To the mast nail our
flag it is dark as the grave,
Or the death which it bears
while it sweeps o'er the wave;
Let our deck clear for action,
our guns be prepared;
Be the boarding-axe sharpened,
the scimetar bared:
Set the canisters ready,
and then bring to me,
For the last of my duties,
the powder-room key.
It shall never be lowered,
the black flag we bear;
If the sea be denied us,
we sweep through the air.
Unshared have we left our
last victory's prey;
It is mine to divide it,
and yours to obey:
There are shawls that might
suit a sultana's white neck,
And pearls that are fair
as the arms they will deck;
There are flasks which,
unseal them, the air will disclose
Diametta's fair summers,
the home of the rose.
I claim not a portion: I
ask but as mines
'Tis to drink to our victory
one cup of red wine.
Some fight, 'tie for riches
some fight, 'tie for fame:
The first I despise, and
the last is a name.
I fight, 'tie for vengeance!
I love to see flow,
At the stroke of my sabre,
the life of my foe.
I strike for the memory
of long-vanished prearm;
I only shed blood where
another shed tears.
I come, as the lightning
comes red from above,
O'er the race that I loathe,
to the battle I love.
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