Richard Parker, the Mutineer

O Parker was the truest husband,Best of friends, whom I love dear;Yet when he was a-called to suffer,To him I might not then draw near.Again I ask'd, again I pleaded,Three times entreating,—all in vain;They even that request refused me,And ordered me ashore again.

The yellow flag I saw was flying,A signal for my love to die;The gun was fir'd, as was requir'd,To hang him on the yard-arm high.The boatswain did his best endeavour,I on the shore was put straightway,And there I tarried, watching, weeping,My husband's corpse to bear away.

At dead of night, when all was quiet,And many thousands fast asleep,I, by two female friends attended,Into the burial-ground did creep.Our trembling hands did serve as shovelsWith which the mold we moved away,And then the body of my husbandWas carried off without delay.

Then farewell, Parker, best beloved,That was once the Navy's pride,And since we might not die together,We separate henceforth abide.His sorrows now are past and over,Now he resteth free from pain—Grant, O God, his soul may enterWhere one day we meet again.