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Pamela Morgan
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A Barque in the Harbour
From a barque in the harbour, I went roving onshore
Went into an alehouse where I'd never been before
'Twas there I sat gambling and enjoying my glass
When who chanced to sit by me but a young Spanish
lass
She sat down beside me, kept squeezing my hand
'Young man you're a stranger, not belong to this land
Won't you roam, jolly sailor, won't you roam along
with me
To some silent valley, where no-one can see'
'Twas then I consented, 'long with her to roam
She lived by herself in a neat little home
She was brisque, stout and jolly, and her age scarce
18
And the name of that Spaniard, I think 'twere Irene
It was early next morning, our vessel set sail
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And down by the seaside lovely Irene she came
And with her pocket-handkerchief, she kept drying her
eyes
'Don't you leave me jolly sailor', were the words
Irene cried
'I will bid you adieu, love, on a fine summer's
breeze
But don't you forget me when you're crossing the seas
And when you reaches port safe in your own
Newfoundland
You think on that young Spaniard, kept squeezing your
hand
And when you are married, and enjoying your bride,
You think on that young Spaniard, lay down by your
side'
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