^Sio r ; Slailo »aryl B p r,,, ''er- 3 i A C0r «er O fiJ' Pe »"iodic-,/ : - FROM THE LIBRARY OF REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON, D. D. BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO THE LIBRARY OF PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY I Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from Princeton Theological Seminary Library http://archive.org/details/newsOOhart THE SJHW ^©ss© APR 27 1935 1'AINIXG A CHOICE COLLECTION OF I II ' Popular Song's, Glees, Choruses, Extravaganzas, &c. MANY OF WHICH HATE NEVER BEFORE BEEN PUBLISHED. WITH TWELVE PLATES. Sing, maiden, sing, Mouths were made for singing ; Listen. Songs thou "It hear Through the wide world ringing HARTFORD: S. ANDRUS AND SON. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1835, bjr EZRA STRONG, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Connecticut. boston : Stereotyped by Shepard, Oliver k Ca 3 Water Street. PREFACE. The garbage that has been thrust upon the public in the shape, and under the name of Song Books, renders it almost a hopeless task to obtain a favorable recep- tion, at first, for a new compilation of Songs. The compiler of the following pages, however, flatters himself that he has suc- ceeded in producing a work free from general objections on the score of morbid and vicious taste, even if he cannot claim for it real and substantial merit. It has been his earnest endeavor to keep the New Song Book free from any and every thing which could in the least gratify de- pravity of heart, or offend the most fastidi- ous feelings. How far he has succeeded, the reader must judge. He who said, " Let me make the Songs of a country, and I care not who make its laws," evinced his knowledge of the human heart, when swayed by a combi- 1* VI PREFACE. nation of melody and sentiment. Patri- otic songs are peculiarly calculated to keep alive that ardent love of country which, in the hearts of the young particu- larly, must be cherished in order to per- petuate its prosperity and glory : and the compiler has endeavored to throw into the following pages as many of that descrip- tion as he possibly could, and still retain a pleasing variety of matter. Without further remark, he submits the work to those who are in the habit of be- guiling the monotony of life with the gay- ety of song. THE NEW SONG BOOK. The Sea. — By Barry Cornwall. The sea ! the sea ! the open sea ! The blue, the fresh, the ever free ! Without a mark, without a bound, Jt runneth the earth's wide regions round; It plays with the clouds; it mocks the Or like a^cradled creature lies. [skies ; I 'm on the sea ! I 'm on the sea ! I i:m where I would ever be ; With the blue above, and the blue below, And silence wheresoe'r I go ; If a storm should come and awake the deep, What matter ? 7 shall ride and sleep. I love, oh ! how I love to ride On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide, When every mad wave drowns the moon, Or whistles aloft his tempest tune, And tells how goeth the world below, And why the sou'-west blasts do blow. 8 THE NEW SONG BOOK. I never was on the dull tame shore, But I loved the great sea more and more, And backwards flew to her billowy breast, Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest ; And a mother she was, and is to me ; For I was born on the open sea ! The waves were white, and red the morn, In the noisy hour when I was born ; And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled, And the dolphins bared their backs of gold; And never w r as heard such an outcry wild, As welcomed to life the ocean-child ! I Ve lived since then, in calm and strife, Full fifty summers a sailor's life, With wealth to spend and a power to range, But never have sought, nor sighed for change ; And Death, whenever he come to me, Shall come on the wild unbounded sea ! The Mellow Horn.— By T. W. Hyatt, Esq. At dawn Aurora gaily breaks, In all her proud attire, Majestic o'er the glassy lakes Reflecting liquid fire ; All nature smiles to usher in The blushing queen of morn, And huntsmen with the day begin To wind the mellow horn. THE NEW torn BOOK. 9 At eve, when gloomy shades obscure The tranquil shepherd's cot, When tinkling bells are heard no more, And daily toil forgot ; 'T is then the sweet enchanting note, On zephyrs gently borne, With witching cadence seems to float Around the mellow horn. Oft in the stilly Night.- -Adapted to music. Oft in the stilly night, Ere slumber's chain had bound m«, Fond memory brings the light Of other days around me ; The smiles, the tears of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken, Tn? eyes that shone, now dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken ! Thus in the stilly night, &c. When I remember all The friends so linked together, I 've seen around me fall, Like leaves in winter weather, I feel like one who treads alone Some banquet hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, whose garland 's dead, And all but me departed. Thus in the stilly night, &c. 10 THE NEW SONG BOOK. O, swiftly glides the bonny Boat. By Joanna Bailey. O, swiftly glides the bonny boat, Just parted from the shore; And to the fisher's chorus note, Soft moves the dipping oar : These toils are borne with happy cheer, And ever may they speed ; That feeble age and helpmate dear, And tender bairnies feed. We cast our lines in Largo bay, Our nets are floating wide ; Our bonny boat, with yielding sway, Rocks lightly on the tide ; And happy prove our daily lot Upon the summer sea ; And blest on land our kindly cot, Where all our treasures be. The mermaid on her rock may sing, The witch may weave her charm, No water sprite, nor eldrick thing, The bonny boat can harm : It safely bears its scaly store, Through many a stormy gale ; While joyful shouts rise from the shore Its homeward prow to hail. We cast our lines in Largo bay, &c. Now safe arrived, on shore we meet Our friends with happy cheer ; And with the fisher's chorus greet All those we hold most dear: THE NEW SONG BOOK. 1 1 With happy cheer, the echoing cove Repeats the chanted note, As homeward to our cot we move Our bonny, bonny boat. V\ 3 cast our lines in Largo bay, &c. IM be a Butterfly. I 'd be a butterfly, born in a bower, Where roses, and lilies, and violets meet ; Roving forever from flower to flower, And kissing all buds that are pretty and sweet. I 'd never languish for wealth or for power, I 'd never sigh to see slaves at my feet ; I 'd be a butterfly, born in a bower, Kissing all buds that are pretty and sweet, I'd be a butterfly, I 'd be i butterfly, Kissing all buds that are pretty and sweet. Oh, could I pilfer the wand of a fairy, I 'd have a pair of those beautiful wings ; Their summer day's ramble is sportive and airy, They sleep in a rose when the nightin- gale sin. Those who have wealth must be watchful and wary. Power, alas ! i misery brings; I 'd be a butterfly, sportive and airy, 12 THE NEW SONG BOOK. Rocked in a rose when the nightingale sings, I 'd be a butterfly, I'd be a butterfly, Rocked in a rose when the nightingale sings. What, though you tell me each gay little rover Shrinks from the breath of the first autumn day ; Surely 't is better when summer is over, To die, when all fair things are fading away ; Some in life's winter may toil to discover Means of procuring a weary delay. I 'd be a butterfly, living a rover, Dying when fair things are fading away, 1 'd be a butterfly, I 'd be a butterfly, Dying when fair things are fading away. March to the Battle Field, March to the battle field, The foe is now before us ; Each heart is freedom's shield, And Heaven is smiling o'er us. The woes and pains, The galling chains, That keep our spirits under, In proud disdain We Ve broke again, And tore each link asunder. March to the, T is the last Rose of Summer, 'T is the last rose of summer, Left blooming alone ; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone ; No flower of her kindred, No rose-bud is nigh, To reflect back her blushes, Or give sigh for sigh ! I '11 not leave thee, thou lone one ! To pine on the stem ; Since the lovely are sleeping, Go, sleep thou with them ; Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o'er thy bed, Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead. So soon may I follow, When friendships decay, And from love's shining circle The gems drop away ! When true hearts lie withered, And fond ones are flown, Oh ! who would inhabit Thrs bleak world alone ? THE NEW SONG BOOK. 33 I see them on their winding Way. By Hebi r. I see them on their winding way, About their ranks the moonbeams play, Their lofty deeds and daring high Blended with notes of victory. And waving arms and banners bright Are glancing in the mellow light, They 're lost and gone, the moon is past, The woods' dark shade is o'er the east. And fainter, fainter, fainter still The march is rising o'er the hill. Again, again, the pealing drum^ The* clashing horn — they come, they come ; Through rocky pass, o'er wooded steep, In long and glittering files they sweep, And nearer, nearer, yet more near Their softened cadence meets the ear. Forth, forth, and meet them on their way, The trampling hoofs brook no delay; With thrilling fife and pealing drum And clashing horn, they come, they come. Oh, no ! we never mention her. Oh, no ! we never mention her ; Her name is never heard ; My lips are now forbid to speak That once familiar word. From sport to sport they hurry me, To banish my regret ; And when they win a smile from me» They think that I forget. C 34 THE NEW SONG BOOK. They bid me seek in change of scene The charms that ethers see ; But were I in a foreign land, They M find no change in me. 'T is true that I behold no more The valley where we met ; I do not see the hawthorn tree- But how can I forget ? They tell me she is happy now — The gayest of the gay ; They hint that she forgets me ; • But I heed not what they say ; Like me, perhaps, s.he struggles with Eacn feeling of regret ; But if she loves as I have loved, She never can forget. Home, eweet Home. 'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there 's no place like home ; A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere. Home* home, sweet, sweet home, Theie 's no place like home. 1 ga^J on the moon, as I trace the drear ~i!d, Ajzd feel that my parent now thinks cf her child ; THE NEW SONG BOOK. 35 She looks on that moon from our own cot- tage door, Through the woodbines whose fragrance shall cheer me no more. Home, home, sweet, sweet home, &c. An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain, O, give me my lowly, thatched cottage again ; The birds, singing gaily, that came at my call, Give me them, with the peace of mind dearer than all. Home, home, sweet, sweet home, &c. Meet 3Ie by 3IoonIight. — By J A Wade, Meet me by moonlight, alone, And then I will tell you a tale Must be told by the moonlight alone, In the grove at the end of the vale ; You must promise to come, for I said I would show the night flowers their queen. Nay, turn not away thy sweet head, 'T is the loveliest ever was seen. Oh ! meet me by moonlight, alone. Daylight may do for the gay, The thoughtless, the heartless, the free ; But there 's something about the moon's ray, That is sweeter to you and to me. 36 THE NEW SONG BOOK. Oh ! remember be sure to be there, For though dearly a moonlight I prize., I care not for all in the air. If I want the sweet light of your eyes. So meet me by moonlight, alone. Amelia Bird. — By Bculer. Air. — " Oh no ! we never mention her." Oh ! yes, I love to mention her, I do, upon my word ! I 'm only happy when I speak Of Miss Amelia Bird. It, in the fields near Primrose-hill, One summer's day occurred, I saw and loved, and first did speak To Miss Amelia Bird. I asked her if she in the fields Saw charms that others see ; To which she archly did reply, " She saw no charms in me." And thus the introduction o'er, All shyness was absurd, And soon I learnt the residence Of Miss Amelia Bird. Said she, " I live at Hampstead now, Beyond the Load of Hay ; My father keeps a good milch cow And deals in curds and whey." Said she, " I do prefer the whey — " Said I, " I love the curd ; But what than that much more I love Is you, Amelia Bird." THE NEW SONG BOOK. 37 She soon confessed a mutual flame. And me a keepsake gave ; And I gave her a handkerchief Which cost me shillings five : A v'irtuous woman 's worth a crown, As often I have heard ; But worth, I think, a sovereign Is Miss Amelia Bird. Although I 'm far from Hampstead now, And may be farther yet, And do not see her nor the cow, Yet how can I forget ? But, perhaps, like me, she may be here, And see me unobserved — What ecstasy 't would be to me To see Amelia Bird. Hark! the Goddess Diana. — A Diut. Hark ! the goddess Diana Calls aloud for the chase ; Bright Phoebus awakens the morn ; Rouse, rouse from your slumber, And for hunting prepare, For the huntsman is winding his horn. See ! the hounds are unkennelled, And all ripe for the chase, They start to o'ertake the fleet hare ! All danger they 're scorning, And for hunting preparing ; To the field then, brave boys, let 's repair. 4 38 THE NEW SONG BOOK. Dame Purden. — A Glee. Dame Durden had five serving maids, To carry the milking pail ; She also had five laboring men, To manage the spade and flail : There was Moll and Bet, And Doll and Kate, And Dorothy with a pail ; And Joe and Jack, And Tom and Dick, And Humphrey with his flail ; — Now Joe kissed Molly, And Jt.ck kissed Betty, And Tom kissed Dolly, And Dick kissed Kitty, And Humphrey with his flail, And Kitty she was a charming girl To carry the milking pail. THE NEW SONG BOOK. 39 Dame Durien in the morn so st>on She did begin to call, To rouse her serving-men and maids Most loudly she did call. Come Moll and Bet, &c. 'T was on the morn of Valentine The birds began to mate, Dame Durden and her men and maids They all began to prate. 'Twas Moll and Bet, &c. The Minstrel's Return from the War, The minstrel 's returned from the war, With spirits as buoyant as air, And thus on his tuneful guitar, He sung in the bower of his fair : u The noise of the battle is over, The bugle no more calls to arms ; A soldier no more — but a lover, I bend to the power of thy charms. Sweet lady, fair lady, I 'm thine, I bend to the magic of beauty, Tho' the banner and helmet are mine, Yet love calls the soldier to duty." The minstrel his suit warmly pressed, She blushed, sighed, and hung down her head ; Till conquered she fell on his breast, And thus to the happy youth said : 1 The bugle shall part us, love, never, My bosom thy pillow shall be, 40 THE NEW SONG BOOK. Till death tears thee from me forever ; Still faithful, I'll perish with thee." Sweet lady, &c. But fame called the youth to the field ; His banner waved high o'er his head ; He gave his guitar for a shield, And soon he lay low with the dead, While she, o'er her young hero bending, Received his expiring adieu : " I die whilst my country defending, But I die to my lady love true." " Oh, death ! (then she cried,) I am thine, I tear off the roses of beauty ; The grave of my hero is mine, For he died true to love and to duty ! Away with Melancholy. Away with melancholy r Nor doleful changes ring On life and human folly, But merrily, merrily sing — Fal la. Come on, ye rosy hours, Gay, smiling moments bring ; We '11 strew the way with flowers, And merrily, merrily sing — Fal la. Then what 's the use of sighing, While time is on the wing; Can we prevent his flying ? Then merrily, merrily sino- — Fal ia. THE NEW SONG BOOK. 41 If griefs, like April showers, A moment's sadness bring, Joys soon succeed like flowers, Then cheerily, cheerily sing — Fal la. The rose its bloom refuses, If plucked not in the spring ; Life soon its fragrance loses, Then cheerily, cheerily sing — Fal la. Fly, fly all dull emotion, All care away we fling ; Pure joy is our devotion ; Then cheerily, cheerily sing — Fal la. The bright, bright Shore. I hear thy shell resound The trembling waters o'er, And the songs that swell around My own bright shore ! The melting charm I hear, The tuneful melody. Thai soothes the listening ear In the chambers of the sea, Where the Nereid sisters play, And, the envied smile to reap, Their wave-born loves array All the treasures of the deep. But oh ! I may not leave, To roam the waters o'er, 4* THE NEW SONG BOOK. My own bright shore, The bright, bright shore ! The golden hue of day, With the rich and radiant shower Of all the bloom of May, Here decks my parent bower ; And hope, and truth, and love, If e'er with mortals found, Thrice bless my native grove, And breathe a heaven around. Then hither from the wave, And share our sweet ?r store ; hither from the wave, And share our sweeter btore : 1 may not, cannot leave The shore, the? lovely shore My own bright shore, The bright, bright shore ! Song of the Skaters, This bleak and chilly morning, "With frost the trees adorning, Though Phoebus below Were all in a glow, Through the sparkling snow A skating we go, With a fal, la, la, To the sound of the merry horn. From right to left we 're plying, Swifter than wind we 're flying, Spheres on spheres surrounding, Health and strength abounding, THE NEW SONG BOOK. 43 la circles we swing : Our poise still we keep, Behold how we sweep The face of the deep, With a fid, lal, la. To the sound of the merry horn. Great Jove looks down with wonder, To view his ions of thunder : Though the waters he seal, We rove on our heel, Our weapons of steel, And no danger we feel, With a fal, lal, la, To the sound of the merry horn. See, see, our band advances, See how they join in dances, Horns and trumpets sounding, Rocks and hills rebounding ; Let Tritons now blow, And call us their foe, For Neptune below His beard dare not show, With a fal, lal, la, To the sound of the merry horn. Wake ! Lady, wake ! — A Serenade. Wake ! lady, wake ! the midnight moon Sails through the cloudless night of June; The stars gaze sweetly on the stream, Which, in the brightness of their beam, One sheet of glory lies. 44 THE NEW SONG BOOK. The glow-worm lends its little light, And all that 's beautiful and bright, Is shining in this world to-night, Save :hy bright eyes ! Then wake ! lady, wake ! Wake ! lady, wake ! the nightingale Sings to the moon her love-lorn tale ; Now doth the brook that 's hushed by day, As through the vale she winds her way, In murmurs soft rejoice ; The leaves the midnight winds have stirred Are whisp'ring many a gentle word, And all earth's sweetest sounds are heard, Save thy sweet voice ! Then wake ! lady, wake ! >T was You, Sir.— A Catch. 1. 'T was you, sir, 'twas you, sir, I tell you nothing new, sir, 'T was you that kissed the pretty girl ; 'T was you, sir, you. 2. 'T is true, sir, 't is true, sir, You look so very blue, sir, 1 ! m sure you kissed the pretty girl, 'T is true, sir, true. 3. Oh, sir, no, sir, How can you wrong me so, sir I did not kiss the pretty girl — B"t I know who. THE NEW BONG BOOK. 45 Law ! Law ! Law ! Come, list to me for a minute, A song I am going to sing it, There 's something serious in it, So pray your attention draw ; 'T is all about the law, Which has such a deuce of a claw. Experience I have bought it. And now to you have brought it — Will you or not be taught it ? I sing the charms of Law, L, A. W ! law. Which has such a deuce of a claw. If you 're fond of pure vexation, And sweet procrastination, You 're just in a situation To enjoy a suit at law. When first your cause is creeping, It hinders you from sleeping, Attornies only reaping, 46 THE NEW SONG BOOK. For still your cash they draw ; D, R, A, W ! draw, Is the main-spring of the law. Misery, toil and trouble Make up the hubble-bubble, Leave yon nothing but stubble, And make you a man of straw ; S, T, R, A, W ! straw, Is all you get by the law. H you 're fond of pure vexation, &c. And when your cause is ending, Your case is no ways mending, Expense each step attending; And then they find a flaw, And the judge, like any jackdaw, Will lay down what is law. In a rotten stick your trust is, You find the bubble burst is. And though you dont get justice, You 're sure to get plenty of law : L, A, W ! law, Leaves you not worth a straw. If you 're fond of pure vexation, &c. So if life 's all sugar and honey, And fortune has always been sunny, And you want to get rid of your money, I 'd advise you go to law ; Like ice in a rapid thaw, Your cash will melt awa. Comfort 't is folly to care for, Life 's a lottery — therefore, Without a why or wherefore, I 'd advise you to go lo law ; THE NEW SONG BOOK. 47 L, A, W! law, Does like a blister draw. If you 're fond of pure vexation, . cook. 49 The well-known shout, and sleigh-bells' Seem echoing in her ofors : [.ring, Now come, my boys, let 's loudly sing, She '11 soon forget her fears. We '11 case our lines upon the post That stands before the door, And then we '11 all our fingers toast, And sleigh a little more. Then happy prove each pleasant jaunt Upon the wintry plain ; I 'in sure we shall not sleighing want, If snow don't turn to rain. Blue-eyed Mary. Sung by George W. Dixon. Come, tell me. blue-eyed stranger, Say, whither dost thou roam ? O'er this wide world a ranger, Hast thou no friends or home ? " They called me blue-eyed Mary, When friends and fortune smiled But ah ! how fortunes vary, I now am sorrow's child." Come here, I '11 buy thy flowers, And ease thy hapless lot, Still wet with morning showers. I '11 buy forget-me-not. " Kind sir, then take these posies, They're fading like my youth, But never, like these roses, Shall wither "Mary's truth." 50 THE NEW SONG BOOK. Lock up, thou poor forsaken, I '11 give thee house and home, And if I 'm not mistaken, Thou 'It never wish to roam. ' Once more I 'm happy Mary, Once more has fortune smiled ; Who ne'er from virtue vary, May yet be fortune's child." Watchman.— By T. Moore. Good night, good night, my dearest, How fast the moments fly ; 'T is time to part, thou hearest That hateful watchman's cry, " Past twelve o'clock !" — good night ! Yet stay a moment longer — Alas ! why is it so ? — The wish to stay grows stronger. The more 'l is time to gn. " Past one o'clock !" — good night ! Now wrap thy cloak about thee : — The hours must sure go wrong, For when they 're past without thee, They 're, oh ! ten times as long. 11 Past two o'clock !" — good night ! Age in that dreadful warning ! Had ever time such flight ? And see the sky, — 't is morning— So now, indeed, good night ! "Past three o'clock !" — good night ! THE NEW SONG BOOK. 51 Iley the bonny Breast Knots. Hey the bonnie, ho the bonnie, Hey the bonnie breast knots ; Blithe and bonnie were they all When they put on the breast knots. There was a bridal in our town, For ilka lass there was a loon, Some wore black and some wore brown, But ilk ane had a breast knot. Hey the bonnie, &c. A sonsie lass wi' raven hair, Cam' wi' a knot like lily fair ; Gart mony hearts that hour feel sair, For ilk ane lo'ed her breast knot. The bride a knot kept tae hersel ! Its color she alone could tell, Wha had the like would bear the bell And ha' a jo, and a breast knot. Hey the bonnie, &c. It was nae black, it was nae blue, It had nae sic unseemly hue ; But it was white, I tell you true, A braw bonnie breast knot. Ane had the knot that like to me, Inspired all hearts wi' mirth and glee ; Farewell ! kind friends, and thanks to ye, That lo'e sae weel my breast knots. Hey the bonnie, ho the bonnie, Hey the bonnie breast knots, Blithe and bonnie were they all When thev put on the breast knots. 52 THE NEW SONG BOOK. Marseilles Hymn. Sung by George W. Dixon. Ye sons of Freedom, wake to glory ! Hark ! hark ! what myriads bid you rise ; Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary, Behold their tears and hear their cries. Shall hateful tyrants, mischiefs brooding, With hireling hosts, a ruffian band, Affright and desolate the land, While peace and liberty lie bleeding ? To arms ! to arms ! ye brave ! Th' avenging sword unsheath ; March on, march on, all hearts resolved, On victory or death. Now, now, the dangerous storm is rolling, Which treacherous kings confederate raise, The dogs of war, let loose, are howling, And lo ! our fields and cities blaze. And shall we basely view the ruin, While lawless force, with guilty stride, Spreads desolation far and wide, With crimes and blood his hands imbruing ? To arms ! to arms ! ye brave, &c. With luxury and pride surrounded, The vile insatiate despots dare, Their thirst of power and gold unbounded, To mete and vend the light and air ; Liks beasts of burden would they load us, Like gods would bid their slaves adore ; But man is man, and who is more ? THE NEW SONG BOOK. 53 Then shall they longer lash and goad us ? To arms ! to arms ! ye brave, &c. Oh ! Liberty, can man resign thee, Once having felt thy generous iiame ? Can dungeons, bolts, and bars confine thee? Or whips thy noble spirit tame ? Too long the world has wept, bewailing That falsehood's dagger tyrants wield ; But freedom is our sword and shield, And all their arts are unavailing. To arms ! to arms ! ye brave, <5cc. 3Iy bonnie Lass. By A. Lo:.—An\ •• Wka 11 be King; but Charlie." My bonnie lass, now turn to me, And gie a smile to cheer me, An honest heart I '11 gie to thee, For in truth I love thee dearly. Come, o'er the heather We '11 trip together, All in the morning early ; With heart and hand I '11 by thee stand, For in truth I love thee dearly. Come, o'er the heather We '11 trip together, I heed neither mother Not father nor brother ; With heart and hand I '11 by thee stand, For in truth I love thee dearly. £* 54 THE NEW SONG BOOK. There 's many a lass I love full well, And many who love me dearly, But there 's ne'er a one, except thysel ; That I e'er could love sincerely. Come, o'er the heather, &c. Here we meet too soon to part. Sung by Mr. Wood. — Air, " Di tanti palpitiuiP Here Ave meet too soon to part; Here to leave will raise a smart ; Here I '11 press thee to my heart, Where none have place above thee. Here I vow to love thee well ; Could but words unseal the spell, Had but language strength to tell, I 'd say how much I love thee ! Here the rose that decks thy door ; Here the thorn that spreads thy bower ; Here the willow on the moor ; The birds at rest above thee ; Had they light of life to see, Sense of soul, like thee and me, Soon might each a witness be, How dotingly I love thee ! I THE NEW SONG BOOK. 55 Comin' through the live. If a body meet a body comin' through the rye, If a body kiss a body, need a body cry ? Ev'ry lassie has her laddie, Nane, they say, ha'e I ! Yet a 1 the lads they smile at me, When comin' through the rye. Amang the train there is a swain, I dearly lo'e mysel' ; But whare 's his name, or what 's his name, I dinna care to tell. If a body meet a body comin' frae the town, If a body greet a body, need a body frown ? Ev'ry lassie has her laddie, Nane, they say, ha'e I ! Yet a J the lads they smile at me, 'When comin' through the rye. Amang the train there is a swain I dearly lo'e mysel' ; But whare 's his hame, or what '■ his name, I dinna care to tell. Love cuts me up. Air — •'•' Love was once a little Boy." What a luckless wight am I — Heigho ! heigho ! All day long I pine and cry — Height ! heigho ! 56 THE NEW SONG BOOK. Once I plump and fat was grown, Now I 'm naught but skin and bone ; Love cuts me up and cuts me down— Heigho ! heigho ! My inward man is sore decayed — Heigho ! heigho ! The spirit 's by the flesh betrayed — Heigho ! heigho ! I conceive — ah, verily, That I 'm assailed most grievously, And used by Ruth most ruthlessly — Heigho ! heigho ! My heart 's by Cupid fiercely smote — Heigho ! heigho ! And rent in twain like Joseph's coat — Heigho ! heigho ! Love has caught me in a snare, Wicked Ruth scorns my despair, Though fair herself, don't use me fair- Heigho ! heigho ! As young lambkins frisk and play — Heigho ! heigho ! Ruth and I have toiled all day — Heigho ! heigho ! She now disdains to cast one look On me — alas ! it is no joke, My peace should be to pieces broke — Heigho ! heigho! The joys of earth I'll bid adieu — Heigho ! heigho ! Leave Ruth to find a awain more true— Heigho ! heigho ! THE NEW SONG BOOK. 57 I '11 seek some shady grove straightway, And there, alas ! and lack-a-day ! Beneath some pine I '11 pine away — Heigho ! heigho ! A Soldier's Gratitude. Whate'er my fate, where'er I roam, By sorrow still oppressed, I '11 ne'er forget the peaceful home, That gave a wand'rer rest. Then ever rove life's sunny banks By sweetest llow'rets strewed, Still may you claim a soldier's thanks, A soldier's gratitude. The tender sigh, the balmy tear, v That meek-eyed pity gave, My last expiring hour shall cheer, And bless the wand'rer's grave. Then ever rove life's sunny banks, By sweetest flow'rets strewed, Still may you claim a soldier's thanks, A soldier's gratitude. The dashing white Serjeant, If I had a beau For a soldier who 'd go y Do you think I 'd say no ? Nfc, not I ! When his red coat I Not a sigh would it draw, But give him eclat for his bravery ! •J& THE NEW SONG BOOK. . If an army of Amazons e'er came in play, As a dashing white Serjeant I 'd march March away, &c. [away ! When my soldier was gone, D'ye think I 'd take on, Sit moping forlorn ? No, not I ! His fame my concern, How my bosom would burn, [victory. When 1 saw him return, crowned with If an army of Amazons, &c. I >ve been roaming, I Ve been roaming, I 've been roaming Where the meadow dew is sweet, And I 'm coming, and I 'm coming, With its pearls upon my feet ; I Ve been roaming, I 've been roaming O 'er the rose and lily fair, And I 'm coming, and I 'm coming, With the blossom in my hair. I Ve been roaming, I 've been roaming Where the meadow jdew is sweet, And I 'm coming, and I 'm coming, With its pearls upon my feet. I 've been roaming, I 've been roaming Where the honey-suckle creeps, And I 'm coming, and I 'm coming, With its kisses on my lips. I Ve been roaming, I 've been roaming Over hill and over plain, And I 'm coming, and I 'm coming To my bower back again. THE NEW SONG BOOK. 59 We 'II married be. — A Comic Duet. He. One day, while working- at my plough, Fal lal lal, &c. I felt, just here, I can't tell how ; Fallal lal, &c. I turned my head round, just to see Who V was I heard, when there stood she, Like Wenus, cont'd out of the sea. Fal lal lal, &c. She. La ! John, you flatter now, I 'in sure, Fal lal lal, Sec. I looked like I, and nothing more ; Fal lal lal, &c. I 'd walked along a field or two, And might look rosy-cheeked or so : Besides, I met a charming beau! Fallal lal, fcc. He. I knows the chap vou mean, I trow, Fal lal lal, See. He 's at the squire's, here below. Fal lal lal, &c. Be careful, Xan, take heed in time, Here 's honest John, just in his prime, If you '11 be his'n, he '11 be thine. Fal lal lal, &c. She. Why John, you 're sartan well to do, Fal lal lal, &c. You 've got a cow. a pier or two ; Fa) lal lal. &c. But mother's magpie talks to 1 — She calls me angel of the sky. 60 THE NEW SONG BOOK. He. Then mother's magpie tells a lie. Fa] lal lal, &c. She. Tells lies ! the bird does no such things — Fal lal lal, &c. For I 'm an angel — He. Where 's your wings ? Fal lal lal, &c. She. That gemman, sir, all sweet perfume, Said, " Oh ! you goddess from the moon!" He. He meant a witch upon a broom. Fal lal lal, &e. She. Well, time will show, and, John, you '11 find. Fal lal lal, &c. He. You 'd best take me, Nan, in the mind. Fal,lal lal, &c. She. Wi' all my heart, next Sunday. He. Done. We '11 married be, as sure as fun. She. And then, John — He. You and I '11 be one. Fal lal lal, &c. Both. So j ?\ I who'd wish to happy be, Just copy j gonest John } and ™' But to old Nick send jealousy. Fal lal lal &c. The Cobbler. A. cobbler I am, and my name is Dick Awl; 1 'm a bit of a beast, for I live in a stall, THE NEW SONG BOOK. 61 With an ugly old wife, and a tortoise- shell cat ; I mends boots and shoes with a rat-a-tat-ta.. Tol de rol. This morning, at breakfast on bacon and spinnage, Says I to my wife, I 'm going to Greenwich Says she, Dicky Awl, ay, and I will go too Says I, Mrs. Awl, I '11 be d— d if you do. Tol de rol. One word bred another — a shocking mis- hap ! She gave me the lie, and I gave her the strap ; To tarry at home then I thought it a sin, So I bolted out — but I bolted her in. Tol de rol. To Greenwich, by water, I merrily sped, And saw them all rolling it, heels overhead. The sun was so bright, and so high the wind blew, I spied — what I don't choose to mention to you. Tol de rol. But when I got home, (it is true, on my life,) Bill Button, the tailor, was off with my wife. Tho' old, Mrs. Awl has no fancy foj bolts ; She has but one tooth, but that tooth was a colt's. Tol dc rol. Ah, Sally, my love ! 't was a very bad plan To cut me, and choose the ninth part of a man ! 6 62 THE NEW SONG BOOK. She thought, in eloping so cunning and tricky, With poor Dicky Aid it would soon be all Dicky. Tol de rol. If Bill and my rib should get into a fray, He may sell her at auction the next mar- ket day ; If nobody bids for the sweet pretty elf, Knock her down, my dear Bill, and keep her yourself. Tol de rol. Wham be King but Charlie. •^ By Sir Walter Scott. There 's news from Moidart cam' yes- treen, Will soon gar mony ferlie ; For ships o' war hae just come in, An' landed royal Charlie. Come thro' the heather, come around him gather, Ye 're a' the welcomer early ; Around him cling wi' a' your kin, For wha '11 be king but Charlie. Come thro' the heather, around him ga- ther, Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegither, An' crown your rightfu' lawfu' king; For wha '11 be king but Charlie. Tl.e highland clans, wi' sword in hand, Frae John o' Groats to Airly, THE NEW SONG BOOK. 63 Hae to a man declared to stand Or fa' wi' royal Charlie. Come thro' the heather, 6cc. The lowlands a', both great and sma\ \YT mony a lord an' laird, hae Declared for Scotia's king an' law, An' speir ye wha but Charlie. Come thro' the heather, &c. There 's ne'er a lass in a' the land, But vows baitli late an' early, To man she '11 ne'er gie heart or hand Wha' wadna fecht for Charlie. Come thro' the heather, &:c. Then here 's a health to Charlie's cause, An' be 't complete an' early ; His very name our heart's-blood warms, To arms for royal Charlie. Come thro' the heather, &c. May Morn Song. — By Matherwood. The gran ifl wet with shining dews. Their silver bells hang on each tree, While bursting flower and opening bud Breathe incense forth unceasingly ; The mavis pipes in greenwood shaw, The throstle glads the spreading thorn, And cheerily the blithesome lark- Salutes the rosy face of morn. 'T is early prime ; And hark ! hark ! hark ! 64 THE NEW SONti BOOK. His merry chime Chirrups the lark : Chirrup ! chirrup ! he heralds in The joyful sun with matin hymn. Come, come, my love ! the May-dews shake In pailfuls from each drooping bough, They '11 give fresh lustre to the bloom That breaks upon the young cheek now : O'er hill and dale, o'er waste and wood, Aurora's smiles are beaming free ; With earth it seems a brave holiday In heaven it looks high jubilee. And it is right, For mark ! love, marl: ! How, bathed in light, Chirrups the lark. Chirrup ! chirrup ! he upward flies, Like holy thoughts to cloudless skies. They lack all heart who cannot feel The voice of heaven within them thrill, In summer morn, when, mounting high, This nierry minstrel sings his rill. Now let us seek yon bushy dell, Where brightest flowers choose to be, And where its clear stream murmurs on, Meet type of our love's purity . No witness there, And o'er us, hark ! High in the air Chirrups the lark : Chirrup ! chirrup ! away soars he, Bearing tc heaven my vows to thee! THE NEW SONG BOOK. 65 The Time I >ve lost in wooing. Air — '•' Peas upon a Trencher." The time I Ve lost in wooing, In watching and pursuing The light that lies In woman's eyes, Has been my heart's undoing. Though wisdom oft has sought me, I scorned the lore she brought me ; ^Iy only books Were woman's looks, And folly 's all they 've taught me. Her smile, when Beauty granted, Hung with gaze enchanted, Like him, the sprite, Whom maids by night Oft meet in glen that 's haunted. Like him, too, Beauty won me, But while her eyos were on me, E THE NEW SONG BOOK. 66 If hence their ray Was turned away, Oh ! winds could not outiun me. And are those follies going? And is my proud heart growing Too cold or wise For brilliant eyes Again to set it glowing ? No — vain alas ! th' endeavor From bonds so sweet to sever : Poor Wisdom's chance Against a glance Is now as weak as ever ! John Brown's Ghost.— By T. Hood, In Middle row some years ago There lived a Mr. Brown, And many folks considered him The stoutest man in town. But brown and stout will both wear out : One Friday he died hard, And left a widowed wife to mourn, At twenty pence a yard. But widow B. in two short months, Thought mourning quite a tax; And wished, like Mr. Wilberforce, To manumit her blacks. With Mr. Street she soon was sweet ; The thing thus came about : She asked him in at home, and then At church he asked her out ! THE NEW SONG BOOK. 67 Assurance such as this, the man In ashes could not stand; So like a phoenix he rose up Against the Hand in Hand. One dreary night the angry sprite Appeared before her view ; It came a little after one, But she was after two ! "Oh Mrs. B., QMrs. B. ! Are these your sorrow's deeds, Already getting up a flame, To burn your widow's weeds ! " It 's not so long since I have left For aye the mortal scene ; My memory, like Rogers's, Should still be bound in green. u Yet if my face you still retrace, I almost have a doubt — I 'm like an old Forget-Me-Not, With all the leaves torn out ! u A ton of marble on my breast Can't hinder my return : Your conduct, ma'm, has set my blood A-boiling in my urn ! " Remember, oh ! remember how The marriage-rite did run, — If ever we one flesh should be, 'T is now, when I have none ! " And you, sir, — once a bosom friend — Of perjured faith convict, 68 THE NEW SONG BOOK. As ghostly toe can give no blow, Consider yourself kicked. " A hollow voice is all I have, But this I tell you plain, Marry come up ! — you marry, ma'm ; And I '11 come up again." More he had said, but chanticleer The sprightly shade did shock With sudden crow, and off he went Like musket at half-cock ! For the Fourth of July. Hail our country's natal morn ! Hail our spreading kindred born ! Hail thou banner not yet torn ! Waving o'er the free ; While, this day, in festal throng, Millions swell the patriot song, Shall not we thy notes prolong, Hallowed jubilee ? Who would sever Freedom's shrine ? Who would draw the invidious line ? Though by birth one spot is mine, Dear is all the rest : Dear to me the South's fair land, Dear the central mountain band, Dear New England's rocky strand, Dear the prairied West. By our altars, pure and free, By our law's deep-rooted tree, THE NEW SONG BOOK. 69 By the past, dread memory, By our Washington ; By our common parent-tongue, By our hopes, bright, buoyant, young, By the tie of country, strong, We will still be one. Fathers ! have ye bled in vain ? Ages ! must ye droop again ? Maker ! shall we rashly stain Blessings sent by thee ? No ! receive our solemn vow, While before thy throne we bow, Ever to maintain, as now, Union, Liberty. Old Grimes. Old Grimes is dead, that good old man ! We ne'er shall see him more; He used to wear a long black coat, All buttoned down before. His heart was open as the day, His feelings all were true ; Hib hair was some inclined to gray, He wore it in a queue. Whene'er was heard the voice of pain, His heart with pity burned ; The large round head upon his cane Fro vi ivory was turned. And ever prompt at pity's call, He knew no base design ; 70 THE NEW SONG BOOK. His eyes were dark and rather sma!! t His nose was aquiline. He lived at peace with all mankind, In friendship he was true ; His coat had pocket-holes behind, His pantaloons were blue. Unharmed, the sin which earth pollutes He passed securely o'er ; He never wore a pair of boots, For thirty years or more. But good old Grimes is now at rest, Nor fears misfortune's frown ; He wore a double-breasted vest, The stripes went up and down. He modest merit sought to find, And pay it its desert ; He had no malice in his mind, No ruffles on his shirt. His neighbors he did not abuse, Was sociable and gay ; He wore large buckles on his shoes, And changed them every day. His knowledge, hid from public gaze, He did not bring to view; Nor make a noise town-meeting days, As many people do. His worldly goods he never threw To trust in fortune's chances ; He lived (as all his brothers do) In easy circumstances. THE NEW SONG B30F. 71 Thus undisturbed by anxious cares His peaceful moments ran; And every body said he was A fine old gentleman. Old Mrs. Grimes. Old Mrs. Grimes is living still, A widow still is she ; She wears a neat old-fashioned frock, A neater ne'er can be. She 's blest at home, nor seeks abroad The scandals of the town ; There 's not enough put in her sleeves To make another gown. Although she 's poor, the needy poor's Hard wants she will appease ; Her dress it never drags the ground, Nor sets above her knees. She every Sunday goes to church, Nor sleeps nor chatters there ; Her caps are of the plainest kind, Save one for Sunday's wear. She often says " she hopes above To meet her husband dear ;" She rents a cot at fifteen pounds, And pays it every year. She always was industrious, And rises now betimes ; She 's called by all the neighbors round, 11 The good old Mrs. Grimes" 2 THE NEW SONG BOOK. The bright rosy Morning. The bright rosy morning Peeps over the hills, With blushes adorning The meadows and fields; While the merry, merry, merry horn Calls come, come away ; Awake from your slumbers, And hail the new day. The stag, roused before us, Away seems to fly, And pants to the chorus Of hounds in full cry. Then follow, follow, follow, follow The musical chase, Where pleasure, and vigor, And health all embrace. The day's sport, when over, Makes blood circle right, And gives the brisk lover Fresh charms for the night. Then let us, let us now enjoy All we can while we may ; Let love crown the night, boys, And our sports crown the day. O, give me back my Arab Steed. As sung by madam Ftron. O, give me back my Arab steed, A shield and falchion bright, THE NEW SONG BOOK. 73 And I will to the bottle speed, To save him in the fight. His noble crest I '11 proudly wear, And gird hii scarf around ; But I must to the field repair, For hark ! the trumpets sound ! 0, give me back, &C. 0, with my Arab steed I '11 go, To brave th' embattled plain, Where warriors brave their valor show, And drain each noble vein ; His brow, that oft the battle braves, With fadeless laurels crowned, Shall guide me where his falchion waves — But hark ! the trumpets sound ! Then give me back, &c. Behold how brightly breaks the Horning, From the opera of u Massaniello" Behold how brightly breaks the morning ; Though bleak our lot, our hearts are warm ; To toil inured, all danger scorning, We hail the breeze, or brave the storm. Put off, put off, our course we know ; Take heed, take heed, and whisper low ; Look out, and spread your nets with care ; The prey wc seek we '11 soon ensnare. Away ! though the tempest darken o'er us, Yet boldly still we '11 stem the wave : 7 " 74 THE NEW SONG BOOK. Hoist, hoist our sail, while shines before us Hope's beacon light, to cheer the brave ; Put off, put off, «&c. The Pilgrim Fathers, By Mrs. Hemans. — Sung by G. W. Dixon. The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast ; And the woods, against a stormy sky, Their giant branches tossed ; And the heavy night hung dark, The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore. Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear : — They shook the depths of the desert's gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer. Amidst the storms they sang, And the stars heard, and the sea ; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free. The ocean eagle soared From his nest, by the white wave's foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roared : This was their welcome home THE NEW SONG BOOK. 75 What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine ? The wealth of seas ? the spoils of war ? They sought a faith's pure shrine. Tyrolese Evening Hymn. By Mrs. Hemans. Come to the sunset tree*! The day is past and gone ; The woodman's axe lies free. The reaper's work is done. The .twilight star to heaven, And the summer dew to flowers, And the rest to us is given In the cool refreshing bowers. Come to the sunset tree, &c. Sweet is the hour of rest, Pleasant the wind's low sigh. The gleaming of the west, And the turf whereon we lie, When the burden and the heat Of labor's task is o'er, And kindly voices greet The tired one at his door. Come to the sunset tree, &c. Yes, tuneful is the sound That dwells in whispering boughs ; Welcome the freshness round, And the crale that fans our brows. Then, though the wind an altered tone Through the young foliage bear ; 76 THE HEW SONG BOOK. Though every flower of something gone A tinge may wear ; Come to the sunset tree, &c The Braes of Balquhither.— By Tannahill. Let us go, lassie, go To the braes of Balquhither, Where the blae-berries grow 'Mong bonnie Highland heather * Where the deer and the rae, Lightly bounding together, Sport the lang summer day On the braes of Balquhither. I will twine thee a bow'r, By the clear siller fountain, And I '11 cover it o'er Wi' the flow'rs o' the mountain I will range through the wilds, And the deep glens sae dreary, And return wi' their snoils, To the bow'r o' my dearie. When the rude wintry win' Idly raves round our dwelling, And the roar of the linn On the night breeze is swelling So merrily we '11 sing As the storm rattles o'er us, Till the dear sheeliiw ring Wi' the light lilting chorus. Now the summer is in prime, Wi' the (low'rs richly blooming, THE NEW SONG BOOK. 77 And the wild mountain thyme A' the moorland perfuming ! To our dear native scenes Let us journey together, Where glad innocence reigns 'Mong the braes of Balquhither. Oh, merry row. Oh ! merry row ! oh ! mery row The bonnie, bonnie, bonnie bark ! Bring back my love to calm my wo, Before the night grows dark. My Donald wears a bonnet blue, A bonnet blue, a bonnet blue, A snow-white rose upon it too ; A Highland lad is he. Then merry row, oh ! merry row The bonnie, bonnie bark ; Oh ! merry row the bonnie, bonnie bark, And bring him safe to me ! As on the pebbly beach I strayed, Where rocks and shoals prevail, I thus o'erheard a Lowland maid Her absent love bewail. A storm arose — the waves ran high, The waves ran high, the waves ran high, And dark and murky was the sky ; The wind did loudly roar. But they merry rowed the bonnie bark, The bonnie bark, the bonnie bark, They merry rowed the bonnie, bonnie bark, And brought her love on shore. 7# 78 THE NEW SONG BOOK. Nothing like Snuff. Air — "Home, sweet Home." In this life there is joy, in this life there is care, And each mortal that lives must of both have a share ; But our cares were too great, and our joys not enough, If wanting the zest we derive from gcod snufT. Snuff! snuff! good black snuff! There 's no snuff like black snuff! There 's nothing like snuff — atchee ! Then grant me good snuff, there I taste no alloy, For it cannot, like wine, our reason de- stroy ; Oh ! this sensitive nose must be callous enough, When I cease to delight in a pinch of good snuff. Snuff! snuff! &c. THE NEW SONG BOOK. 79 The deep, deep Sea. &tng by Mr. Horn. Oh ! come with me, my love, And our fairy home shall be Where the water spirits ro\e, In the deep, deep sea ! There are jewels rich and rare, In the caverns of the deep ; And to braid thy raven hair, Where the pearl treasures sleep. In a tiny man-of-war, Thou shalt stem the ocean wide ; Or in a crystal car, Like a queen in all her pride. Oh, come with me, cScc. Ah ! belie ve that love may dwell Where the coral branches twine ; And that every wreathed shell Breathes a tune so soft as thine. Hope, as fond as thou would prove, Truth as bright as e'er was told ; Hearts as warm as those above, Dwell under the waters cold. Oh, come with me, See. I 've gazed upon thy sunny Smile. by O.W. Dixon. ling Dream." I Ve gazed upon thy sunny smile, In silent joy ; I Ve marked the rose-tint on thy cheek- Thy beauteous eye. 80 THE NEW SOXG BOOK. I 've seen thy beauty ripen more, And stronger glow ; I saw thee in thy youthful prime- - I see thee now ! I 've viewed the early rose, at morn, Whose fragrant sigh Breathed sweetness to the summer air, And now'rets nigh : I looked at eve — alas ! the storm Had spoiled the gem ; Its leaves were scattered — none remained Upon the stem. I 've wept to think that age will dim Thy beaming eye ; That Iare may wash from off thy cheek The sweetest dye. To mark the change would break my If swiftly wrought ; [heart, But care and sorrow slowly steal And damp each thought. The Onset. A Battle Song.— Sung by Mr. Wood, Sound an alarum ! The foe is come ! I hear the tramp, — the neigh, — the hum, The cry, and the blow of his daring drum : Huzzah ! Sound ! the blast of our trumpet blown Shall carry dismay into hearts of stone. What ! shall we shake at a foe unknown ? Huzzah ! — Huzzah ! THK KBW SONG BOOK. 81 Have we not sinews as strong as they ? Have we not hearts that ne'er gave way ? Have we no*. God on our side to-day ? lluzzah ! Look ! They are staggered on yon black heath : Steady a while, and hold your breath ! Now is your time, men, — Down like Death ! lluzzah I— lluzzah ! Stand by each other, and front your foes ! Fight, whilst a drop of red blood flows ! Fight, as ye fought for the old red rose ! Huzzah I Sound ! bid your terrible trumpets bray ! Blow, till their brazen throats give way ! Sound to the battle ! Sound, I say ! lluzzah ! Huzzah ! — Auld Lang Syne, Oh, years have flown since first we met, And sorrows have been mine ! I 've often thought, with fond regret, On auld lang syne. For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne ; We '11 take a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne. I feit, when to thy boson, pressed, That greater joys were mine, Than e'er my youthful heart had known, Tn auld lang syne. For auld lang syne, <*~'\ F ©2 THE NEW SONG BOOK. Though fortune points thy path of life, Far, far away from mine, The hour may be when next we meet, An auld lang syne. For auld lang syne, &c. Then fare-thee-well ; if thou art blessed, Thy friend will not repine ; But sometimes give a kindly thought To auld lang syne. For auld lang syne, &c. Life. — By Barry Cornwall. We are born ; we laugh ; we weep ; We love ; we droop ; we die ! Ah ! wherefore do we laugh, or weep? Why do we live, or die ? Who knows that secret deep ? Alas, not I ! Why doth the violet spring Unseen by human eye ? Why do the radiant seasons bring Sweet thoughts that quickly fly ? Why do our fond hearts cling To things that die ? We toil, — through pain and wrong ; We fight,— and fly ; We love ; we losj ; and then, ere long, Stone-dead Ave lie. O Life ! is all thy song " Endure and — die P* THE NEW SONG BOOK. 83 The Wild Guitar. Air— " Gramachree." Oh, wilt thou leave thy father's halls, To wander forth with me ? And quit those long-loved cherished halls, When thou art blest and free ! To seek awhile the quiet stream, Reflecting every star ; And listen, as in fancy's dream, Unto my wild guitar. I cannot boast of wealth or power, That dwells from love apart; But if thou 'It share my simple bower, I '11 give thee all my heart. And when the shades of eve appear, I '11 rove beneath a star, And sing the song thou lov'st to hear Unto my wild guitar. Drink to 3Ie only. By Ben Johnson. — Surg by Mr. Wood. Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine ; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I '11 not look for wine. The thirst that from my soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine ; But might I of Jove's nectar sip, I would not change for thine. 84 THE iNEW SONG BOOK. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honoring thee, As giving it a hope, that there It would not withered be. But thou thereon didst only breathe, And send it back to me : Since then it grows, and looks, and smells, Not of itself, but thee. To Sigh, yet feel no Pain. To sigh, yet feel no pain ; To weep, yet scarce know why ; To sport an hour with beauty's chain, Then throw it idly by ; To kneel at many a shrine, Yet lay the heart on none ; To think all other charms divine, But those we just have won ; This is love — careless love — Such as kindleth hearts that rove. To keep one sacred flame Through life, unchilled, unmoved ; To love in wintry age the same That first in youth we loved ; To feel that we adore To such refined excess, That tho' the heart would break with more i We could not live with less ; This is love — faithful love, — Such as saints might feel above. THE NEW SONG BOOK. 85 Day of Glory, Sung by G. W. Dixon. — Air, " Scots rvha hae * Day of glory, welcome day ! Freedom's banners greet thy ray, See, how cheerfully they play With thy morning breeze. On the rocks wher^ 1 pilgrims kneeled, On the heights where squadrons wheeled When a tyrant's thunder pealed O'er the trembling sea. God of armies ! did thy " stars In their courses" smite his-cars. Blast his arm, and wrest his bars From the heaving tide ? On our standard, lo ! they burn, And, when days like this return, Sparkle o'er the soldier's urn, Who for freedom died. God of peace ! whose spirit fills All the echoes of our hills, -AH the murmurs of our rills, Now the storm is o'er, O, let freemen be our sons ; And let future Washingtons Rise, to lead their valiant ones, Till there 's war no more. By the patriot's hallowed rest, By the warrior's gory breast, Never let our graves be pressed By a despot's throne : THE NEW SONG COOK. By the pilgrims' toils and cares, By their battles and their prayers. By their ashes, — let our heirs Bow to Thee alone. Hail, Columbia. Hail, Columbia ! happy land ! Hail, ye heroes ! heaven-born band ! Who fought and bled in freedom's cause, [repeat.) And when the storm of war was gone, Enjoyed the peace your valor won. Let independence be our boast, Ever mindful what it cost ; Ever grateful for the prize, Let its altar reach the skies. Firm, united, let us be, Rallying round our liberty ; As a band of brothers joined, Peace and safety we shall find. Immortal patriots ! rise once more ; Defend your rights, defend your shore ; Let no rude foe, with impious hand, (re- peat,) Invade the shrine where sacred lies Of toil and blood the well-earned prize. While offering peace, sincere and just. In Heaven we place a manly trust, That truth and justice will prevail, And every scheme of bondage fail. Firm, united, &c. THE NEW StlfG BOOK. 87 Sound, sound the trump of fame, Let Washington's great name Ring through the world with Joud ap- plause ; {repeat.) Let e v ery clime to freedom dear, Listen, with a joyful ear. With equal skill and godlike power, Ke governed in the fearful hour Of horrid war ; or guides, with ease, The happier times of honest peace. Firm, united, &c. Behold the chief, who now commands, Once more to serve his country stands — The rock on whi h the storm will beat ; {repeat.) But armed in virtue, firm and true, His hopes are fixed on Heaven and you. When hope was sinking in dismay, And gloom obscured Columbia's day His steady mind, from changes free, Resolved on death or liberty. Firm, united, &:c. Columbian Independence. By G. J. Hunt.— Tune, (: Hail Columbia? Wake, Columbia ! wake the lyre, Touch the silver chords with nre ; Bid the holy flames arise, Mounting swiftly to the skies; Music sweet, and music strong, Rouse the soul with lyric song. 3 THE NEW SONG BOOK. Goddess of this western clime, Tune thy notes to joys sublime ! Rapt in glory's brightest blaze, Gallant heroes proudly raise, Shouts of triumph, sounding far, Louder than the storm of war. Godlike courage won the day — Baffled Britain lost her sway ; Ghastly stood her trembling king — Quick he felt the dreadful sting, When Columbia's sons had sworn, " Death ! — or, lo ! a nation 's bom !" Born — a nation stood sublime, Virtue's proof — the test of time ; England's vassals now return, Help their weeping nation mourn ; Tyranny had fled our coast ; Gained one world, a world was lost. British insults we forgive, Memory keeps the flame alive : May it ever nobly rise To the bright cerulean skies, Strike Columbia's sons with awe, Bid them shun the tiger's paw. Independent, firm and free, Blest with heavenly liberty ; — Smiling o'er our happy land, Peace, with all her lovely band, Moves triumphant in her car, Spurns the bloody field of w~r. Europe's sons at death may smile, Pleased to share the battle's toil ; — THK NKW SONG BOOK. 89 In the arms of smiling peace, See our infant world increase : Tims we find a rich reward, While with peace and plenty stored. Ye fair daughters of our land, Join the circle, hand in hand ; Touch the tender melting string, To thp music sweetly sing : Sound the praise of heroes gone, Sound the praise of Washington. Loud Io paeans rend the air ; Freedom's birth with joy declare : Sing with mirth, and sing with glee 'T is our sacred jubilee; — Sound the trump from pole to pole, Till old time shall cease to roll. Absence. Days of absence, sad and dreary. Clothed in sorrow's dark array ; Days of sadness, I am weary, When my love is far away. Hours of bliss, ye quickly vanish ! When will aught like thee return? When will sighing truly vanish ? When this bosom cease to mourn ? •ill that loved vow can greet me, Which so oft has cheered my ear ; Not till those sweet eyes can meet me, Telling that I still am dear. 8* 90 THE NEW SONG BOOK. Days of absence then shall vanish, Joy shall all my pain repay, From my idle bosom vanish Gloom but felt when he 's away. My Heart and Lute. — By T. Moore I give thee all — I can no more — Though poor the offering be ; My heart and lute are all the store That I can bring to thee. A lute, whose gentle song reveals The soul of love full well, And, better far, the heart that feels Much more than lute could tell. I give thee all, &c. Though love and song may fail, alas . To keep life's clouds away, At least 't will make them lighter pass, Or gild them if they stay. If ever care his discord flings O'er life's enchanted strain, Let love but gently touch the strings 'T will all be sweet again ! I give thee all, &c. THE NEW SONG BOOK. 91 Yankee Doodle. Yankee Doodle is the tune Americans delight in ; 'T will do to whistle, sing-, or play, And just the thing for righting. Yankee Doodle, boys, huzza! Down outside, up the middle ; Yankee Doodle, fa, sol, la, Trumpet, drum, and fddle. Should Great Britain, Spain, or France, Wage war upon our shore, sir, We '11 lead them such a woundy dance, They '11 find their toes are sore, sir. Yankee Doodle, &c. Should a haughty foe expect To give our boys a caning, We guess they '11 find the lads have larnt A little bit of training. Yankee Doodle, &c. I' 11 wager now a mug of flip, And bring it on the table, Put Yankee boys aboard a ship, To beat them they are able. Yankee Doodle, &c. Then if they go to argufy, I rather guess they '11 rind too, We 've got a set of tonguey blades, To out-talk them, if they 're mind *o. Vankee Doodle, &c. America 's a dandy place, The people are all brothers ; 92 THE NEW SONG BOOK. And when one 's got a pumpkin pie, He shares it with the others. Yankee Doodle, &c. We work, and sleep, and pray in peace ; By industry we thrive, sir; And if a drone won't do his part, We '11 scout hirn from the hive, sir. Yankee Doodle, &c. And then on INDEPENDENCE DAY (And who 's a better right to ?) We eat and drink, and sing and play, And have a dance at night too. Yankee Doodle, &c. Our girls are fair, our boys are tough, Our old folks wise and healthy; And when we We every thing enough, We count that we are wealthy. Yankee Doodle, &c. We 're happy, free, and well to do, And cannot want for knowledge ; For almost every mile or two, You find a school or college. Yankee Doodle, &c. The land we till is all our own — Wiiate'er the price, we paid it ; Therefore w r e '11 fight till all is blue, Should cny dare invade it. Yankee Doodle, boys, huzza ! Down outside, up the middle , Yankee Doodle, fa, sol, la, Trumpet, drum, and fiddle. THE NEW SUNG BOOK. 93 Beware o> bonnie Ann. Ye gallants bright, I rede ye right, Beware o' bonnie Ann ; Her comely face sae fu' o' grace, Your heart she will trepan. Her een sae bright, like Stars by night, Her skin is like the swan ; Sae j imply laced her genty waist, That sweetly she might span. Youth, grace, and love attendant move, And pleasure leads the van ; In a' their charms, and conquering arms, They wait on bonnie Ann. The captive bands may chain the hands, But love enslaves the man ; Ye gallants braw, I rede you a', Beware o' bonnie Ann. 94 THE NEW SONG BOOK. Charlie is my Darling. 'T was on a Monday morning, Right early in the year, When Charlie came to our town, The young chevalier. O ! Charlie is my darling My darling, my darling ; ! Charlie is my darling, The young chevalier. As he came marching up the street, The pipes played loud and clear, And a' the folk came running out To meet the chevalier. O ! Charlie is my darling, &c. Wi' Highland bonnets on their heads, And claymores bright and clear, They come to fight for Scotland's right, And the young chevalier. ! Charlie is my darling, &c. They 've left their bonnie Highland hills, Their wiv r es and bairnies dear, To draw the sword for Scotland's lord The young chevalier. ! Charlie is my darling, &c. O ! there were monie beating hearts, And monie hopes and fears ; And monie were the prayers put up For the young chevalier. ! Charlie is my darling, &c. THE NEW SONG BOOPl. 95 The Washing Day. The sky with clouds was overcast, The rain began to fall, My wife she beat the children, And raised a pretty squall. She bade me, with a scolding look, To get out of the way : The de'il a bit of comfort 's there, All on a washing day. For it 's thump, thump, scold, scold, thump, thump away, For the de'il a bit of comfort 's there, all on a washing day. My Kate she is a bonnie wife, There 's none so free from e'il, Except upon a washing day, And then she is the de'il : The very kittens on the hearth, They will not even play — Away they jump, with many a thump, All on a washing day. For it 's thump, thump, &c. A friend of mine once asked me, How long Kate had been dead — Lamenting the good creature, And sorry I was wed To such a scolding vixen, Whilst he had been at sea : The truth it was, he chanced to come Upon a washing day, When it was thump, thump, &c. 96 THE iNEW SONG BOOK. I asked him to come and dine — Come, corne, says I, odds bud's, I '11 no denial take ! you shall, Though Kate is in the suds: But what he had to dine upon, In faith I shall not say, But I '11 wager he '11 not come again Upon a washing day. For it' s thump, thump, &c. On the sad morning, when I rise I make a fervent prayer Up to the gods, that it may be Throughout the day quite fair ; That not a gown or handkerchief May in the ditch be laid — Oh ! should it happen so, egad, I 'd catch a broken head. For it 's thump, thump, &c. The shady Greeenwood Tree. From the opera of " Maid of JudahV All by the shady greenwood tree The merry, merry archers roam, Jovial, and bold, and ever free, They tread their woodland home. Roving beneath the moon's soft light, Or in the thick embow'ring shade, List'ning the tale with dear delight Of a wand'ring sylvan maid. All by the shady, &c. THE NEW SONG BOOK. 97 3Iartial Song. Sung by ATr. Wood, in the opera of " Maid of When the trump of Fame, Loud sounding freedom's call, Invites, in freedom's name, To fight or bravely fall, The hero cheerly goes \\ here madd'ning war-shouts rise, And 'mid the opposing foes He flies — he flies. Bright the sword now gleams, And banners wave on high, Around the life-blood streams. "Mid cries of — yield or die ; Till Victory uprears Her pennon red with gore, And shouts to patriot ears That slavery reigns no more ! When the voice of Love " To rescue" calls the brave, What heart so base would prove It would not fly to save ? In bower and lordly hall Love's torch doth brightly flame ; Love champions finds in all Who manhood claim. Then, shame befal the knight Who, false to honor's laws, Would shun the listed fight In injured woman's cause. G 98 THE NBW SONG BOOK. Oh ! may he from the foe In battle recreant fly, And, by some traitor blow, Unpitied fall and die. The Voice of Her I love. How sweet, at close of silent eve, The harp's responsive sound ! Hew sweet the vows that ne'er deceive, And deeds by virtue crowned ! How sweet to sit beneath a tree, In some delightful grove ! But, oh ! more soft, more sweet to me The voice of her I love. Whene'er she joins the village train, To hail the new-born day, Mellifluous notes compose each strain Which zephyrs waft away. The frowns of fate I calmly bear, In humble sphere I move, Content and blest whene'er I hear The voice of her I love. A Serenade. Love, art thou waking or sleeping ? Shadows with morning should flee ; Love, art thou smiling or weeping ? Open thy lattice to me ! Sunlight each sorrow beguiling, Youth should be fearless and Iree : THE MBW SONG BOOK. 99 Oh ! when all nature is smiling, Wilt thou not smile upon me ? Think on our last blissful meeting, — Sunshine dissolving in tears : Oh ! when love's pulses are beating, Moments are precious as years ! Think on the hope that, soft wiling, Lured me unbidden to thee : Oh ! when all nature is smiling, Wilt thou not smile upon me ? Roses, thy temple once wreathing, Now on my bosom lie dead, In their pale beauty still breathing Fragrance of hours that have fled ! Thus, through my heart sweetly thrilling, Memory whispers to me, " Oh ! when all nature is smiling, Ella will smile upon thee !" The bonnie Lad that >s far awa, O, how can I be blithe and glad, Or how can I gang brisk and gay, When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best, Is o'er the hill and far awa ! It's no the frosty winter wind, It 's no the driving drift and snaw ; But ay the tear comes in my e'e, To think on him that 's far awa. My father put me frae the door, My friends they hae disowned me a' 100 THE NEW SONG BOOK. But I hae ane will tak' my part, The bonnie lad that 's far awa. A. pair o' gloves he gave to me, And silken snoods he gave me twa, And I will wear them for his sake, The bonnie lad that 's far awa. The weary winter soon will pass, And spring will cleed the birken-shaw, And my sweet babie will be born, And he '11 come hame that 's far awa. The Sailor's Lullaby.— By Cobb. Peaceful slumbering on the ocean, Seamen fear no danger nigh ; The winds and waves, in gentle motion, Soothe them with their lullaby — Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby, Soothe them with their lullaby. Is the wind tempestuous blowing, Still no danger they descry ; The guileless heart, its boon bestowing, Soothes them with its lullaby. Lullaby, &c. THE NKW SONG BOOK. 101 A red, red Rose, — By Burns. O, my luve 's like a red, red rose, That 's newly sprang in June ; O, my luve 's like the melody That ? s sweetly played in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I ; And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry : Till a ? the seas gang dry, my dear An' the rocks melt wi' the sun : I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only luve ! And fare thee weel. awhile ! And I will come again, my luve, Though it were ten thousand mile. The Wood Robin. Stay, sweet enchanter of the grove, Leave not so soon thy native tree ; O- warble still thy notes of love, "\Vhue-my fond heart responds to thee. O, warble still those notes of love, While my fond heart responds to thee. Rest thy soft bosom on the spray, Till chilly autumn frowns severe ; Then charm me with thy parting lay, And I will answer with a tear. 9* 102 ' THE NEW SONG iiCOK. Then charm me with thy parting lay, And I will answer with a tear. But soon as spring, enriched with flowers, Comes dancing o'er the new-dressed plain, Return, and cheer thy natal bowers, My robin, with those note again. Return, and cheer thy natal bowers, My robin, with those notes again. Wreath the Bowl* Air — " Noran Kista." Wreath the bowl With flow'rs of soul, The brightest wit can find us : We '11 take a flight Tovv'rds heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us ! Should love amid The wreaths be hid, That Joy, th' enchanter, brings us, No danger fear While wine is near, We '11 drown him if he stings us. Then wreath the bowl With flow'rs of soul, The brightest wit can find us ; We '11 take a flight Towards heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us ! THE NEW SONG BOOK. 103 T was nectar fed Of old, 't is said, Their Junos, Joves, Apollos • And man may brew His nectar too, The rich receipt 's as follows : — Take wine, like this, Let looks of bliss Around it well be blended, Then bring wit's beam To warm the stream, And there 's your nectar splendid. So wreath the bowl, &c. Say, why did Time His glass, sublime, Fill up with sands unsightly, When wine, he knew, Runs brisker through, And sparkles far more brightly ? Oh, lend it us, And smiling thus, The glass in two we 'd sever, Make pleasure glide In double tide, And fill both ends forever ! Then, wreath the bowl, &c. The Soldier's Bride, — By Fitzsimmons. The moon was beaming silver bright, The eye no cloud could view; Her lover's step in silent night, Well pleased, the damsel kriw. 104 THE NEW SONG BOOK. At midnight hour, Beneath the tower, He murmured soft, " Oh, nothing fearing, With your own true soldier fly, And his faithful heart be cheering : List ! dear, 'tis I ; List ! list, list, love ; list ! dear, 't is I ; With thine own true soldier fly." Then whispered Love, " Oh, maiden fair, Ere morning sheds its ray, Thy lover calls ; — all peril dare, And haste to horse away ! In time of need, Yon gallant steed, That champs the rein, delay reproving, Shall each peril hear thee by, With his master's charmer roving ; List ! dear, 't is I ; List ! list, list, love ; list ! dear, 't is I ; With thine own true soldier fly." And now the gallant soldier's bride She 's fled her home afar, And chance or joy or wo betide, She '11 brave with him the war ! And bless the hour, When 'neath the tow'r, He whispered soft, " Oh, nothing fearing, With thine own true soldier fly, And his faithful heart be cheering : List ! dear, 'tis I ; List ! list, list, love ; list ! dear, 't is I ; With thine own true soldier fly." THE NEW SONG BOOK. 105 The Lavender Girl. Air — " Morgiana in Ireland,'' As the sun climbs o'er the hills,/ When the sky-larks sing so cheerily, I my little basket fill, And trudge along the village merrily. Light my bosom, light my heart, I but laugh at Cupid's dart ; I keep my mother, myself and brother, By trudging along to sell my lavender. Lp.dies, try it, come and buy it, Come, come, buy my lavender. Ere the gentry quit their beds, Foes to health, I 'm wisely keeping it ; Oft I earn my daily bread. And sit beneath the hedge partaking it. Ne'er repining, ne'er distressed, Tell me, then, am not I blest ? Tho' not wealthy, I 'm young and healthy, And only care to sell my lavender. Ladies, try it, &c. The Mariner's Wife.— By W. J. Jlickle. But are you sure the news i^ true ? And are you sure he 's well ? Is this a time to think o' wark ? Ye lass, fling by your wheel. There 's nae luck about the nouse, There 's nae luck at a' ; There 's nae luck about the house, When our good man 's awa. 106 THE NEW SONG BOOK. Is this a time to think o' wark, When Colin 's at the door ? Gi' me my cloak, I '11 down the key, And see him come ashore. There 's nae luck, &c. Rise up and mak' a clean fireside, Put on the muckle pot ; Gi' little Kate her cotton gown, And Jack his Sunday's coat. There 's nae luck, &c. Mak' their shoon as black as slaes, Their stockings white as snaw ; It 's a' to pleasure our good man, He likes to see them braw. There 's nae luck, &c. There are twa hens into the crip, I 've fed this month or mair ; Make haste to throw their necks about, That Colin well may fare. There 's nae luck, &c. Bring down to me my bigonet, My bishop-satin gown, And then gae tell the bailie's wife, That Colin 's come to town. There 's nae luck, &c. My Turkey slippers I '11 put on, My stockings of pearl blue, And a' to pleasure our good man, For he 's both leal and true There 's nae luck, &c. THE NEW SONG BOOK. 107 Sae sweet his voice, sae smooth his tongue, His breath 's like cauler air, His very tread has music in 't, As he comes up the stair. There 's nae luck, &c. And will I see his face again ? And will I hear him speak I I 'm downright dizzy wi' the joy, An e'en I 'm like to greet. There 's nae luck, &c. Duet. — By George P. DIorris, Esq. William. The day is now dawning, luve, Fled is the night — I go like the morning, love, Cheerful and bright. Then adieu, dearest Ellen ; When evening is near, I '11 visit thy dwelling, For true love is here. Ellen. Oh, come where the fountain, love, Tranquilly flows ; Beneath the green mountain, love, Seek for repose. Here the days of our childhood, In love's golden beam, 'Mong the moss and the wild wood, Passed on like a dream. William. O linger awhile, love. 10s the new song book. Ellen. I must away. William. O grant me thy smile, love, ; T is hope's brilliant ray. With evening expect me. Ellen. To the moment be true, And may angels protect thee — Both. Sweet Ellen, adieu. Dear William, adieu. My Dark-Eyed Maid.— By II. E. Bishop. My dark-eyed maid ! within thy bower, Alone thou 'It sit by moonlight hour ; Thy hand of snow will strew the ground With balmy leaves and blossoms round ; And oft two lips of flaroe will sigh, " Forgetful lover ! art thou nigh ?" Alas ! for hopes, by fate betrayed, No lover seeks his dark-eyed maid ! My dark-eyed maid ! then wilt thou weep, And sigh and soh thy heart to sleep ! If fancy tempt thee with a dream, She but renews thy waking theme ; And thou wilt murmur words of bliss, And pout thy lips to print a kiss : Alas ! for dreams, hy fate betrayed, No lover seeks his dark-eyed maid. Tin 109 Hope told a Flattering Tale, Hope told a flattering tale, That Joy would soon return ; Ah, naught my sighs avail, For Love is doomed to mourn. Ah, where 's the flatterer gone ? From me forever flown ; The happy dream of love is o'er, Life, alas ! can charm no more. Connecticut. What land is that so nicely bound By Massachusetts and the Sound, Rhode Island and New York around ; Where Yankees thick as hops are found, And hasty puddings do abound ? Connecticut. What land is that, when George the king Did o'er the sea his fetters fling, And think to link us in their ring, Which gave the cry, " there 's no such thing," Whose sons did Yankee Doodle sing ? Connecticut. What land is that where folks are said To be scrupulously bred, To be so steady habited : Where hearty boys and girls are fed With pumpkin pies and gingerbread ? Connecticut. 10 110 THE NEW SONG BOOK. What land is that, where old time walks la steady pace o'er maple blocks ; Forsakes his brass for wooden clocks ; Where heads too high will meet with knocks ; And land were more if fewer rocks ? Connecticut. What land is that where onions grow ; Where maidens' necks are white as snow ; And cheeks like roses red, you know ; Where jonnycakes are baked from dough That land where milk and honey flow ? Connecticut. What land is that whence pedlars come A thousand miles or more from home, With tin, with basswood trenchers; some With patent nutmegs and new rum ; To gather up the coppers ? — hum ! Connecticut. What land is that where parsons live, Where men hear gospel and believe ; Where humble sinners seek reprieve ; Where women stay at home and weave, Nor gad without their husbands' leave ? Connecticut. What land is that where I can trace My nineteenth cousin by his face ; Where once I fished for little dace, And never learned the deuce from ace , Where grandmother this night says grace ? Connecticut. THE NEW SOVG BOOK. Ill What land is that, when we behold, And*all its history unfold, And all about the land is told, We like most things, but some we scold ? Ah ! gentle reader, that is old Connecticut. I was the Boy for Bewitching 'em, I was the boy for bewitching 'em, Whether good-humored or coy, All cried when I was beseeching 'em, " Do what you will with me, joy." " Daughters, be cautious and steady," Mammies would cry out for fear, " Won't you take now care of Teddy ? Oh ! he 's the devil, my dear !"' For I was the boy, &c. From every quarter I gathered 'em, Very few rivals had I ; U I found any, I lathered 'em, That made 'em plaguily shy. Pat Mooney toy Shelah once meeting, I twigged him beginning his clack; Says he, " At my heart I 've a beating :" Says I, " Then take one at your back." For I was the boy, &c. Many a la^s that would fly away, When other wooers but spoke, Once if I looked her a die-away, There was an end of the joke. Beauties, no matter how cruel, 112 THE NEW SONG BOOK. Hundreds of lads tho' they crossed, When I came nigh to them, jewel, Melted like mud in a frost, For I was the boy, &c. Slowly wears the Day, Love, By J. R. Planche, Esq. Slowly wears the day, love, When away from thee, Scenes before so gay, love, Charm no longer me. The bow'r that sweetly smiled, love, Decked with roses fair, Seems a desert wild, love, When thou art not there. My heart with joy o'erflows, love, When I see thee near, Each pulse with rapture glows, love, When thy voice I hear ; In thine angel smile, love, Heav'n appears to be, 'T is as free from guile, love, 'T is as dear to me, Oh! young Maiden Hearts beware. By J. A. Wade. Oh ! young maiden hearts beware, Of love's little arts beware ; Though I caution, you suspect; Though I counsel, you reject; THE NEW SONG BOOK 113 But soon, and to your cost, Your hearts they will be lost, And you '11 think of my caution, Beware, oh ! beware. Oh ! young maiden hearts prepare, For your pains and your smarts prepare: Though I reason, you may laugh ; Though I threaten, you may scoff; Still, still I tell you true, What weeping yet you '11 do — Why ? Think of my caution, leware ! You '11 think of my caution, beware ! Jim Crow. — As sung by Mr. Rice. Here come de sassy nigger, and I want you all to know, That he '11 wheel about, and turn about, and jump Jim Crow. Chorus. Wheel about, and turn abou^, and do jis so ; Ebery time I wheel about, I jump Jim Crow. I was born in a cane brake, and cradled in a trough, I swo-rn the Mississippi and cotch'd the hoopjn cough : Dare 's t\\ o ole sogers whose name me nier forget, One was massa George Washington, the oder Laughavi'. H 114 THE NEW SONG BOOK. When de war was ober, and ebery ting content, De people make George Washington de great big president ; Den- he put all the states togeder and tied a string around, And ven de string be broken boys dey tumble to de ground. Ven dey vas virst set up dare vas only a dosin and one ; But now dare is twenty-four and a num- ber more to cum : Dose twenty-four children belong to Un- cle Sam, And hab been bery dutiful, except now and den. You all know who Uncle Sam is, from de captin to de mate. He 's de fader of de children of dese Unit- ed State ; He 's got one sassy daughter, her name is Caroline, I 'm fraid he '11 hab to tie her up and gib her thirty-nine. Now as for South Carolina, she 'd better keep her passion in, Or else she '11 get a licking before she does begin : Den go ahead, white folks, don't be so slow, Hop ober double trouble, jump Jim Crow. THE NEW SONG BOOK. 115 De way da bake de hoe cake in ole Wer- ginny neber tire, Dey put de cake upon de foot and hold de foot to de fire. Who eber would believe it dat wore de shoe and boot, Dat Georgia would be de first state to show de cloven foot ! I swapt away my hat and got a dollar to boot, I wheel'd about and turn'd about, and got a new suit : Dare is something I forget to tell you, which I want you to know, Dare 's a pretty lady here in lub wid Jim Crow. Now, wite folks, wite folks, please to let me go; I '11 come back again a nudder night and jump Jim Crow. Chorus. Weell about, and turn about, and do jis so ; Ebery time I weell about I jump Jim Crow. Paddy Carey's Fortune, or, Irish Pro- motion. 'T was at the town of nate Clogheen That sergeant Snap met Paddy Carey, 116 THE NEW SONG BOOK. A claner boy was never seen, Brisk as a bee, light as a fairy ; His brawny shoulders four feet square, His cheeks like thumping red potatoes, His legs would make a chairman stare, And Pat was loved by all the ladies. Old and young, grave or sad, Deaf and dumb, dull or mad, Waddling, twaddling, limping, squinting, Light, brisk and airy, All the sweet faces at Limerick races, From Mullinavat to Magherafelt, At Paddy's beautiful name would melt ! And so wis would cry, And look so shy, Ogh ! Cushlamachree, did you never see The jolly boy, the darling boy, the ladies' toy ! Nimble-footed, black-eyed, rosy-cheek'd, Curly-headed Paddy Carey ! Ogh, sweet Paddy, beautiful Paddy, nate little, tight little Paddy Carey. His heart was made of Irish oak, Yet soft as streams from sweet Killar- ney; His tongue was tipt with a bit of the brogue, But the deuce a bit of the blarney ! Now sergeant Snap, so sly and keen, While Pat was coaxing duck-legg'd Mary, A shilling slipt so neat and clean, By the powers, he 'listed Paddy Carey ! THE NEW SONG BOOK. 117 Tight and sound, strong" and light, Checks so round, eyes so bright, Whistling, humming, drinking, drumming, Light, tight and airy. All the sweet laces, v_\:c. The sowls wept loud, the crowd was great, When waddling forth came widow Lea- Though she was crippled in her gait, Her brawny arms clasped Paddy Carey: Ogh ! Pat. she cried, go buy the ring, Here's cash galore, my darling honey ; Says Pat, You sow], I ? 11 do that thing, And clapt his thumb upon her money ! Gimlet eye, sausage nose, Pat, so sly, ogle throws, Leering, titt'ring, jeering, fritt'ring, Sweet widow Leary. All the sweet faces, 6cc. When Pat had thus his fortune made, He pressed the lips of mistress Leary, And mounting straight a large cockade, In captain's boots struts Paddy Carey ! He grateful praised her shape, her back, To others like a dromedary ; Her eyes, that seemed their strings to crack, Were Cupid's darts to Captain Carey ! Neat and sweet — no alloy, AU complete — love and joy, Ranting, roaring, soft, adoring, Dear widow Lea y ! IIS THE NEW SONG BOOK. All the sweet faces at Limerick races, From Mullinavat to Magherafelt, At Paddy's promotion sigh and melt ; The sowls all cry, as the groom struts by, 11 Ogh, Cushlamachree, thou art lost to me!" The jolly boy ! the darling boy ! The ladies' toy ! the widow's joy ! Long sword girted — neat short skirted — Head cropt — whisker chopp'd, Captain Carey ! O ! sweet Paddy ! Beautiful Paddy ! White feather'd — boot leather'd — Paddy Carey. Lassie wi' the Lint-White Locks. By Robert Burns. Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, Bonnie lassie, artless lassie ! Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks, Wilt thou be my dearie O ? Now nature deeds the flow'ry lea, And a' is young and sweet like thee, O wilt thou share its joys wi' me, And say thou *lt be my dearie O ? Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, Bonnie lassie, artless lassie ! Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks, Wilt thou be my dearie ? And when the welcome summer show'r THE NEW SONG BOOK. 119 Has cheered ilk drooping little flow'r, We '11 to the breathing woodbine bow'r, At sultry noon, my dearie O. Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, Bonnie lassie, artless lassie ! Wilt then wi' me tent the flocks, Wilt thou be my dearie ? When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, The weary shearer's hameward way, Thro' yellow, waving fields we '11 stray, And talk of love, my dearie 0. Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, Bonnie lassie, artless lassie ! Wilt thou tent wi' me the flocks, Wilt thou be my dearie ? And when the howling, wintry blast Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest, Enclasped to my fai hful breast, I '11 comfort thee my dearie O. The Maid of Erin. My thoughts delight to wander Upon a distant shore, Where, lovely, fair and tender, Is she whom I adore. May Heaven, its blessings sparing, On her bes'ow them free, The lovely maid of Erin, Who sweetly sang to me. Had fortune fixed my station, In some some propitious hour, 120 THE NEW SONG BOOK. The monarch of a nation, Endowed with wealth and power, That wealth and power sharing My peerless queen should he, The lovely maid of Erin, Who sweetly sang to me. Although the restless ocean May long between us roar, Yet while my heart has motion, She '11 lodge within its core ; For artless and endearing, And mild and young is she, The lovely maid of Erin, Who sweetly sang to me. When fate gives intimation That my last hour is nigh, With placid resignation I '11 lay me down and die ; Fond hope my bosom cheering, That I in heaven shall see The lovely maid of Erin, Who sweetly sang to me. Little Sue, The shepherds call me little Sue, That sports and frolics round ; Though rustic pleasures I pursue, Content with me is found ; They talk of love and call me fair, And woo» us lovers woo * THE ISEW SONG BOOK. 121 I tell the swains he must be rare Who marries little Sue — O rare ! rare ! he must be rare Who marries little Sue. The youth who would my bosom move, Must be what 1 declare ; His actions, not his words, must prove That I 'm his only care : My love must have good sense refined, Have wit and humor too ; The youth be gentle, brave and kind, Who marries little Sue — rare ! rare ! he must be rare Who marries little Sue. The youth that 'a formed for love and me Must ne'er ambitious prove ; Must ne'er find fault, tho' some should see, But all be peace and love : To merit such ? noble youth, I 'd every art pursue ; He "11 hold my heart, my mind, my truth, Who marries little Sue — rare ! rare ! he must be rare Who marries little Sue — rare ! O rare ! he must be rare Who marries little Sue. All's Well,— By Dibdin. Deserted by the waning moon, When skies proclaim night's cheerless noon, 122 THE NEW SONG BOOK. On tower, fort, or tented ground, The sentry walks his lonely round, The sentry walks his lonely round, The sentry walks, &c. And should a footstep haply stray Where caution marks the guarded way, Where caution marks the guarded way, The guarded way — Who goes there ? Stranger, quickly tell ! A friend — the word — good night, All 's well ! all 's well ! The word — good night — all 's well ! Or, sailing on the midnight deep, While weary messmates soundly sleep, The careful watch patrols the deck, To guard the ship from foes or wreck, To guard the ship from foes or wreck, To guard the ship, &c. And while his thoughts oft homeward veer, Some friendly voice salutes his ear, Some friendly voice salutes his ear, Salutes his ear — What cheer, brother ? quickly tell ! Above — below — good night ; All 's well ! all 's well ! Above— -below — all, all's well. INDEX, Auld Lang Syne Page 25 Amelia Bird 36 Away with melancholy 40 A Soldier's Gratitude 57 Auld Lang Syne 81 Absence 89 A red, red Rose 101 All 's well 121 Bay of Biscay, O 15 Bonnie Doon 17 Begone, dull Care 24 Bruce's Address 24 Blue-eyed Mary 49 Behold how brightly breaks the morning ... 73 Beware o' boanie Ann 93 Comin' through the Rye 55 Columbian Independence 87 Charlie is my Darling • . 94 Connecticut 1C9 Dame Durdcn 33 Drink to me only 83 Day :>f Glory 85 Duet 107 For the Fourth of July 68 124 INDEX. Green Hilla of Tyvol 31 Gaily the Troubadour 47 Home, sweet Home 34 Hark ! the Goddess Diana 37 Hey the bonnie Breast Knots 51 Here we meet too soon to part 54 Hail, Columbia .86 Hope told a flattering tale 109 I 'd be a Butterfly 11 I could never cry for laughing 30 I see them on their winding way . • 38 1 've been roaming 58 I 've gazed upon thy sunny smile 79 I was the boy for bewitching 'em Ill John Brown's Ghost 66 Jim Crow 113 Lord Lovel and Nancy Bell 20 Love was once a little boy 22 Life let us cherish 23 Law ! Law ! Law ! 45 Love cuts me up 55 Life S4 Lassie wi' the lint-white locks 118 Little Sue 120 March to the battle field 12 Meet me by Moonlight 35 Marseilles Hymn 52 My bonnie Lass 53 May Liorn Song 63 My Heart and Lute 90 Martial Song 97 My Dark Eyed Maid 108 INDEX. 125 Nothing lil.e SnufT 78 Oft in the stilly night 9 O, swiftly ghdcs the bonny boat 10 Oh, no, we never mention her 33 Old Grimes 70 Old Mrs. Grimes 71 O, give me back my Arab steed 72 O, merry row 77 OL! young maiden hearts beware 112 Paddy Carey's Fortune 115 Robin Adair 16 Song of the Skaters 42 Slowly wears the day, love 112 The Sea 7 The Mellow Horn 8 The Pirate Lover 13 Tongo Islands 18 The Hunters of Kentucky 26 The Minute Gun at Sea .' . 29 'T is the Last Rose of Summer 32 The Minstrel's Return from the War 39 The bright, bright Shore 41 'T was you, sir 44 The bonnie Sleigh 47 The dashing white Sergeant 57 The Cobbler 60 The time I ve lost in wooing 65 The bright rosy morning 72 The Pilgrm Fathers 74 Tyrolese Evening Hymn 75 The braes of Balquhither 76 The deep, deep Sea 79 126 INDEX. The Onset 80 The wild Guitar 83 To sigh, yet feel no pain 84 The Washing Day 95 The Shady Greenwood Tree 96 The voice of her I love 98 The bonnie lad that 's far awa' 99 The Sailor's Lullaby 1 00 The Wood Robin 101 The Soldier's Bride 103 The Lavender Girl 105 The Mariner's Wife 105 The Maid of Erin 119 Wake ! lady, wake ! 43 Watchman 50 We '11 married be 59 Wha '11 be King but Charlie 62 Wreath the bow] 102 Yankee Doodle 91