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56 Songs and Ballads
Transported we are, from the pretty maidens fair On the banks of Black River stream,
Where the wolves, and the owls, with their terrifying howls, Disturb our nightly dreams
2 At two o'clock, our early cook,
Calls out, 't is the break of day. In broken slumbers, we do pass,
The long winter nights away. Had we Ale, Wine or Beer, our spirits to cheer,
Whilst in the desert wild, Or a glass of any thown, whilst in the woods alone,
T would shorten our long exile, But weve parted from the glass, and the smiling lovely lass,
All pleasures left behind; No kind friends near, to wipe the falling tear,
When sorrow fills the troubled mind.
3 When spring comes in, double hardships begin,
And the waters, piercing cold, Dripping wet our clothes,1 our limbs are almost froze,
To our oars, we can scarcely hold, But the rocks, shoals, and sands, give employment to all hands,
Our well-bended raft to steer, And the rapids, that we run,
To us they are but fun, Void of all slavish fear. |
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1 Misprinted "chothes" in the broadside. |
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