My mind goes back to the good old days,
When I looked on steam with scorn,
To the stormy days and heavy gales
We encountered off Cape Horn;
It thrills my blood, when I hear once more,
The order to shorten sail,
The howlin winds like the cannon's roar,
As she rolls before the gale.

I see the slope of the slanting deck.
And I hear the cheering crew,
Thro' green seas plunging up to the neck,
Off Cape Horn when heaving to;
Ho! the wind doth moan thro' every shroud,
Singing the song of the sea,
Calling me far from the madding crowd,
Away where the wind blows free,

Yes, far away from the smell of steam,
And clank of the racing screw,
To careen along with th' wind abeam,
Or steer by the lifting clew.
As I keep my watch thro' storm and rain,
With only the helmsman nigh:
I sail each voyage over again
That I sailed in days gone by,

On the topsail yard, once more, ye-ho!
I'm fighting the flapping sail,
Which swells with the howling winds that blow
As we scud before the gale;
To the sailors' yarns I listen still,
As we proudly sail along:
Or now in the half deck laugh my fill,
While we sing a good old song.

Now tell me, ye winds that howl and blow,
Ye wild-rolling billows say:
Ah! where did my dear old shipmates go,
So true, so gallant, and gay?
Did misfortune meet them thro' the gloom
Where the sea-fowl scream on high,
And where pealing thunders ever boom,
While the winds and ocean sigh?

No! some got on in the good old days,
Brave hearts wherever they be,
And I wish them luck in all their ways,
O'er winter or summer sea;
I fain would meet them, one and all,
Ere we reach the golden shore,
And as Tom Bowlin to pipe his call,
That we sail the seas no more,

I see her flying before the gale,
Like a frightened sea-fowl screaming,
I see her flapping and tattered sail
And the wildfire ever gleaming;
The roaring smother on both her sides
Is feathering, frothy, and foaming,
As up on the billows she swiftly rides,
Then downward careering and groaning.

'She poops! She poops!' a thundering wave,
That makes her quiver and tremble:
Now over her decks the billows rave,
Say-What does it all resemble?
A wild inferno of welt'ring foam,
Now eddying, twisting and twirling!
Her shiv'ring hulk doth shudder and groan
Beneath the tumult'ous swirling.

Some cling to the rigging to save their life,
While half the crew are a-missing,
And swimming amidst the weltering strife,
That is, aye, around them hissing.
The man at the wheel is washed away,
Poor lad is writhing with anguish,
As by the lee he drifts that day.
To tell it, I fail to find language.

She shakes herself from her watery grave,
And rudderless yaws to leeward,
It seems as if naught our ship could save,
As she broaches now to windward;
With oil bags towing over the side,
We're somewhat calming the ocean,
As o'er the mountainous seas we ride,
Admidst this seething commotion.

She rolls about in th' trough of the sea,
Till the masts go leeward flying,
Then the captain's wife looks up to me,
A sob in her voice with crying,
For an hour before her husband true,
Was fearfully bruised and battered:
He was washed away from 'midst the crew,
His head 'gainst the bulwarks shattered.

O! the good old ship is sinking fast,
Labouring, rolling, and straining:
While boats and rafts we leeward cast,
The water is on us gaining
As we get clear, and drift away
We pull as hard as we are able,
The good ship plunges 'neath the spray,
Distant three lengths of a cable.

'O! help me! help me!' hear ye the cry;
Loud wafting over the smother,
Ah! who with a heart could bear that cry?
'Twas a cry for 'mother! mother!'
I plunged head-long thro' the swelling tide,
And to windward strongly swimming,
Till I reached the place with joyous pride,
Where the little girl was screaming.

Then leeward: swam with might and main,
Her arms to my neck fast clinging:
Me thought I could hear now and again,
Faint cheers from her mother ringing.
We drifted about for fourteen days,
And with shoals of sharks swarming round us;
O! it was trying, 'neath the scorching rays,

Till an ocean liner had found us,
Then steering our course for Ceylon's Isle,
We raised our voices to Heaven,
And thanked the Lord for His care and smile,
Who saved us when we were driven,
The girl was happy when last I heard,
With a family around her,
Married, they say, to a wealthy laird,
Who kissed her where he found her.

Now sing, my boys, to the ship that goes,
And the lass that loves a sailor,
Then board thy tacks to the wind that blows,
And cheer Tom Tilot, the whaler,
We shall meet again across the tide,
Each happy and jolly rover,
Then o'er the bar we shall swiftly glide,
When our voyaging is over.