Not often enough,
Does the American think of that beautiful Town:
The Carolinian Port of Bath;
That is seated by the Eastern Sea;
For, if a Man, in thought, goes up and down,
The pleasant streets of that dear, old Town,
He might remember the Glamor,
And the Terror, of Blackbeard's Piracy.
And, a Verse of a Scottish song
Does haunt the Cape Fear Bay, still:
"And Virginia gave, to Teach, the Death-shot,
And, straight to the bottom, went She."
One can, still today see,
The twisted trunks of Maritime trees,
And catch, in sudden Sun-beams,
The glossy sheen, of the far-stretched Seven Seas,
And Coastal Isles that, then,
Hid the Wild refuge of the fearsome,
Captain, Edward Teach.
Modern Man can but imagine the Black Whales,
And the great Wellerman-Ships,
And the Dark-Tides tossing, Free;
And Martial Sailor-Men, with bearded lips,
And the beauty, and mystery, of those Ships,
And the Magic, of the Sea.
Modern Men, may only Dream up,
those Lawless Taverns by the shore,
And Governor Howe's stout Prison,
Upon the inland Hill;
The Seaward artillery, Mouth hollow and sheer,
With a mighty, Deathly roar,
The drum-beat that was repeated,
Over, and over, and over,
And the Privateer's bright Bugle, Wild and shrill.