"There go the folk songs of the seas," I thought disgustedly, looking out on the water now showing itself grease-mottled in the first raw light of day.
I tried other songs with my artist's ears and found them all much like the first, the music like the very stars, the words like the grease and scum on the water. I was about giving up my search when I met my old friend, the watchman.
"Well, did ye find the chanties?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "They can't be printed." His old eyes twinkled merrily:
"Of course they can't. An' most songs an' stories can't. But I'll give ye a nice little song ye can print. It's the oldest chanty of 'em all. I'll try to remember an' write it down."
Here is the song he gave me:
ROLLING HOME
To Australia's fair-haired maidens
We will bid our last good-bye.
We are going home to England,
We may never more see you.
Rolling home, rolling home,
Rolling home across the sea,
Rolling home to merry England,
Rolling home dear land to thee.
We will leave you our best wishes
As we leave your rocky shores,
We are going home to England,
We may never see you more.
Rolling home....