_There is no wind along these seas,_
Out oars for Stavanger!
Forward all for Stavanger!
_So we must wake the white-ash breeze,_
Let fall for Stavanger!
A long pull for Stavanger!
_Oh, hear the benches creak and strain!_
(A long pull for Stavanger!)
_She thinks she smells the Northland rain!_
(A long pull for Stavanger!)
_She thinks she smells the Northland snow,_
_And she’s as glad as we to go!_
_She thinks she smells the Northland rime,_
_And the dear dark nights of winter-time._
_Her very bolts are sick for shore,_
_And we—we want it ten times more!_
_Hoe—all you Gods that love brave men,_
_Send us a three-reef gale again!_
_Send us a gale, and watch us come,_
_With close-cropped canvas slashing home!_
But—_there’s no wind in all these seas,_
A long pull for Stavanger!
_So we must wake the white-ash breeze,_
A long pull for Stavanger!