Harkee, Boys! I'll tell you of the torrid, Spanish Main, Where the tarpons leap and tumble in the silvery ocean plain, Where the wheeling condors circle; where the long-nosed ant-bears sniff At the food the Jackie "caches" in the Aztec warrior's cliff. _Oh! Hurray for the deck of a galleon stout,_ _Hurray for the life on the sea,_ _Hurray! for the cutlass; the dirk; an' th' pike;_ _Wild rovers we will be._ Harkee, Boys! I'll tell you of the men of Morgan's band, Of Drake and England--rascals--in the palm-tree, tropic land. I'll tell you of bold Hawkins, how he sailed around the Horn. And the Manatees went _chuck! chuck! chuck!_ in the sun-baked, lazy morn. _Oh! Hurray for the deck of a galleon stout,_ _Hurray for the life on the sea,_ _Hurray! for the cutlass; the dirk; an' th' pike;_ _Wild rovers we will be._ Harkee, Boys! You're English, and you come of roving blood, Now, when you're three years older, you must don a sea-man's hood, You must turn your good ship westward,--you must plough towards the land Where the mule-train bells go _tink! tink! tink!_ and the bending cocoas stand. _Oh! You will be off on a galleon stout,_ _Oh! You will be men of the sea,_ _Hurray! for the cutlass; the dirk; an' th' pike;_ _Wild rovers you will be._ SIR FRANCIS DRAKE ROVER AND SEA RANGER (1540-1596) "The man who frets at worldly strife Grows sallow, sour, and thin; Give us the lad whose happy life Is one perpetual grin: He, Midas-like, turns all to gold,-- He smiles, when others sigh, Enjoys alike the hot and cold, And laughs through wet and dry." --DRAKE. SIR FRANCIS DRAKE ROVER AND SEA RANGER (1540-1596) Sing a song of stout dubloons, Of gold and jingling brass, A song of Spanish galleons, Foul-bottomed as they pass. Of roaring blades and stumbling mules, Of casks of malmsey wine, Of red, rip-roaring ruffians, In a thin, meandering line. _They're with Drake, Drake, Drake,_ _He can make the sword hilt's shake,_ _He's a rattling, battling Captain of the Main._ _You can see the Spaniards shiver,_ _As he nears their shelt'ring river,_ _While his eyelids never quiver_ _At the slain._ So,-- Here's to Drake, Drake, Drake, Come--make the welkin shake, And raise your frothing glasses up on high. If you love a man and devil, Who can treat you on the level, Then, clink your goblet's bevel, To Captain Drake. "Take care, boy, you will fall overboard. Take care and do not play with your brother near the edge of our good ship, for the water here is deep, and I know that you can swim but ill."