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My own composition to a beautiful little Victorian folk song about a woman who gives her heart to an unfaithful sailor.

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-- | LYRICS |--

A brisk young sailor courted me,

He stole away my liberty,

He stole my heart with a free good will,

I must confess I love him still.

Down in the meadows she did run,

A gathering flowers as they sprung,

Every sort she gave a pull,

Till she had gathered her apron full.

When first I wore my apron low,

He followed me through frost and snow,

But now my apron is up to my chin,

He passes by and says nothing.

There is an alehouse in this town,

Where my love goes and sits him down,

He takes another girl on his knee,

Why is not that a grief to me.

Ah, griev'd I am, I'll tell you why,

Because she has more gold than I,

Her gold will waste, her beauty blast,

Poor girl she'll come like me at last,

I wish my baby it was born,

Set smiling on its father's knee,

And I was dead and in my grave,

And green grass growing over me.

There is a bird all in yonder tree,

Some say 'tis blind, and cannot see,

I wish it had been the same by me,

Before I had gained my love's company,

There is a man on yonder hill,

He has a heart as hard as steel,

He has two hearts instead of one,

He'll be a rogue when I am gone.

But when they found her corpse was cold,

They went to her false love and told,

I am glad says he, she has done so well,

I long to hear her funeral knell,

In Abraham's bosom she does sleep,

While his tormenting soul must weep,

He often wished his time o'er again,

That his bride he might make her merry & marry her soon.