POETRY. 



THE CORSAIR, BY LORD BYRON. 



The Pirate's Soiig. 



" ^^'^^ ^^^ »^^^ waters of the dark blue sea, 



^-^ «« Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, 

 *' Far as the breeze can bear, tiie billows foam, 

 " Survey our empire and behold our home ! 

 " These are cur realms, no limits to their sway — 

 " Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey. 

 " Ours the wild life in tumult still to range 

 •' From toil to rest, and joy in every change. 

 " Oh, who can tell ? not thou, luxurious slave ! 

 " Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave ; 

 " Not thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease 1 

 " Whom slumber soothes not — pleasure cannot please — 

 " Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried, 

 " And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide, 

 " The exulting sense — the pulse's maddening play, 

 «' That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way i 

 " That for itself can woo the approaching fight, 

 " And turn what some deem danger to delight; 

 " That seeks what cravens shun with more than zeal, 

 " And where the feebler faint — can only feel — 

 ** Feel — to the rising bosom's inmost core, 

 " Its hope awaken and its spirit soar ? 

 " No dread of death — if with us die our foes — 

 *' Save that it seems even duller than repose : 

 " Come when it will — we snatch the life of life — 

 *« When lost — what recks it — by disease or strife ? 

 *' Let him who crawls enamour'd of decay, 

 " Cling to his couch, and sicken years away ; 

 " Heave his thick breath ; and shake his palsied head ; 

 " Ours — the fresh turf, and not the feverish bed. 



