The winds were yelling, the waves were swelling, 
The sky was black and drear, 
When the crew with eyes of flame brought the ship without a name 
Alongside the last Buccaneer. 

"Whence flies your sloop full sail before so fierce a gale, 
When all others drive bare on the seas? 
Say, come ye from the shore of the holy Salvador, 
Or the gulf of the rich Caribbees?" 

"From a shore no search hath found, from a gulf no line can sound, 
Without rudder or needle we steer; 
Above, below, our bark, dies the sea-fowl and the shark, 
As we fly by the last Buccaneer. 

"To-night there shall be heard on the rocks of Cape de Verde, 
A loud crash, and a louder roar; 
And to-morrow shall the deep, with a heavy moaning, sweep 
The corpses and wreck to the shore." 

The stately ship of Clyde securely now may ride, 
In the breath of the citron shades; 
And Severn's towering mast securely now flies fast, 
Through the sea of the balmy Trades. 

From St Jago's wealthy port, from Havannah's royal fort, 
The seaman goes forth without fear; 
For since that stormy night not a mortal hath had sight 
Of the flag of the last Buccaneer.