When I sit on market-days amid the comers and the goers,
Oh! full oft I have a vision of the days without alloy,
And a ship comes up the river with a jolly gang of towers,
And a “pull'e haul'e, pull'e haul'e, yoy! heave, hoy!”
There is busy talk around me, all about mine ears it hummeth,
But the wooden wharves I look on, and a dancing, heaving buoy,
For‘ tis tidetime in the river, and she cometh — oh, she cometh!
With a “pull'e haul'e, pull'e haul'e, yoy! heave, hoy!”
Then I hear the water washing, never golden waves were brighter,
And I hear the capstan creaking —‘ tis a sound that cannot cloy.
Bring her to, to ship her lading, brig or schooner, sloop or lighter,
With a “pull'e haul'e, pull'e haul'e, yoy! heave, hoy!”
“Will ye step aboard, my dearest? for the high seas lie before us.”
So I sailed adown the river in those days without alloy.
We are launched! But when, I wonder, shall a sweeter sound float o'er us
Than yon “pull'e haul'e, pull'e haul'e, yoy! heave, hoy!”