Songs from Vagabondia/A Captain of the Press-Gang
A CAPTAIN OF THE PRESS-GANG.
Shipmate, leave the ghostly shadows,Where thy boon companions throng!We will put to sea togetherThrough the twilight with a song.
Leering closer, rank and girding,In this Black Port where we bide,Reel a thousand flaring faces;But escape is on the tide.
Let the tap-rooms of the cityReek till the red dawn comes round.There is better wine in plentyOn the cruise where we are bound.
I’ve aboard a hundred messmatesBetter than these ’long-shore knaves.There is wreckage on the shallows;It’s the open sea that saves.
Hark, lad, dost not hear it calling?That’s the voice thy father knew,When he took the King’s good cutlassIn his grip, and fought it through.
Who would palter at press-moneyWhen he heard that sea-cry vast?That’s the call makes lords of lubbers,When they ship before the mast.
Let thy cronies of the tavernKeep their kisses bought with gold;On the high seas there are regionsWhere the heart is never old,
Where the great winds every morningSweep the sea-floor clean and white,And upon the steel-blue archesBurnish the great stars of night;
There the open hand will lose not,Nor the loosened tongue betray.Signed, and with our sailing orders,We will clear before the day;
On the shining yards of heavenSee a wider dawn unfurled. . . .The eternal slaves of beautyAre the masters of the world.