Who but the closer to him clung,
As darker rolled life's heaving tide.

But though an Angel shar'd the place,
There were for him no joys at home;
He left his mother and his wife,
Reckless o'er earth or sea to roar.

He stood upon a sanded deck,
With blood-red pennon floating free,
And with a daring bloody band,
Rode madly o'er the foaming sea.

The waves that lashed the coal-black hull
Were parted oft their dead to hide;
For ocean's surging, billowy foam,
Drank deeply of life's crimson tide.

He tossed a pointed dagger high,
And wore a sabre by his side;
And many a gen'rous noble one,
Beneath his powerful arm had died.

For bloody deeds of daring high,
He had won a deathless fame;
And o'er that reckless, bloody crew,
Had gained a pirate-captain's name.

And though their coffers teem'd with gold,
Their sordid souls still sighed for more: