Ye muses nine now do combine and listen to my song,
It's a mournful lamentation and it won't detain you long;
It's about the Spanish captain, as you might understand,
Who left his native country to sail for Newfoundland.
His wife she stepped on board with him, dressed up in silks so fine,
She had a dark and rolling eye, like diamonds they did shine;
Her skin was like the snow blossom that falls before the rain,
And her hair in ringlets hanging down, Rosanna was her name.
Her daughter followed after her just like some angel bright,
She had a tall and slender waist, dressed up in muslin white;
Her cheeks they bloomed like roses, from a Spanish town she came,
She was fairer than Rosanna, whom they called the flower of Spain.
On the fourteenth day of July last, from Lisbon we set sail,
With the headland in our company with a sweet and pleasant gale;
But the headland in our company no longer could she stay,
For she got in that very night that we were cast away.
The Marguerite was our ship's name, she was a splendid boat,
With lofty yards and pitch pine spars, she was scarce nine years afloat;
With a reckoning and good conduct our due course we did steer,
Till the boatswain cried, "There's land ahead, I think it is Cape Spear."
The farmers on the southern shore, as you might understand,
Were burning turf upon the ground to fertilize their land;
The heavy smoke from out the town filled all those bights and bays,
Said our captain in a flowing voice, "We leave our ship in stays."
Then we squared our yards, ran across the bay that dark and stormy night,
Every man was in his station, but no one saw the light;
The night was dark with heavy smoke, and dismal looked the sky,
When in a place called Barren Rock we ran her high and dry.
Oh the fourteenth of September last, it was a dismal sight,
All hands were in the water at twelve o'clock that night;
But the captain's wife and daughter no longer can remain,
To enjoy their wealth and happiness left after them in Spain.
Our captain was a Spaniard, a man of note and fame,
With courage bold undaunted to cross the raging main;
And may the realms of glory their precious souls receive,
Make a place for them in heaven where St. Peter holds the keys.