By the stormy Cape now flying, with a full and flowing sail; See! the daylight ’round us dying on the black breast of the gale; See! the lightning flash above us, and the dark surge roll below; Here’s a health to those who love us, here’s defiance to the foe.
Now the wide Atlantic cleaving, with our good ship speeding free, The dull “Cape of storms” we’re leaving far to eastward on our lee; And as homeward through the waters on the old Catalpa goes, Ho! you fellows on the masthead, let us hear once more, “He blows!”
Rolling home, etc., etc.
Next by lonely St. Helena, with a steady wind we glide, By the rock-built, sea-girt prison where the gallant Frenchman died; With the flying-fish and porpoise sporting round us in the wave, With the stars and stripes of freedom floating o’er us bright and brave.
Rolling home, etc., etc.
Past “the Line!” and now the Dipper[8] hangs glittering in the sky, Onward still! in the blue water see the Gulf-weed[9] passing by. Homeward! homeward to Columbia! blow you steady breezes, blow; Till we hear it from the masthead, the joyful cry, “Land, ho!”
Rolling home, etc., etc.