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.