‘COME ON, COME UP, YE ROVERS’

Come on, come up, ye rovers Whose ships at anchor ride, The west wind stirs the clovers, And O! the world is wide: So, up with your chains as the sun goes down And out upon the tide! There drives on the Atlantic The torn scud of the rain, And lines of foam leap frantic Against the coast of Spain, Where the air is full of the souls of men Who sailed the Spanish Main. Where Rocca’s light is burning On plunging miles of sea, Eastward and eastward turning, By Crete and Tripoli, There is a spirit abroad in the wind That cries aloud to me. The coast drops low behind you, The gull swoops round the spars; Shall small men’s limits bind you Whose milestones are the stars? Whose signposts stand where Orion swings Above earth’s locks and bars? Come up, ye sons of morning, This world was built for you! Far off, Heaven’s light’s adorning The lands where dreams come true; And the Angel that sits at the Gates of the East Shall open and let you through.