The ship cut through the shining spray
A lantern moon hung in the sky, lighting the way,
A soft night breeze brought cooling grace
Then followed a wind, which set the pace.

What might lie across the horizon's line
A tropical land, or great forests of pine?
An exotic culture, entrenched for centuries
Or a wild new land, unconquered and free?

And there, striding the deck confidently,
Is the ship's captain, to see what he can see
A polished telescope rests in his hand
Which he puts to his eye, as his mate shouts:
                - Ahoy! I see land!
A ragged cry breaks the throats of the crew
Visions of food beyond fish and endless stew
They leave their tasks, rushing to the rail
Clamoring to see this pursued holy grail.

It is hard to tell, to interpret that greyness,
Is it the new world they hoped to find or simply a mist?
There is the tension of uncertainty on that noble craft
Until they spot the seagull, gliding on the drafts.

"Make ready the flag, unfurl the banners!"
Cries the captain to his enraptured sailors,
"Hold your heads high, today, boys," says he,
"For this is our day to go down in history!"

-Composed by Minstrel