From the Rock Island Argus, October 12, 1912. By Duncan M. Smith. His ancestor a pirate was, And proudly he gave tongue Unto the fact that his forbear Had from a yardarm swung. For if you take it in the days When history was made A pirate was, you are aware, A very decent trade. He had his picture on the wall Where every one could look; His history was written up And printed in a book. And he was just a trifle proud And thought that he was great Because he had descended from That tough old ancient skate. He had a sort of pity for The person who came down From ancestors who never robbed A coast or burned a town. They might be all right in a way, But it was understood They couldn’t be so much, because Their ancestors were good. He wouldn’t hurt a worm himself; He wouldn’t kill a fly. He was a modest man without A wicked, piercing eye. I often wondered, could we turn Back to the ancient crowd, If that old fiery ancestor Of him would have been proud.
Pride of Ancestry