In the dark tangled forest where the lumberjacks sing,
From their saws and their axes, the music it springs,
As I ceased from my labour at the close of the day,
I heard with regret a young lumberjack say:
"Oh, the nights they are weary and the days they are long,
Though my comrades they cheer me with music and song,
I'm tired and I'm lonesome and cold is my bed,
And I long once again for the Maid from Tidehead."
So give me my knapsack and homeward I'll go.
I'll heed not the wintry wind's howl or the snow,
For all I'll be thinking is the last words she said,
"Come back to your darling!" cried the Maid from Tidehead.
He'll kiss her, caress her, as he used to of yore
When they strolled side by side down the Restigouche shore,
And on her fair bosom he'll pillow his head;
No more will he roam from the Maid of Tidehead.