Songs of the Sea

Rolling Home to Old New England

by John Fitzsimmons | The American Folk Experience

~Traditional 

Call all hands to man the capstan
See the cable running clear
Heave away and with a will, boys
For new England we will steer

Rolling home, rolling home
Rolling home across the sea
Rolling home to old New England
Rolling home dear land to thee

Fare you well, you Spanish maidens
It is time to say adieu
Happy times we’ve spent together
Happy times we’ve spent with you

“Round Cape Horn one frosty morning
And our sails were full of snow
Clear your sheets and sway your halyards
Swing her out and let her go

Up aloft amid the rigging
Blows a wild and rushing gale
Like a monsoon in the springtime
Filling out each well known sail

And the waves we leave behind us
Seem to murmur as they flow
There’s a hearty welcome waiting
In the land to which you go

Many thousand miles behind us
Many thousand miles before
Ocean lifts her winds to bring us
To that well remembered shore

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Performances, Workshops,
Resources & Recordings

The American Folk Experience is dedicated to collecting and curating the most enduring songs from our musical heritage.  Every performance and workshop is a celebration and exploration of the timeless songs and stories that have shaped and formed the musical history of America. John Fitzsimmons has been singing and performing these gems of the past for the past forty years, and he brings a folksy warmth, humor and massive repertoire of songs to any occasion. 

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Scott Alaric

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On the Green, in Concord, MA
Every Thursday Night
for over thirty years…

 

“A Song Singing, Word Slinging, Story Swapping,
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Songcatcher Rag

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Fitz’s now classic recording of original songs and poetry…

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Lenny Megliola

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Writing help

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Fitz’s Journal

Thoughts on Common Days

Concord

Concord

The people, the music filledness of rush hour traffic skirting puddles work crews packing in laughswearingmudyellowed slickers lighting candle bombs. My sadness the euphoric detachment. I love this town. It breathes me.

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The Fisher

The Fisher

To cast far is to cast well. I’ve always believed that the biggest fish are just beyond my range and lie in dark water I could never swim to. But experience is the wisdom that has me now casting closer to shore, nearest the reeds and overgrowth — a subtleness geared...

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Raccoon

Raccoon

I’ve stopped the chinks with newspaper and rags wedged tightly against the wind blowing cold three days now. I feed the fire and curse its hissing and steaming mixing green oak with sticks of dried pine calling myself Raccoon grown fat in the suburbs sleeping in...

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