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From Songs of Miramichi by Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Brunswick Press, Fredericton, New Brunswick, 1968

Peter Emberley

My name is Peter Emberley

As you may understand,

I was born on Prince Edward Island

Near to the ocean strand.


In eighteen hundred and eighty,

When the flowers were a brilliant hue,

I sailed away from my native isle

My fortune to pursue.


I landed in New Brunswick

In a lumbering country,

I hired to work in the lumber woods

On the Sou’West Miramichi.

I hired to work in the lumber woods

Where they cut the tall spruce down,

While loading teams with yarded logs

I received a deadly wound.


There’s danger on the ocean,

Where the waves roll mountains high.

There’s danger on the battlefield

Where the angry bullets fly.

There’s danger in the lumber woods,

For death lurks sullen there,

And I have fell a victim

Into that monstrous snare.


I know my luck seems very hard

Since fate has proved severe,

But victor death is the worst can come

And I have no more to fear.

And he’ll allay those deadly pains

And liberate me soon,

And I’ll sleep the long and lonely sleep

Called the slumber in the tomb.


Here’s adieu to Prince Edward’s Island

That garden in the seas,

No more I’ll walk its flowery banks

To enjoy a summer’s breeze.

No more I’ll view those gallant ships

As they go swimming by

With their streamers floating on the breeze

Above the canvas high.


Here’s adieu unto my father

It was him who drove me here,

I thought he used me cruelly

His treatments were unfair,

For ’tis not right to oppress a boy

Or try to keep him down,

’Twill oft repulse him from his home

When he is far too young.


Hire’s adieu unto my greatest friend,

I mean my mother dear,

She raised a son who fell as soon

As he left her tender care.

’Twas little did my mother know

When she sang lullaby,

What country I might travel in

Or what death I might die.


Here’s adieu unto my youngest friend,

Those Island girls so true,

Long may they bloom to grace that isle

Where first my breath I drew.

For the world will roll on just the same

When I have passed away,

What signifies a mortal man

Whose origin is clay?


But there’s a world beyond the tomb

To it I’m nearing on,

Where man is more than mortal

And death can never come.

The mist of death it glares my eyes

And I’m no longer here,

My spirit takes its final flight

Unto another sphere.