Page:The year's at the spring.djvu/69

 THE • YEAR'S • AT • THE • SPRING

Where are now the Captains

Who regarded not the tears

Of the captured Christian maidens

Carried, weeping, to Algiers?

Yes, the swarthy Moorish Captains,

Storming wildly 'cross the Bay,

With a dead hidalgo's daughter

As a dower for the Dey?

Oh, those cruel Captains never

Shall sweet lovers more dissever,

On their forays as they roll;

Or the mad Dons curse them vainly,

As their baffled ships, ungainly,

Heel them, jeering, to the Mole.

Where are now the Captains

Of those racing, roaring days,

Who of knowledge and of courage,

Drove the clippers on their ways—

To the furthest ounce of pressure,

To the latest stitch of sail,

'Carried on' before the tempest

Till the waters lapped the rail?

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