The home of the whale

The arrangements of whaling songs for the singing workshops are now finished. Each of them has its own atmosphere. My Donald is one of my favourites as it conjures up images of an intimate conversation between a sailor and his wife in which they express their feelings about the perils of whaling:

My Donald he works on the sea,

On the waves that blow wild and free,

He splices the ropes and sets the sails,

While southward he rolls to the home of the whale.

Ye ladies wha' smell of wild rose, 

Think ye for your perfume of whaur a man goes,

Think ye o' the wives and the bairnies wha' yearn,

For a man ne'er returning frae hunting the sperm.

He ne'er thinks of me far behind,

Or the torments that rage in my mind,

He's mine for only half part of the year, 

Then I'm left all alone wi' nocht but a tear.

Ye ladies wha' smell of wild rose, 

Think ye for your perfume of whaur a man goes,

Think ye o' the wives and the bairnies wha' yearn,

For a man ne'er returning frae hunting the sperm.

My Donald he works on the sea,

On the waves that blow wild and free,

He splices the ropes and sets the sails,

While southward he rolls to the home of the whale.

Copyright text and music Petra Vergunst