|Share page||Visit Us On FB|
WHEN FIRST I WENT A WHALING.
When first I went a whaling,
I left my home, a boy, And 'mongst the gleaming ice-fields,
That home was still my joy ; For when, below the North-lights,
The polar winds blew shrill, Dreams of my loving mother,
Those dear dreams warmed me still.
Amid the clashing icebergs
My whaler rolls to-day, And keen the Arctic ice-blasts
From the snow-floes round me play; But fond dreams of another
My thoughts with summer fill; One, dearer than a mother,
My heart is warming still.