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Down in old southern Texas I wandered one day,
Where the tropical sea-breezes blow;
I there fell in love with a flower so rare,
And they called her my Galveston rose.
Her heart was as true as her blue smiling eyes,
As pure as the Lillie that grows;
But the finest of gold in no way could compare,
With the pearls of my Galveston rose.
I grew jealous and falsely accused her one day,
Sayin' a love I no longer should know;
You can truly believe me, her little heart cried,
So I left her my Galveston rose.
Little then did I think that someday I'd repay,
And would weep every sorrow and care;
But as years passed along I grew lonely each day,
For the one I had left waiting there.
So I wrote to my darling and said I was wrong,
I'll return, dear, if you'd only wed;
But soon came the message my flower had died,
And these are the words I had read:
Your sweetheart is peacefully sleeping tonight,
In a grave where the white violets grow;
But enclosed here's the curl that was token of love,
And a note from my Galveston Rose.
I was innocent, dear, though you left me alone,
Remember I loved only you;
But the curl that's enclosed is a leaf from the rose,
I'll be waiting in heaven for you.
Collected in 1951 from Cyril O'Brien of Trepassey, NL, and published in MacEdward Leach And The Songs Of Atlantic Canada © 2004 Memorial University of Newfoundland Folklore and Language Archive (MUNFLA).
