The Quaker's wife

Dark was the morn and black the sea,

When my dear laddie left me,

The swelling sails how swift they flee,

Of all my joy bereft me!

Methinks I see him take his stand

On deck so firm and steady;

And distant when he wav'd his hand,

I knew his tartan plaidy.

Alas! how heavy are the days

In absence and in sorrow,

While war and death a thousand ways

Still make me dread tomorrow.

O that ambition were at rest,

While I, the captain's lady,

Should with my soldier be so blest,

All gay in tartan plaidy!