stout,
Hurray for the life on the sea,
Hurray! for the cutlass; the dirk; an’ th’ pike;
Wild rovers we will be.
Harkee, Boys! You’re English, and you come of roving blood,
Now, when you’re three years older, you must don a sea-man’s hood,
You must turn your good ship westward,—you must plough towards the land
Where the mule-train bells go tink! tink! tink! and the bending cocoas stand.
Oh! You will be off on a galleon stout,
Oh! You will be men of the sea,
Hurray! for the cutlass; the dirk; an’ th’ pike;
Wild rovers you will be.
SIR FRANCIS DRAKE
ROVER AND SEA RANGER
(1540-1596)
“The man who frets at worldly strife
Grows sallow, sour, and thin;
Give us the lad whose happy life
Is one perpetual grin:
He, Midas-like, turns all to gold,—
He smiles, when others sigh,
Enjoys alike the hot and cold,
And laughs through wet and dry.”
—Drake.