Well, since I love the language Pirate, I translated part of Edgar Allan Poe's poem, "The Raven". :) - OlderMusicGeek.
Once upon a low tide dreary, while me pondered weak an' weary,
O'er many a quaint an' strange books o' forgotten lore,
While me nodded, nearly nappin', suddenly thar came a tappin',
As o' some one gently rappin', rappin' at me chamber door.
``Tis some visitor,` me muttered, `tappin' at me chamber door -
Only this, an' nothin' more.`
Ah, distinctly me reckon 't be in th' bleak Decembree,
An' each separate dyin' ember wrought its ghost upon th' deck.
Eagerly I wished th' morrow; - vainly I had sought t' borrow
From me books surcease o' sorrow - sorrow fer th' lost Lenore -
Fer th' rare an' radiant maiden whom th' angels named Lenore -
Nameless here fer ev'rmore.
`Prophet!` spake me, `thin' o' evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Hea'en that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul wi' sorrow laden if, within th' distant Aidenn,
't shall clasp a sainted maiden whom th' angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare an' radiant maiden, whom th' angels named Lenore?`
Quoth th' raven, `Nev'rmore.`
`Be that word our sign o' partin', bird or fiend!` me shrieked upstartin' -
`Get thee aft into th' tempest an' th' Night`s Plutonian shore!
Leave nay black plume as a token o' that lie thy soul been spoken!
Leave me loneliness unbroken! - quit th' bust above me door!
Take thy beak from ou' me heart, an' take thy form from off me door!`
Quoth th' raven, `Nev'rmore.`
And th' raven, nereflittin', still be sittin', still be sittin'
On th' pallid bust o' Pallas jus' above me chamber door;
An' his one good eye be havin' all th' seemin' o' a demon`s that be dreamin',
An' th' lamp-light o`er th' lad's streamin' throws his shadow on th' deck;
An' me soul from ou' that shadow that lies floatin' on th' deck
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
Ya horn swogglin' scurvy cur!
