The western counties point to the sea
I stand unsteady on the shore
The ebbing tide drags my steps from under me
Now it will carry me once more
To trace a circle round the oceans of the earth
I'll place a band of Spanish gold
On this cold finger of the land of my birth
They would steal to have and hold
Out of the night I'll send them fear and flame
In oaken ships of fiery death
Their straying children they'll gather at my name
And learn to fear a dragon's breath
From these red cliffs I will dive into the sun
And into history
Until from Plymouth Hoe the beating of my drum
From leaden slumber will summon me
In times of trial will recall my restless bones
And read once more upon the page
How a poor Westcountry man once stood before a throne
And how his plunder bore a golden age.