The dead ship
M. Lang
The ship came sailing, sailing,
Into our old town--
My love combed out her golden hair;
It fell to the hem of her gown.
Oh, my heart, break!
No master and no crew was hers,
A ship of the dead was she,
And sailing, sailing, sailing--
The folk ran out to see.
Oh, my heart, break!
And first they said nor yea, nor nay;
Then some began to weep;
And some did count their little lads,
As a shepherd counts his sheep.
Oh, my heart, break!
Oh, sailing, sailing, sailing--
"Whom will it be?" said they;
"She never sails to this our town
But one doth go away."
Oh, my heart, break!
"Yea, one will go from this our town
And come back nevermore;
Whate'er His will, Lord God is good;"
Thus I at my love's door.
Oh, my heart, break!
Thereat I turned into the house
And climbed up my love's stair,
And called her softly--through the dusk
I saw her golden hair.
Oh, my heart, break!
Who went away from our old town
And came back nevermore?
It was my love; she lay there dead
Upon the chamber floor.
Oh, my heart break!