With every stitch drawing, the Trade blowing strong,
The white caps around her all breaking in spray,
For the girls have got hold of her tow-rope to-day.
(And it's "Haul away, girls, steady an' true,
Polly an' Dolly an' Sally an' Sue,
Mothers an' sisters an' sweethearts an' all,
Haul away, all the way, haul away, haul!")
She's logging sixteen as she speeds from the South,
The wind in her royals, a bone in her mouth;
With a wake like a mill-race she rolls on her way,