The Last Buccaneer

    THE winds were yelling, the waves were swelling,
    The sky was black and drear,
    When the crew with eyes of flame brought the ship without a name
    Alongside the last Buccaneer.

    "Whence flies your sloop full sail before so fierce a gale,
    When all others drive bare on the seas?
    Say, come ye from the shore of the holy Salvador,
    Or the gulf of the rich Caribbees?"

    "From a shore no search hath found, from a gulf no line can sound,
    Without rudder or needle we steer;
    Above, below, our bark, dies the sea-fowl and the shark,
    As we fly by the last Buccaneer.

    "To-night there shall be heard on the rocks of Cape de Verde,
    A loud crash, and a louder roar;
    And to-morrow shall the deep, with a heavy moaning, sweep
    The corpses and wreck to the shore."

    The stately ship of Clyde securely now may ride,
    In the breath of the citron shades;
    And Severn's towering mast securely now flies fast,
    Through the sea of the balmy Trades.

    From St Jago's wealthy port, from Havannah's royal fort,
    The seaman goes forth without fear;
    For since that stormy night not a mortal hath had sight
    Of the flag of the last Buccaneer.

Thomas Babbington Macaulay