Going by Daly's shanty I heard the boys within 
Dancing the Spanish hornpipe to Driscoll's violin, 
I heard the sea-boots shaking the rough planks of the floor, 
But I was going westward, I hadn't heart for more. 

All down the windy village the noise rang in my ears, 
Old sea boots stamping, shuffling, it brought the bitter tears. 
The old tune piped and quavered, the lilts came clear and strong. 
But I was going westward, I couldn't join the song. 

There were the grey stone houses, the night wind blowing keen, 
The hill-sides pale with moonlight, the young corn springing green,
The hearth nooks lit and kindly, with dear friends good to see. 
But I was going westward, and the ship waited me.