ORIGINAL POETRY. SONG. THE WHALERS OF THE DEEP DEEP SEA.
The landsman loves his downy bed, Ne'er toss'd upon the heaving billow, But pleased the Whaler's hardy head Reposes on that stormy pillow ; Danger and toil, and death brave we, The Whalers of the deep, deep sea. Tho' course our fare, sunburnt each cheek, No terrors can our souls unman No lesser prey we deign to seek, Our prey is the Leviathan! Neither for watch nor toil care we, The Whalers of the deep, deep sea. Our prize in sight —the boats we man ! — Row, row row, my boys ! give way ! give way ! Let others follow if they can ; Now poise th' harpoon — hurra! hurra! Full many a tun of oil bring we, The Whalers of the deep, deep sea. And let them live a quiet life, Who love such idle joys alone, One thrilling hour of venturous strife Is worth a world's luxurions throne, And many an hour of such have we, The Whalers of the deep, deep sea. Auckland. February 10th, 1852.
ST. GEORGE.
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New Zealander, Volume 8, Issue 609, 14 February 1852, Page 4
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176ORIGINAL POETRY. SONG. THE WHALERS OF THE DEEP DEEP SEA. New Zealander, Volume 8, Issue 609, 14 February 1852, Page 4
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