There wasn' lad was handier at stawin' of a sail, There wasn' lad was cheerfuller at stemmin' through a gale, There wasn' lad was heartier at fishin' or at play, A year agone, a year agone, when Dicky sailed away.
A many ships come into port along the flowin' tide, A many lads come home again an' safe in harbour ride, But all in vain we watch for one, an' all in vain we pray.
* * * * A year agone, a year agone, our Dicky sailed away!
THE OLD FISHERMAN'S LAMENT
'Tis well an' fine for the steam-trawler to sweep the floor of the say, But 'tis turble hard for the fisherman as awnly sails the Bay, For the fish gets scaircer an' scaircer an' hardly ait at all, An' what's to be catched with the seinin' be barely wuth the haul.
Us used to count on the herrin's to buy us Chris'mus cheer, But the catch runs lighter an' lighter, an' pervisions be allays dear, An' what us gets in the crab-pots that don't take long to sell, Especial when most of the pots be gone on a long ground swell.
'Tis a whisht poor life for a lad to lead, an' mos'ly they wont abide, But sterry away to the furrin' ports athurt a keenly tide, An' us be left, all lone an' long, to moil as best us may, While the clankin' trawler steams along, an' sweeps the floor of the say.