Can't remember where· this particular version is from; I've known it for many years. I've always pictured two old fellows in a dory, handlining and grousing about their lot, though the lovely old "Parlor English" they're using belongs to a different breed and place. (Billows, indeed.) Gordon: Vocal and 'cellamba Nancy Mattila: Concertina
The springtime of the year has come,
And so we must away,
Out on the stormy Banks to go
In quest of fish to stay.
Where sea do roll tremendous strong,
Like mountaintops so high,
And the wild seabirds around us
In their mad career go by.
Out there we spend our summer months,
'Midst heavy fog and wind,
And often do our thoughts go back
To the dear ones left behind.
At midnight when the sky is dark
And heavy clouds do frown,
It's there we stand great danger
Of our small craft being run down.
And when those summer months are o'er,
We return with spirits bright,
To see our loved-ones and our wives
Who helped us in the fight.
From where the wild sea-billows roam,
There by cold breezes fanned,
Out on the stormy billows
By the Banks of Newfoundland.