T'was in eighteen hundred and sixty-three,
On June the thirteenth day,
That our gallant ship her anchor weighed,
For Greenland bore away, brave boys,
For Greenland bore away.

The lookout in the crosstrees stood,
With a spyglass in his hands,
"It's a whale, it's a whale, it's a whalefish," he cried,
"And she blows on every span, brave boys,
She blows on every span.

Oh, the boats were lowered with the men on board,
With the whale-fish well in view,
Very well prepared were all our gallant shipmates,
To strike where the whale-fish blew, brave boys,
To strike where the whale-fish blew.

They struck that whale and the line played out,
But she made a blunder with her tail,
Oh, the boat capsized and we lost five of the crew,
But we never caught that whale, brave boys,
We never caught that whale.

"To lose that whale," our captain said,
"Well it grieves my heart full sore,
But, oh, to lose those five gallant men,
It grieves me ten times more, brave boys,
It grieves me ten times more.

Greenland is a dreadful place,
A land that's never green,
Where there's ice and snow,
And the~whale-fish blow,
And the daylight's seldom seen, brave boys,
And the daylight's seldom seen.