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From a barque in the harbour I went roaming on shore,
And stepped into a pub where I was oft times before;
And as I was sitting and enjoying my glass,
Who chanced to walk in but a young Spanish lass.
She sat down beside me and kept squeezing my hand,
And saying, "Sir, you're a stranger, not long to this land;
Will you roam, Johnny Sailor, would you roam along with me,
To some lonesome spot where nobody can see?"
"Don't you leave me, Johnny Sailor," were the words she did cry,
Waving and weeping and wiping her eyes;
"When you reach home in your own Newfoundland,
Think of the young Spaniard who kept squeezing your hand."
I quickly consented with her for to roam,
She lived by herself in a neat little home;
She was brisk, plump, and jolly, and her age scarce 19,
And the name of that maiden, I think, was Irene.
One fine summer's morning, our ship, she set sail,
And down by the seashore, lovely Irene, she came;
Waving her pocket handkerchief and wiping her eyes,
"Don't leave me, Johnny Sailor," were the words she did cry.
"Don't you leave me, Johnny Sailor," were the words she did cry,
Waving and weeping and wiping her eyes;
"When you reach home in your own Newfoundland,
Think of the young Spaniard who kept squeezing your hand."
"I'll bid you farewell, love, on a fine summer's breeze,
But, love, don't forget me when you're crossing the sea;
And when you are married, enjoying your bride,
Think of the young maiden who laid by your side.
"Don't you leave me, Johnny Sailor," were the words she did cry,
Waving and weeping and wiping her eyes;
"When you reach home in your own Newfoundland,
Think of the young Spaniard who kept squeezing your hand.
Think of the young Spaniard who kept squeezing your hand."
A variant was published as #53, The Young Spanish Lass, by Edith Fowke (editor) with Keith MacMillan (music consultant) in The Penguin Book of Canadian Folk Songs, (1973).
