Strike Sail

A Turkish bark was on the sea, the sunny sea of Spain,
In sight of cliffs that Hercules made boundaries of the main;
And one, Celimo's captive slave, as fierce the billows grew,
Was listening as the ship-master this order gave the crew:
"Strike sail! Strike sail! The furious gale
Is rising fast! Strike sail!"

Fierce fell on them the opposing winds, the ship was helpless driven;
And with the ocean's flood were blent the thunder-drops of heaven.
And as the inky clouds were rent, the fiery lightning flared,
And 'mid the terror-stricken crew one voice alone was heard:
"Strike sail! Strike sail! The furious gale
Is rising fast! Strike sail!"

And one there sat upon the deck, in captive misery,
Whose tears ran mingling with the flood, the flood of sky and sea.
Lost in the tempest of his thoughts, he fondly breathed a prayer,
Whose mournful words were echoed by the mount of his despair:
"Strike sail! Strike sail! The furious gale
Is rising fast! Strike sail!"

"If I am captive and a slave, the time shall come when God
Will bring me freed, to tread once more my own, my native sod!
Then all my ancient glory shall return to me for aye.
Till then, my soul, be patient and wait that happy day!"
"Strike sail! Strike sail! The furious gale
Is rising fast! Strike sail!"