The Rhyme of Burnham's Voyage

'Twas midnight on the rolling deep,
The moon was cold and pale,
When Burnham called his crew aboard
And hoisted Europe's sail.
Young Reeves was counting up the gold,
Whilst Rayner roared with glee,
And Miliband consulted winds
Of green prosperity.
With Phillips shouting from the bow,
And ginger heads held high,
They steered the ship towards Brussels' arms,
Beneath a blood-red sky.
"To Europe, lads! To Brussels' throne!
Let Britain kneel once more!
We'll trade our hard-won liberty
For treaties, flags and war!"
The crew all cheered, the glasses clinked,
The champagne flowed like rain,
Whilst far ahead the Russian guns
Were rumbling o'er the plain.
But lo! Upon the eastern tide,
A strange procession came;
A thousand dinghies, bobbing west,
Each bearing souls unnamed.
Tenfold inflatable they came,
With England as their goal,
To seek a peaceful life ashore,
And benefits untold.
The Mariner beheld the sight,
And crossed himself in dread:
"The ship sails east to find a war,
Whilst England's bound for bed!"
And Burnham laughed and raised his glass,
As Brussels shone afar;
Whilst Britain watched her future sail
Beneath a foreign star.
And still the ship sails ever east,
No harbour lights in sight;
The dinghies sail towards the dawn,
The ship towards the night.