A Poor French Sailor's Scottish Sweetheart
- by William Johnson Cory 24I CANNOT forget my Joe,
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 Joe in the English bay;
I 'm Annie Rowan, his Annie Rowan,
He called me his Bien-Aimée.
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.
- by William Johnson Cory 22They told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead,
They brought me bitter news to hear and bitter tears to shed.
I wept, as I remembered, how often you and I
Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky.
And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest,
A handful of grey ashes, long long ago at rest,
Still are thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales, awake;
For Death, he taketh all away, but them he cannot take.
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