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 jolly sailor, would you roam along with me?
To some lonesome spot where nobody can see."

"Don't you leave me jolly sailor", were the words she did cry.
Waiting 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 handkercheif and wiping her eyes
"Don't leave me jolly sailor," were the word she did cry.

"Don't you leave me jolly sailor", were the words she did cry.
Waiting 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 layed by your side."

"Don't you leave me jolly sailor", were the words she did cry.
Waiting 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.

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