10 NOVEMBER 1883, Page 15


Our bark is on the rolling sea, Our prize is on the shore,

In caverns dark the treasures be, Wrung from the deep before : The keen keel lave, Propitious wave, And yield thy choicest store.

The merchants' argosies may groan With weight of golden grain, They toil and spoil for us alone, That rule the generous main : Who rob the poor, Their rede is sure ; We only rob again.

The pirate's is the higher law, And his the higher power ; The booty of the land-shark's maw

Is forfeit in an hour :

The landsman's greed May sow the seed, The seamew plucks the flower.