First draft. Not got a tune yet.

Twas Christmas Eve in seventy-two
The waves they reared up mountains high,
The little brig Bluebird was out in the storm
And the Swedish coast she was nigh.

Karl the helmsman was lashed to the wheel
And the brig tossed about like a feather,
While the crew went below to get out of the storm
Karl kept the brig into the weather.

Half blinded he stood and held to his course
Despite driving snow and the waves.
He spotted the light from the Hallo lighthouse
And steered the brig on to be saved.

Karl's mother in Smogen knew he was out
Had just got his letter that morning.
She knew that he was out in the storm,
But 'twas too late to send him a warning.

Karl hailed the skipper and showed him the light
But the brig was beginning to founder.
"Lower the anchors and send down the boats!"
As the waves and the storm crashed around her.

Karl's father and brothers they stood on the shore
As the brig ran onshore and was shattered;
And one boat came in and they helped them ashore,
Exhausted and sodden and battered.

After they'd warmed up and fed all the crew,
Karl's father asked, "What was your ship?"
The skipper cried, "She was the Bluebird from Hull
And to Smogen she's made her last trip."

The old Swede dashed his glass to the floor;
"God above, then where is my son?"
"He was lashed to the wheel to keep her on course
And now to his maker has gone!"

The old man his sou'ester slowly took off,
His stare was so hard, his eyes dull.
"Don't tell his mother the name of the brig,
Please name not the Bluebird of Hull."

The skipper stood up, he was broken and grey,
And his words cut the air like a sword,
As he said with a trembling voice to his host,
"Karl was tied and forgotten on board!"