I took you from a Spanish captain,
Back in seventeen-oh-two,
I knew it was your maiden voyage:
Your sails were still brand new.
You handled like an Irish racehorse,
Headstrong but steady and true,
And with the slightest breezes
There was nothing I couldn’t ask of you.
You managed fourteen cannon
Without giving up a knot
And in every fight but the last one
You gave better than you got.
It was my mistake to fight a carrack
With a twenty-four gun array
And now you lie forever
‘Neath the blue of Santiago Bay.
It’s been years since first I boarded you,
Now your sailing days are through,
Your guns have all gone silent:
I finally asked too much of you.
Stephen Sanders
©2008