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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 377 |
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My love she won't come nigh me,
Nor hear the moan I make; Neither would she pity me
Tho' my poor heart should break. If I was born of noble blood,
And she of low degree, She would hear my lamentation,
And surely pity me.
The ship is on the ocean,
Now ready for to sail. If the wind blew from the east,
With a sweet and pleasant gale; If the wind blew from my love
With a sweet and pleasant sound, It's for your sake, my darling girl,
I'd range the nations round.
Nine months we are on the ocean,
No harbor can we spy. We sailed from the French Flanders
To harbors that were nigh. We sailed from the French Flanders
To harbors that were nigh.
O fare you well, my darling girl,
Since you and I must part! It's the bright beams of your beauty
That stole away my heart. But since it is my lot, my love,
To say that I must go, Bright angels be your safeguard
Till my return home. |
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