Rolling Down To Old Maui (song)

Once more we sail with a favoring gale
A-bounding o'er the main,
And soon the hills of the tropic clime
Will be in view again.

Six sluggish months have passed away
Since from your shores sailed we,
But now we're bound from the Arctic ground
Rolling down to old Maui.

Ch: Rolling down to old Maui, my boys,
Rolling down to old Maui,
But now we're bound from the Arctic ground,
Rolling down to old Maui.

We will heave our lead where old Diamond Head
Looms up on old Oahu,
Our masts and rigging are covered with ice,
Our decks are filled with snow.

The hoary head of the Sea Gull Isles
That decks the Arctic Sea,
Are many and many leagues astern
Since we steered for old Maui.

O welcome the seas and the fragrant breeze
Laden with odors rare,
And the pretty maids in the sunny glades
Who are gentle, kind and fair,

And their pretty eyes, even now look out,
Hoping some day to see
Our snow-white sails before the gales
Rolling down to old Maui.

Once more we sail with a favoring gale
Toward our distant home,
Our mainmast sprung, we're almost done,
Still we ride the ocean's foam.

Our stun'sail booms are carried away,
What care we for that sound,
A living gale is after us,
Hurrah! We're homeward bound.

From Roll and Go by Joanna Carver Colcord (1924)

Once more we are waved by the norther gales & bounding oer the main
And now the hills of the Tropic Isles we soon shall see again
Five sluggish moons have waxed & waned since from the shore wailed we
But now are bound from the Artic ground – rooling down to Old Mowhee –

Through many a blow of frost & snow & bitter squalls of hail
Our spars were bent & canvass rent as we braced the northern gale
The horrid Isles of ice cut tiles that deck the Arctic Sea
Were many – many leagues astern as we sailed to old Mowhee

Through many a gale of snow & hail – our good ship bore away
And inn the mist of the moon beams kiss – she sleeps in St. Lawrence bay
Many a day we have whiled away in the wild Kamskatcha Sea
But we’l think of that as we laugh & chat with the girls of old Mowhee

An ample share of toil & care we whalemen undergo
But when its oer what care we how bitter the blast may blow
We are homeward bound – that joyful sound – and yet it may not be
But we’l think of that as we laugh & chat with the girls of old Mowhee