The dawn is overdue,
And we meet at the wharf in the whistling cold
Where the galley waits her crew.
Out with the torches, they have flared too long,
And bid the harpers go.
Wind and warfare have but one song—
“Woe to the weaker—woe!”
Hail to the great oars gathering way,
As the beach begins to slide!
Hail to the war-shields’ click and play