Her masts were sprung from fore to mizen

(Away O, my poor old clipper!)

And freights was poor and dues had risen,

And there warn't no sense in rigging her new,

So they laid her up for a year or two;

And there they left her, and there she lay,

And there she might have been laying to-day,

But when cargoes are many and ships are few

A ship's a ship be she old or new

(And away, my poor old clipper!).

So in nineteen hundred and seventeen

(Away O, my brave old clipper!)

They've rigged her new and they've scraped her clean

And sent her to sea in time of war

To sail the seas as she sailed before.

And in nineteen hundred and seventeen

She's the same good ship as she's always been;

Her ribs are as staunch and her hull's as sound

As any you'd find the wide world round

(And away, my brave old clipper!).

The same as they were when she went to sea

(Away O, my Clyde-built clipper!)

In eighteen hundred and seventy-three,

Fine in the lines and keen in the bow,

The way they've forgotten to build 'em now;

Lofty masted and heavily sparred,

With stunsail booms to every yard,

And flying kites both high and low

To catch the winds when they did blow—

(And away, my Clyde-built clipper!).

C.F.S.