Page:Landon in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book 1832.pdf/19



prize is won, our chase is o’er, Turn the vessel to the shore. Place yon rock, so that the wind, Like a prisoner, howl behind; Which is darkest—wave, or cloud? One a grave, and one a shroud. Though the thunder rend the sky, Though the echoing wind reply, Though the lightning sweep the seas, We are used to nights like these; Let it foam, the angry main— Washing out the blood-red stain, Which the evening conflict threw O’er the waters bright and blue. Though above the thunder break, 'Twill but drown our victims’ shriek; And the lightning’s serpent coil, Will but glimmer o’er our spoil: Maidens, in whose orient eyes, More than morning’s sunshine lies— Honour to the wind and waves, While they yield us such sweet slaves— Shawls the richest of Cashmere, Pearls from Oman’s bay are here; And Golconda’s royal mine Sends her diamonds here to shine; Let the stars at midnight glow, We have brighter stars below; Leave the planet of the pole Just to guide us to our goal, We’d not change for heaven's own stars, Yon glad heap of red dinars; *