Warren Fahey: Sydney Folklore Project

source:
UNIVERSAL SONGSTER 1825

The Transport

The sails are spread, the anchor's weighed,
The signal for departure made,
While fond regrets prevail;
The sailors trill the whistling lay,
The convict-vessel makes its way,
And scuds before the gale

But are there no sad hearts below
That burn with pain, and throb with woe!
The tongue that speaks by sighs?
O – yes! Come lovely, hopeless fair
That shuns the gaze, and woos despair,
A maid with tearful eyes.