One very rough day on the Pride of the Fray <br />In the scuppers a poor little cabin-boy lay, <br />When the Bosun drew nigh with wrath in his eye <br />And gave him a kick to remember him by, <br />As he cried with a sneer: “What good are you here? <br />Go home to your mammy, my bold buccaneer.” <br /> <br />Now the Captain beheld, and his pity upwelled: <br />With a plug in the peeper the Bosun he felled. <br />With humility grand he extended his hand <br />And helped the poor lad, who was weeping, to stand, <br />As he cried: “Have no fear; I'm the manager here. <br />Take heart, and you'll yet be a bold buccaneer.” <br /> <br />But how he did flare when the lad then and there <br />Doffed his cap and shook down a gold banner of hair. <br />Though his movements were shy, he'd a laugh in his eye, <br />And he sank on the Captain's broad breast with a sigh, <br />As he cried: “Is it queer that I've followed you here? <br />I'm your sweetheart from Bristol, my bold buccaneer.” <br /> <br />On an isle in the west, by the breezes caressed, <br />The bold buccaneer has a warm little nest, <br />And he sits there in state amid pieces of eight <br />And tackles his rum with a manner elate, <br />As he cries: “O my dear little cabin-boy, here <br />Is a toast to the babe of the bold buccaneer!”<br /><br />John Le Gay Brereton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-bold-buccaneer/
