I have slipped my cable, messmates, I’m drifting down with the tide
I have my sailing orders, while yet an anchor ride
And never on fair June morning have I put out to sea
With clearer conscience or better hope, or a heart more light and free

Shoulder to shoulder, Joe, my boy, into the crowd like a wedge
Strike with the hangers, messmates, but do not cut with the edge
Cries Charnock, “Scattеr the faggots, double that Brahmin in two
The tall palе widow for me, Joe, the little brown girl for you!”

Young Joe (you’re nearing sixty), why is your hide so dark?
Katie has soft fair blue eyes, who blackened yours? — Why, hark!
The morning gun — Ho, steady! the arquebuses to me!, The
I ha’ sounded the Dutch High Admiral’s heart as my lead doth sound the sea

Sounding, sounding the Ganges, floating down with the tide
Moore me close to Charnock, next to my nut-brown bride
My blessing to Kate at Fairlight—Holwell, my thanks to you;
Steady! We steer for heaven, through sand-drifts cold and blue