A Poor French Sailor’s Scottish Sweetheart

I CANNOT forget my Joe, I bid him be mine in sleep; But battle and woe have changed him so There ’s nothing to do but weep. My mother rebukes me yet, And I never was meek before; His jacket is wet, his lip cold set, He ’ll trouble our home no more. Oh, breaker of reeds that bend! Oh, quencher of tow that smokes! I ’d rather descend to my sailor friend Than prosper with lofty folks. I ’m lying beside the gowan, My Joe in the English bay; I ’m Annie Rowan, his Annie Rowan, He called me his Bien-Aimée. I ’ll hearken to all you quote, Though I ’d rather be deaf and free; The little he wrote in the sinking boat Is Bible and charm for me.