Classic Poem

Out in the south, when the day is done,
— And the gathered winds go free,
Where golden-sanded rivers run,
Fair islands fade in the setting sun,
And the great ships stagger, one by one,
— Up from the windy sea.

Out in the south, where a twilight shroud
— Hangs o'er the ocean's rim,
Sail on sail, like a floating cloud,
Galleon, brigantine, cannon-browed,
Rich from the Indies, homeward crowd,
— Singing a Spanish hymn.

Out in the south, when the sun has set
— And the lightning flickers pale,
The cannon bellow their steady threat,
The ships grind, all in a crimson sweat,
And hoarse throats call, " Have ye stricken yet? "
— Across the quarter-rail.

Out in the south, in the dead of night,
— When I hear the thunder speak,
'Tis the Englishmen in their pride and might
Mad with glory and blind with fight,
Locked with the Spaniards, left and right,
— Fighting them cheek to cheek.

Out in the south, when the dawn's pale light
— Walks cold on the beaten shore,
And the mists of night, like clouds of fight,
Silvery violet, blinding bright,
Drift in glory from height to height
— Where the white-tailed eagles soar;

There comes a song through the salt and spray,
— Blood-kin to the ocean's roar,
" All day long down Florez way
Richard Grenville stands at bay.
Come and take him if ye may! "
— Then hush, forevermore.