[From Manxiana, 1870]


We are clear from the shore, boys, clear, clear away;
Pull, hearties, were off from our own Ramsey Bay.
The night it is dark, the sea is a storm ;
The fairer for us the rougher the storm.
No cruiser will dare to follow our wake,
If, daring, they did so, they'd ne er overtake,
For Neptune would drown them for daring to do
What none e'er attempt but Thurot's bold crew.

Up, up with the sail to steady her now;
Steady she is from stern board to bow.
Dash, crash through the waves, on, onward she sails;
The water she ships herself she outbales.
On, on through the darkness to Anglesea, where
Our cargo will bring us the gold that we share.
So steady, boys steady, have a care to her helm,
Else these Snaefell-like seas our boat'l o'erwhelm.

Dash, crash through the waves, no danger we fear;
Our craft is a life-boat — soon, soon we'll near
The sands where we beach her — aye, run her ashore,
And land all our goods as we ve laud them before.
Our friends all await us, the signal is made;
All clear now, my hearties, the venture has paid.
Well freighted return we, 'midst brightest shine,
Thurot's our captain, our cargo Rhine wine.

We'll break just a bottle to welcome Its Lome,
And drink to all smugglers wherever they roam.
Our life has its perils, what life has them not?
In the arms of our loved ones they're all soon forgot.
If you ask the King's navy who makes their best men,
Her battles to fight, or Trafalgars to win,
They'll tell you the smugglers are seamen the first;
We're born on old ocean — on the ocean we're nurs'd.


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