Barque in the Harbour

From the barque in the harbour, when roaming on shores

Stepped into a pub, I oft time before

And as I stood a-gambling, enjoying my glass

Who chance to walk in, but a young Spanish lass

She sat down beside me, kept squeezing my hand

Saying, "sir, you're a stranger, not long to this land"

Your roam, jolly sailor, along with me

To some lonesome spot, no female can see

I quickly consented on whether to roam

She lives by herself in a neat little home

She's brisk, pump, and jolly, her age scarce 19

And the name of that Spaniard, I think was Eileen

On a fine summer's morning, our ship, she set sail

And down by the seashore, Irene, she came

With her pocket handkerchief, and wiping her eyes

"Don't you leave me, jolly sailor, with a word," she decried

When you reaches port in your old New Finland

Thank God, the young Spaniard kept squeezing your hand

And though you will marry, enjoying your bride

Think on the young Spaniard, who lay by your side

When you reaches port in your old New Finland

Thank God, the young Spaniard kept squeezing your hand

And though you will marry, enjoying your bride

Think on the young Spaniard who lay by your side

She lay by your side