“O’er the glad waters of the dark-blue sea
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam
Survey our empire, and behold our home!
These are our realms, no limits to their sway
Our flag the scepter all who meet obey (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!
Nor trace, nor tidings of his doom declare
Where lives his grief, or perish’d his despair!
Long mourn’d his band whom none could mourn beside
And fair the monument they gave his bride
For him they raise not the recording stone
His death yet dubious, deeds too widely known (too widely known)
For him, they raise not, the recording stone
He left a corsair’s name to other times
Link’d with one virtue, and a thousand
Crimes
Crimes