GREENLAND, Greenland, is a bonny, bonny place, <br />Whare there’s neither grief nor flowr, <br />Whare there’s neither grief nor tier to be <br />seen, <br />But hills and frost and snow. <br />Up starts the kemp o the ship, <br />Wi a psalm-book in his hand: <br />‘Swoom away, swoom away, my merry old boys, <br />For you’ll never see dry land.’ <br />Up starts the gaucy cook, <br />And a weil gaucy cook was he; <br />‘I wad na gie aw my pans and my kettles <br />For aw the lords in the sea.’ <br />Up starts the kemp o the ship, <br />Wi a bottle and a glass intil his hand; <br />‘Swoom away, swoom away, my merry old sailors, <br />For you’ll never see dry land.’ <br />O the raging seas they row, row, row, <br />The stormy winds do blow, <br />As sune as he had gane up to the tap, <br />As . . . low.<br /><br />Anonymous Olde English<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mermaid-song-iv/
