The breeze fair aft, all sails on high, Ten guns on each side mounted seen, She does not cut the sea, but fly, A swiftly sailing brigantine; A pirate bark, the “Dreaded” named, For her surpassing boldness famed, On every sea well-known and shore, From side to side their boundaries o'er. The moon in streaks the waves illumes. Hoarse groans the wind the rigging through; In gentle motion raised assumes. The sea a silvery shade with blue; Whilst singing gaily on the poop. The pirate Captain, in a group, sees Europe here, there Asia lies, and Stamboul in the front arise.