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.