 | Songs for Sailors |  |
THE WIFE FOR A BRITISH SAILOR.
Wan and white is the landsman's cheek,
And weak is the landsman's hand;
Of womanish work they plainly speak,
Of the safe smooth life of the land.
So give me the lass that for one will long,
That the rough deck's learned to tread,
Whose hand the haul at the rope's made strong,
And whose cheek the storm's made red;
By the weak white landsman, she who'll pass,
For a seaman's love, I hail her,
The brave, the bold true-hearted lass,
Fit wife for a British sailor.
And weak is the landsman's hand;
Of womanish work they plainly speak,
Of the safe smooth life of the land.
So give me the lass that for one will long,
That the rough deck's learned to tread,
Whose hand the haul at the rope's made strong,
And whose cheek the storm's made red;
By the weak white landsman, she who'll pass,
For a seaman's love, I hail her,
The brave, the bold true-hearted lass,
Fit wife for a British sailor.
Tell her she must be no seaman's wife,
That he must be long away,
That lonely will be her hapless life,
And what does the brave heart say?
‘If my sailor lad be from me long,
The far deck doomed to tread,
In the tempest his love but grows more strong,
And his cheeks grow yet more red.’
Sad thoughts—she'll bid all such to pass,
Thinking how, returned, he'll hail her,
His own, his true, his longed-for lass,
Just the wife for a British sailor.
That he must be long away,
That lonely will be her hapless life,
And what does the brave heart say?
‘If my sailor lad be from me long,
The far deck doomed to tread,
In the tempest his love but grows more strong,
And his cheeks grow yet more red.’
Sad thoughts—she'll bid all such to pass,
Thinking how, returned, he'll hail her,
His own, his true, his longed-for lass,
Just the wife for a British sailor.
| Songs for Sailors | |