Pretty Saro,

When I first came to this country in 1849
I saw many fair lovers but I never saw mine
I view it all around me, I found myself home
And me a poor stranger and a long way from home

My love she won’t love me, yes I do understand
She wants a freeholder and I’ve got no land
But plenty to maintain her, on silver and gold
And as many other fine things as my love’s house can hold

Farewell to my mother and adieu to my old father, too
I am going to ramble this whole world all through
And when I get tired, I’ll set down and weep
And think on my darling, pretty Saro, my sweet

Down in some lonesome valley, down in some lonesome place
Where the small birds do whistle, their notes to increase
But when I get sorrow, I’ll set down and cry
And think of my darling, my darling so nigh

I wish I were a poet and could write some fine hand
I would write my love a letter that she might understand
I would send it by water where the island overflow
And I’d think of my darling wherever I go

I wish I were a dove and had wings and could fly
This night to my love’s window I would draw nigh
And in her lily-white arms all night I would lay
And watch them little windows till the dawning of day