The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #47281   Message #2843853
Posted By: Jim Dixon
18-Feb-10 - 11:35 PM
Thread Name: Lyr Req: Diego's Bold Shores
Subject: Lyr Add: WHALEMAN'S SONG (By one of them)
This copy has one more verse than the 2 versions above, and a few differences in the other verses, so I'll post the whole thing.

From Die Arktische Fischerei der deutschen Seest├Ądte [The Arctic Fisheries of the German Seaports] 1620-1868 by Moritz Karl Adolf Lindeman (Gotha: Justus Perthes, 1869), page 54:

(By one of them.)

1. Has a love of adventure, a promise of gold
Or an ardent desire to roam
Ever tempted you far o'er the watery world
Away from your kindred and home,
With a storm beaten captain, free-hearted and bold,
And a score of brave fellows or two,
Inured to the hardships of hunger and cold,
A fearless and jolly good crew?

2. Have you ever stood watch where Diego's bold shores
Loom up from the Antarctic wave,
Where the snowy plumed albatross merrily soars
O'er many a poor mariner's grave?
Have you heard the masthead man sing out: "There she blows!"
Seen the boats gaily leave the ship's side,
And the giant fish writhe near the harpooneers blow,
While the blue sea with crimson was dyed?

3. Have you seen the foam fly, when the mighty right whale,
Thus boldly attacked in his lair,
With a terrible blow of his ponderous tail
Sent the boat spinning up in the air?
Or where the fair isles of the evergreen glades
Are teeming with dainties so rare,
Have you ever made love 'neath cocoas' shades
To the sweet sunny maids that dwell there?

4. And have you e'er joined in the boisterous cheer
Ringing far through the heaven's blue dome,
When rich in the spoils you had purchased so dear
You hoisted your topsails for home?
Or when the dear hills of Columbia rose
From out the blue waves of the main,
Have you e'er realized the unspeakable joys
Of meeting with loved ones again?

5. Let those who delight in the comforts of home
And the joys of a warm fireside,
Who deem it a peril the ocean to roam,
In the cots of their fathers abide!
But not a day nearer we reckon our death,
Though we daily sport over our grave!
Nor sweeter they'll slumber the green sod beneath
Than we in the boisterous wave.