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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=355129" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Last Buccaneer</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">OH, England is a pleasant place for them that ’s rich and high; <br>But England is a cruel place for such poor folks as I; <br>And such a port for mariners I ne’er shall see again, <br>As the pleasant Isle of Avès, beside the Spanish main. <br> <br>There were forty craft in Avès that were both swift and stout, <br>All furnish’d well with small arms and cannons round about; <br>And a thousand men in Avès made laws so fair and free <br>To choose their valiant captains and obey them loyally. <br> <br>Thence we sail’d against the Spaniard with his hoards of plate and gold, <br>Which he wrung by cruel tortures from the Indian folk of old;<br>Likewise the merchant captains, with hearts as hard as stone, <br>Which flog men and keelhaul them and starve them to the bone. <br> <br>Oh, the palms grew high in Avès and fruits that shone like gold, <br>And the colibris and parrots they were gorgeous to behold; <br>And the negro maids to Avès from bondage fast did flee, <br>To welcome gallant sailors a sweeping in from sea. <br> <br>Oh, sweet it was in Avès to hear the landward breeze <br>A-swing with good tobacco in a net between the trees, <br>With a negro lass to fan you while you listen’d to the roar <br>Of the breakers on the reef outside that never touched the shore.<br> <br>But Scripture saith, an ending to all fine things must be, <br>So the King’s ships sail’d on Avès and quite put down were we. <br>All day we fought like bulldogs, but they burst the booms at night; <br>And I fled in a piragua sore wounded from the fight. <br> <br>Nine days I floated starving, and a negro lass beside, <br>Till for all I tried to cheer her, the poor young thing she died; <br>But as I lay a gasping a Bristol sail came by, <br>And brought me home to England here to beg until I die. <br>And now I ’m old and going I ’m sure I can’t tell where; <br>One comfort is, this world’s so hard I can’t be worse off there:<br>If I might but be a sea-dove I ’d fly across the main, <br>To the pleasant Isle of Avès, to look at it once again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Charles+Kingsley">Charles Kingsley</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=355129" data-title="The Last Buccaneer de Charles Kingsley" data-description="OH, England is a pleasant place for them that ’s rich and high; 
But England is a cruel place for such poor folks as I; 
And such a port for mariners I ne’er shall see again, 
As the pleasant Isle of Avès, beside the Spanish main. 
 
There we..."></div>
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