A Poor French Sailor’s Scottish Sweetheart

I cannot forget my jo,
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 jo in the English bay;
I’m Annie Rowan, his Annie Rowan,
He called me his bien-aimêe.

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.