This song of journeys into sorrow
Is mine. I sing it. I alone
Can ravel out its misery, full-grown
When I was, and never worse than now.
The darkness of exile droops on my life.
His going began it, the tossing waves
Taking my lord. I was left in the dawn
Friendless where affection had been. I travelled
Seeking the sun of protection and safety,
Accepting the exile as payment for hope.
But the man's family was weaving plans
In the dark, intending to drive us apart
With a wedge the width of the world, condemning

Of all the beauteous wares
Exposed for sale at fairs,
None will give more delight
Than those that to your sight
From distant lands we bring.
Oh, hark to what we sing!
These beauteous birds behold,
They're brought here to be sold.

And first the big one see,
SOfull of roguish glee!
With light and merry bound
He leaps upon the ground;
Then springs up on the bough.
We will not praise him now.
The merry bird behold, —
He's brought here to be sold.

And now the small one see!
A modest look has he,

1

Come, all young girls, pay attention to my noise,
Don't fall in love with the Kansas boys,
For if you do your portion it will be,
Johnny cake and antelope is all you'll see.

2

They'll take you out on the jet black hill,
Take you there so much against your will,
Leave you there to perish on the plains,
For that is the way with the Kansas range.

3

Some live in a cabin with a huge log wall,
Nary a window in it at all,
Sand stone chimney and a puncheon floor,
Clapboard roof and a button door.

4

Come, all you sons of Liberty, that to the seas belong,
It's worth your attention to listen to my song;
The history of a privateer I will detail in full,
That fought a " six-and-thirty " belonging to John Bull.

The General Armstrong she is called, and sailed from New York,
With all our hearts undaunted, once more to try our luck;
She was a noble vessel, a privateer of fame:
She had a brave commander, George Champlin was his name.

We stood unto the eastward, all with a favoring gale,
In longitude of fifty we spied a lofty sail:

1

Come all you sons of Erin, attention now I crave,
While I relate the praises of an Irish hero brave,
Concerning a great fight, me boys, all on the other day,
Between a Russian sailor and bold Jack Morrissey.

2

It was in Terra del Fuego, in South America,
The Russian challenged Morrissey and unto him did say
" I hear you are a fighting man, and wear a belt I see.
What do you say, will you consent to have a round with me? "

3

Then up spoke bold Jack Morrissey, with a heart so stout and true,

Come , all you sailors of the southern waters,
You apparitions of the Spanish main,
Who dyed the jewelled depths blood-red with slaughters,
You things of crime and gain!

Come, caravel and pinnace, on whose daring
Rose the low purple of a new world's shore;
Come from your dreams of desperate seafaring
And sun your sails once more.

Build up again your stately height, storm-harried
Santa Maria, crusted with salt stains;
Come quick, you black and treacherous craft that carried
Columbus home in chains!

1. Come all you rambling sailor lads and listen unto
me. I'm heavy bound in iron chains, To die for piracy.
With eighteen more I am condemned in sorrow to complain,
For plundering and burning ships down on the Spanish Main.

2 My name is Edward Anderson, as you will understand.
I was born in the town of Waterford in Erin's lovely land.
My parents raised me tenderly, in the care of God likewise,
But little did they think I'd die 'neath Cuba's sunny skies.

3 My father bound me to a trade in Waterford's fair town.

Come all you married couples gay,
Get up before the break of day,
To Dunmow then pray haste away,
To gain the flitch of bacon.
There is such pleasure, mirth and glee,
The married folks will have a spree,
They'll try for love and victory
And the Dunmow flitch of bacon.

So lads and lasses haste away,
And do not make the least delay,
And to Dunmow town pray haste away,
And carry off the bacon.

There's special trains for distant parts,
Young and old, with joyful hearts,
In coaches, gigs and donkey carts,

Come all you lads of high renown and listen to my story,
For now the time is coming on that is all to your glory;
For Jumping Joan is coming here the statutes to admire,
To see the lads and lasses standing waiting to be hired.

So to the hirings we have come, all for to look for places,
If with the master we agree and he will give good wages.

The master that a servant wants will now stand in a wonder;
You all must ask ten pounds a year and none of you go under.
It's you that must do all the work, and what they do require,

1. Come all you jolly sailormen that follow the salt
sea, I pray a warning you'll take; now listen unto me, And
do not be in haste, my boys, to leave your native shore, To
sail in those mean packets where they put no food on board.

2 The twenty-eighth September, lads, I'll ne'er forget that day,
The wind blew from the southwest as we got her under way.
We headed out the bay, my boys, thinking that all was right,
But little did we think we had no oil to burn that night.

3 Five days after leaving port in Sydney we did lay.