Stan Rogers

He was the captain of the Nightingale
Twenty-One days from clyde in coal.
He could smell the flowers of Bermuda in the gale,
When he died on the North Rock Shoal.

Just five short hours from Bermuda, in a fine October gale,
There came a cry "O there be breakers dead ahead!"
From the Collier Nightingale.
No sooner had the captain brought her round,
Came a rending crash below.
Hard on her beam ends groaning went the Nightingale,
And overside her mainmast goes.

"O Captain are we all for drowning?"
Came the cry from all the crew. "The boats be smashed,
How are we all then to be saved?
They are stove in through and through."
Oh, are ye brave and hearty collier men?
Or are ye blind and cannot see?
The captain's gig still lies before ye whole and sound.
It shall carry all O' we.

But when the crew was all assembled,
And the gig prepared for sea,
Twas seen there were but eighteen places to be manned,
Nineteen mortal souls were we.
But cries the captain "now do ye not delay,
Nor do ye spare a thought for me,
My duty is to save ye all now if I can,
See ye return quick as can be."

Oh there be flowers in Bermuda. Beauty lies on every hand.
And there be laughter, ease, and drink for every man,
But there is no joy for me.
For when we reached the wretched Nightingale,
Such an awful sight was plain,
The captAin drowned, lay tangled in the mizzen chain,
Smiling bravely beneath the sea.