He was the Captain of the Nightingale
Twenty-one days from Clyde in coal
He could smell the flowers of Bermuda in the gale
When he died on the North Rock Shoal
He was the Captain of the Nightingale
Twenty-one days from Clyde in coal
He could smell the flowers of Bermuda in the gale
When he died on the North Rock Shoal
Just five short hours from Bermuda, in a fine October gale
There came a cry "Oh, there be breakers dead ahead!" from the collier Nightingale
No sooner had the Captain brought her round, came a rending crash below
Hard on her beam ends, groaning, went the Nightingale and overside her mainmast goes
"Oh, Captain, are we all for drowning?" came the cry from all the crew
"The boats be smashed! How are we all then to be saved? They are stove in through and through!"
"Oh, are ye brave and hardy collier-men or are ye blind and cannot see?
The Captain's gig still lies before ye whole and sound, it shall carry all o' we."
He was the Captain of the Nightingale
Twenty-one days from Clyde in coal
He could smell the flowers of Bermuda in the gale
When he died on the North Rock Shoal
But when the crew were all assembled and the gig prepared for sea,
Twas seen there were but eighteen places to be manned, nineteen mortal souls were we.
But cries the Captain "Now do not delay, nor do ye spare a thought for me.
My duty is to save ye all now, if I can, so ye return quick as can be."
He was the Captain of the Nightingale
Twenty-one days from Clyde in coal
He could smell the flowers of Bermuda in the gale
When he died on the North Rock Shoal
Oh, there be flowers in Bermuda. Beauty lies on every hand,
And there be laughter, ease and drink for every man, but there is no joy for me;
For when we reached the wretched Nightingale what an awful sight was plain
The Captain, drowned, was tangled in the mizzen-chains smiling bravely beneath the sea.
He was the Captain of the Nightingale
Twenty-one days from Clyde in coal
He could smell the flowers of Bermuda in the gale
When he died on the North Rock Shoal
Twenty-one days from Clyde in coal
He could smell the flowers of Bermuda in the gale
When he died on the North Rock Shoal
Just five short hours from Bermuda, in a fine October gale
There came a cry "Oh, there be breakers dead ahead!" from the collier Nightingale
No sooner had the Captain brought her round, came a rending crash below
Hard on her beam ends, groaning, went the Nightingale and overside her mainmast goes
"Oh, Captain, are we all for drowning?" came the cry from all the crew
"The boats be smashed! How are we all then to be saved? They are stove in through and through!"
"Oh, are ye brave and hardy collier-men or are ye blind and cannot see?
The Captain's gig still lies before ye whole and sound, it shall carry all o' we."
He was the Captain of the Nightingale
Twenty-one days from Clyde in coal
He could smell the flowers of Bermuda in the gale
When he died on the North Rock Shoal
But when the crew were all assembled and the gig prepared for sea,
Twas seen there were but eighteen places to be manned, nineteen mortal souls were we.
But cries the Captain "Now do not delay, nor do ye spare a thought for me.
My duty is to save ye all now, if I can, so ye return quick as can be."
He was the Captain of the Nightingale
Twenty-one days from Clyde in coal
He could smell the flowers of Bermuda in the gale
When he died on the North Rock Shoal
Oh, there be flowers in Bermuda. Beauty lies on every hand,
And there be laughter, ease and drink for every man, but there is no joy for me;
For when we reached the wretched Nightingale what an awful sight was plain
The Captain, drowned, was tangled in the mizzen-chains smiling bravely beneath the sea.
He was the Captain of the Nightingale
Twenty-one days from Clyde in coal
He could smell the flowers of Bermuda in the gale
When he died on the North Rock Shoal
3 comments:
Interesting metrical work in that. It has a strongly Canadian feel for reasons I can't quite specify -- it just reminds me of folk songs from Canada more than, say, from Ireland or elsewhere.
I noticed the meter as well. Some of the singing rhythm seems pipe-like. I couldn't peg it to any particular culture, though. Stan Rogers was from Ontario and spent time in Nova Scotia, so your intuition would make sense.
I have tweaked the lyrics to be what Rogers actually sings. There were some small discrepancies.
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