The Golden Shores of Kernow

There’s a train a-rollin’ heavy on the tracks beside the shore,

An old and steaming engine giving city folk the tour,

It’s coming late from London, made out at half-past three,

It chugs and shrugs all lazy, down towards the quay,

Where sits a pretty maiden a-waitin’ there for me,

Her dress is blue as water, her hair is hazel brown,

And she sits beneath a pine tree,

As the Cornish sun goes down,

Where the cliffs are carved like castles and a man can feel free,

In that green and wild country that rides upon the sea,

On the golden shores of Kernow,

Where the men sing deep and slow,

And the sun falls down from heaven on farmland far below.

 

 

I saw my girl a-sittin’ neath that spreading lofty tree,

And when she saw me watchin’ she smiled so bright at me,

That smile I’d held before me as I slogged in far Bombay,

Where the sun is made for burnin’ an they hardly give you pay,

For I’d soldiered down in Inja when the mutineers made play,

Of babes and women wailing in Lucknow and Bengal,

But my love was lying far away,

Where the Cornish blossoms fall,

For the fishing fleets lie steady in a sheltered western bay,

In that rugged rolling country along the sailors way,

On the golden shores of Kernow,

Where the men sing deep and slow,

And the sun falls down from heaven on farmland far below.

 

We blessed our happy meeting with kisses sweet and long,

For Anna Lee’s a joy to know and pretty as a song,

And we left the train behind us, and left the town alone,

Hand in hand we walked the paths we long ago had known,

And far below the cliffs we heard the thunder and the moan,

Of all the waves of all the world that wash upon the shore,

At length and last my heart was home,

Where the Cornish zephyrs soar,

In the land of tin and Tamar where Arthur had his throne,

And Saint Piran preached the Gospel and sailed upon a stone,

On the golden shores of Kernow,

Where the men sing deep and slow,

And the sun falls down from heaven on farmland far below.

 

We sat ourselves upon a bench looking westward out to sea,

And I was full of quiet joy and so was Anna Lee,

And we watched the fishing boats come home and the gigs go racing by,

And we saw the sun go sinking down in the purple-painted sky,

The clouds were ringed with sunset and the stars rode very high,

Up along the airy roads where the silver moon grows great,

Thus were we content to lie,

Where the Cornish sun shines late,

In the land of green and plenty where the gulls and gannets cry,

Where the marram grass blows softly in a whispered windy sigh,

On the golden shores of Kernow,

Where the men sing deep and slow,

And the sun falls down from heaven on farmland far below.

 

 

 

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