I came to this country
Eighteen and forty-nine
I thought myself lucky
For to be alive
I looked all around me
No one could I see
That I could compare
With my pretty Saree

I wish I was a poet
Could write in fine hand
I'd write my love a letter
One she'd long understand
I'd send it by the water
Where the islands overflow
And I'd think of pretty Saro
Wherever I go

'Tis not this long journey
That grieves me for to go
Nor the country that I'm leaving
Nor the debts that I owe
There's one thing that grieves me
And bears on my mind
That's leaving my darling
Pretty Saro behind