| lyric | You feeling hearted Christians, I bag you now draw near,
And kindly pay attention to the song I’d have you hear
Concerning a young hero of honoured birth and fame
Who lost his life so we are told, all on the watery main.
While in his native country, at home he would not stay;
In hopes to gain his fortune, this youth he put to sea.
Some time he spent in merriment; in this he took delight:
But I’ll tell you how he lost his life on a lonely winter’s night.
He bid farewell to Ireland: to England he took flight,
He shipped on board The Dolphin and she was a glorious sighi
With thirty fine young heroes of courage stout and bold,
Along with Captain Wilson, who never was controlled.
’Twas from the docks of Liverpool our gallant ship set sail,
On the eighteenth day of April, with a sweet and pleasant gale —
Bound for the coast of Africa — that wild Atlantic shore:
We bid farewell to all the friends we never might see more.
When our good ship was freighted, our captain he did say:
‘Cheer up my hardy British boys, make ready for the sea;
We’re homeward—bound for England, the land that we adore,
And we’ll drink a round of bumpers full when on our native shore.’
After an eight weeks’ passage, our ship‘ a leak she sprung;
Our captain cries: ‘Cheer up, my boys, I fear we are undone.
We’re far away from any port; no ship is drawing nigh;
Make ready, lower the long boats or in the deep we’ll lie.’
’Twas then we lowered the long boats and put them off to sea;
We bid farewell to our fine ship; we could no longer stay.
We had no way to guide our boats but from the sea and sky;
No comfort could we find that day, but from the God on high.
Coming towards the evening our mate he sighted land;
He said unto his comrade-boys: ‘Relief it is nigh hand.’
With courage bold we made the shore in hopes our lives to save,
But then our boat she struck the shore and was burst in by a wave.
Fourteen was our number; twelve of them were drowned:
Ten of them were washed ashore: two more could ne’er be found
There was a man amongst them, I grieve to let you know:
His name was Th'omas Murphy, the pride of Curracloe. |