Dread silence reigns around,—the clock strikes four!
The Poor Little Fisherman’s Girl.
It was down in the country a poor girl was weeping,
It was down in the country poor Mary Ann did mourn;
She belonged to this nation—I have lost each dear relation,
Cried a poor little fisherman’s girl, my friends are dead and gone.
Oh, who has a soft heart to give me some shelter,
For the winds do blow, and dreadful is the storm?
I have no father nor mother, but I’ve a tender brother,