With clear tide under her keel,—
For he knew the shoals like an open book,
The captain at the wheel.
She passed the bar, she sped like a ghost,
Till her sails were hid from view
By the tall, liana’d, unsunned boughs
O’erbrooding the dark bayou.
At moonrise up to the river-mouth
Came the King’s black ship of war.
The red cross flapped in wrath at her peak,