We're bound for blue water where the great winds blow, br It's time to get the tacks aboard, time for us to go; br The crowd's at the capstan and the tune's in the shout, br 'A long pull, a strong pull, br and warp the hooker out br .' br br The bow-wash is eddying, spreading from the bows, br Aloft and loose the topsails and some one give a rouse; br A salt-Atlantic chanty shall be music to the dead, br 'A long pull, a strong pull, br and the yard to the masthead br .' br br Shrilly squeal the running sheaves, the weather-gear strains, br Such a clatter of chain-sheets, the devil's in the chains; br Over us the bright stars, under us the drowned, br 'A long pull, a strong pull, br and we're outward bound br .' br br Yonder, round and ruddy, is the mellow old moon, br The red-funnelled tug has gone, and now, sonny, soon br We'll be clear of the Channel, so watch how you steer, br 'Ease her when she pitches, br and so-long, my dear br .