'Twas in the year of thirty-four, on the last daylight in May,
Jim Harris in the Ronald P. from St. Kieran's sailed away;
He sailed away in search of bait till he came to Paradise Sound,
Where, to his great and sad mistake, the Irene he ran down.
As she lay to her anchor, all hands was filled with joy,
Not thinking any accident to them was drawing nigh;
Until the Ronald hove in sight more joyful did they feel,
With flowing yards and swelling sails, taking eight knots from the reel.
She was like some frightened animal with the white foam across her face,
Neither sheet nor tack now did she slack while entering in this place;
Those boats they were well scattered, and for her there was plenty of room,
But she passed too near to the Irene's head and she broke off her jib boom.
Which pierced the Ronald's mainsail about three cloths from the lee,
The mainsail left the mainmast, was an awful sight to see;
Those boys they were well frightened, what to do they did not know,
So, without their skipper's orders, their anchor they let go.
Jim Harris jumped upon the deck, fired down his cap and swore,
Saying, such a tangle now as this I never saw before;
I've been charge of vessels large and small and I brought them far and near,
Far across the broad Atlantic where the storms do rage severe.
Now, if this was some youngster, what would the people say,
For an accident can happen to the best man any day;
It's alright when the wheel is going up, but when she turns for to go down,
You all might meet with the same sad fate as Jim Harris from Paradise Sound.