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Rh You 'll find the missing galleon;

You 'll find the San Gregorio, yet

Riding the seas, with sails all set,

Fresh as upon the very day

She sailed from Acapulco Bay.

How did she get there? What strange spell

Kept her two hundred years so well,

Free from decay and mortal taint?

What—but the prayers of a patron saint!

A hundred leagues from Manila town,

The San Gregorio's helm came down;

Round she went on her heel, and not

A cable's length from a galliot

That rocked on the waters, just abreast

Of the galleon's course, which was west-sou-west.

Then said the galleon's Commandante,

General Pedro Sobriente,

(That was his rank on land and main,

A regular custom of Old Spain:)

My pilot is dead of scurvy; may