That pillaged the souls of a hundred men,
Who sunk in a dizzy whirl.
Dip, dip your flag and your milk-white rag,
And lavish your dole and fee,
But turn your prow! Make room! Make room!
For there’s never a truce for me!
I challenge the bar and the stout sea-wall;
I silence the brazen bell;
I muffle the song of the galley-slave
In a maze and a dream of hell.