Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1832/Tiger Island
18
TIGER ISLAND.
|
THE PIRATE'S SONG OFF THE TIGER ISLAND
Our 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; *[1]
See the crimson silks unfold,
And the slender chains of gold,
Like the glittering curls descending,
When the bright one’s head is bending;
And the radiant locks fall over,
Or her mirror or her lover,
On which face she likes to dwell,
’Twere a prophet’s task to tell;
All those crystal flasks enclose
Sighs of the imprisoned rose;
And those porcelain urns are filled
By sweet Indian wood distilled;
And behold those fragrant piles,
Spice from the Manilla isles,
Nutmegs, cloves, and cinnamon—
But our glorious task is done.
Little dreamed the merchant’s care
Who his precious freight should share—
Fill the wine-cup to the brim,
Our first health shall be to him.
- ↑ * An Indian coin