 | Songs and ballads |  |
87
THE SAILOR.
When Tom left the Village so loved was his name,
So manly his form, and so honest his fame,
So worthy his heart, that though longing to roam,
'Till his poor mother died he struck true to his home;
While she needed him, no temptation could move
His hand from his duty—his heart from her love—
Though he longed for the life of a Sailor.
So manly his form, and so honest his fame,
So worthy his heart, that though longing to roam,
'Till his poor mother died he struck true to his home;
While she needed him, no temptation could move
His hand from his duty—his heart from her love—
Though he longed for the life of a Sailor.
But when the last sun-ray had set o'er her grave,
Tom left the old village to sail the broad wave;
His purse was but light, for as long as a friend
Asked assistance from Tom, it was his to the end:
And a nobler, a better, a braver than he
Never sailed on the breast of the billowy sea,
Nor followed the life of a Sailor.
Tom left the old village to sail the broad wave;
His purse was but light, for as long as a friend
Asked assistance from Tom, it was his to the end:
And a nobler, a better, a braver than he
Never sailed on the breast of the billowy sea,
Nor followed the life of a Sailor.
But time hastened on, and four years slipped away,
When late in the spring, just at close of the day,
Our Sailor came home, but we saw with a sigh
That poor Tom had returned to the village to die;
Still he spoke with a smile of the perils he'd passed,
And his heart's dying beat was still brave to the last,
And we buried, with tears, our poor Sailor.
When late in the spring, just at close of the day,
Our Sailor came home, but we saw with a sigh
That poor Tom had returned to the village to die;
Still he spoke with a smile of the perils he'd passed,
And his heart's dying beat was still brave to the last,
And we buried, with tears, our poor Sailor.
88
But again—ere a month past—that grave was unclosed,
And the Rose of the Village within it reposed;
Since the hour Tom returned she had altered each day,
As he faded—she withered—and sorrowed away;
And her last breath implored, as it fluttered and died,
That in peace she might rest, like a bride, by his side,
And her heart be in death with her Sailor.
And the Rose of the Village within it reposed;
Since the hour Tom returned she had altered each day,
As he faded—she withered—and sorrowed away;
And her last breath implored, as it fluttered and died,
That in peace she might rest, like a bride, by his side,
And her heart be in death with her Sailor.
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