page 25

A-Whaling.

My Jamie is a-whaling gone,
Afar upon the sea;
Now like a widow left alone,
No comfort comes to me.
He bade me wait on his return,
His toils would soon be o’er;
But boding ill, I ever mourn,—
I’ll never see him more.

I know he faithful is, and true,
Nor would he ere deceive;
My thoughts of him deep sighs renew,
Nor can I cease to grieve:
To think on dangers he must brave,
Love absent I deplore;
For should he meet a wat’ry grave,
I’ll never see him more.

In mournings I shall ever go,
Nor seek for comfort here;
For nightly dreams disturb me so,
And gives me much to fear:
No charm could pleasing scenes impart,
Like him whom I adore;
No other’s love shall gain my heart,
Should he return no more.