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2 It is not the long journey I'm dreading to go, Nor leaving the country for the debts that I owe; There's nothing that grieves me nor troubles my mind Like leaving pretty Sarah, my darling, behind.
3 I wish I was a poet that could write a fine hand, I'd write my love a letter that she might understand. I'd send it by the waters, where the island overflows, And think on pretty Sarah wherever I go.
4 And I wish I was a little dove, had wings and could fly; Right to my love's dwelling this night I would fly,
And in her lily-white arms all night I would lie, And out some little window next morning I would fly.
5 Farewell, my dear father, likewise mother too; I am going to ramble this country all through; And when I get tired, I'll sit down and cry, And think on pretty Sarah with tears in my eyes.