(owen hand)



Caroline Lavelle



Oh my love he works upon the sea

On the waves that blow wild and free

He splices the ropes and he sets the sail

While southwards he roams to the home of the whale



And he ne'er thinks of me far behind

Or the torments that rage in my mind

He is mine for only part of the year

Then I'm left all alone with only my tears



All ye ladies that smell of white rose

Thank ye for your perfume to wear on my gold

Thank ye all the wives and the babies that yearn

For the man ne'er returns from hunting the sperm [whale]