The English Sea Captain's Song

Now the sea-raven mute 
On the water is lying; 
Now the night-wind's last sob 
On the billow is dying; 
And the full moon is up, 
Whom no dark clouds encumber, 
While the numberless stars 
Lie around her in slumber. 
All beneath us is bright — 
All above us is glowing — 
And the night's in her prime, 
And the tide in the flowing. 
Lo! a land-breeze awakens, 
And shakes mast and pennon; 
Loud the mariner shouts, 
With his hand on the cannon: 
'Up halsers! with foam,
See the ocean is hoary!' 
And away shoots my ship
In her pride and her glory! 

How we love the black storm! 
How we tread on the billows! 
How our strong timbers quake,
And our masts bend like willows! 
See, the moon hides her head,
And the waves rise in mountains; 
clouds spout liquid fire, 
Heaven opes all her fountains:
Yet our ship rides as safely
As when, in dews nourished,
An oak, 'mid the forests 
Of Chatsworth, she flourished! 
See! see! how the flame-crested 
Billows she's cleaving! — 
See! see! in the race how
Old England she's leaving! 
She was wood when she grew 
In the depth of the forest: 
Now a sea-queen she smiles 
When the tempest is sorest! 

How she smiles 'mid the tempest,
And longs for the rattle 
Of gun and of musket 
To burst into battle! 
At the thrust of her pike, 
At the glance of her pennon, 
At a move of her helm, 
At the flash of her cannon, — 
The Eagle of Russia 
Plies landward her pinion, 
Nor dares on the ocean 
To found her dominion; 
The Lilies of Bourbon 
Seem wither'd and dying, 
Like weeds in the sun, 
Where her banner is flying. 
Blake, Raleigh, Monk, Nelson, 
Reign kings in sea-story; 
And Britain breeds none 
Will diminish their glory.