1656

THE LIBRARY
OF THE
REGENTS
HIME
UNIVERSITY
ARTIDUS
&B
OF
MINNESOTA
Wilson Library
TOWNS' STEREOTYPE EDITION.
THE
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
CONTAINING A CHOICE SELECTION OF THE MOST
POPULAR FASHIONABLE
Songs, Duetts and Glees,
AS SUNG AT THE MUSICAL FESTIVALS, FASHIONABLE
ASSEMBLIES, THEATREs and conCERTS.
COMPILED FROM ORIGINAL MUSIC,
By JAMES G. OSBOURN, Professor
NEW-YORK:
RICHARD MARSH, 374 PEARL-STREET,
1854.
wils
JANC 7442
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
'
COLUMBIA LAND OF LIBERTY.
To Liberty's enraptured sight
When first Columbia's region shone,
She hailed it from her starry height
And smiling claim'd it as her own.
Fair Land! the Goddess cried be free!
Soil of my choice to fame arise
:
She spoke and straight Heaven's minstrelsy
Swelled the loud chorus thro' the skies.
All hail forever great and free t
· Columbia Land of Liberty.
War blew her Clarion loud and long
Oppression led his legions on;
To battle rush'd the patriot throng,
And soon the glorious day was won.
Each bleeding Freeman smil'd in death,
Flying he saw his country's foes,
And wafted by his latest breath;
To heaven the cheerful pæan arose.
Content I die for thou art free!
Columbia Land of Liberty.
And shall we ever dim the fires,
That flame on Freedom's kindred shrines t
Shall glory's children shame their sires?
Shall cowards spring from Heroes loins ?
No! by the blood our fathers shed,
?
O! Freedom in thy holy cause,
When streaming from the martyr'd dead,
It sealed and sacrificed thy laws.
We swear to keep thee great and free!
Columbia Land of Liberty.
4
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
COME, SONS OF FREEDOM!
Come Sons of Freedom, Nature's voice demands,
To honor her glad hearts and willing hands;
Hang out your Banners, Raise your voices high;
Till your redoubling echoes reach the sky.
Join in the Chorus, with your loud huzzas!
For God, for Liberty, our Country and its laws
10
Union the watchword, Liberty the cry!
For these, our Fathers swore to live or die,
And having conquer'd, we rejoice, that now,
The Monarch's crown, encircles ev'ry brow
Chorus.
Know ye your birthright? then if knowing scan
The various duties, and the rights of man;
That dread oppression, ne'er may dim the ray,
That lights the world, to freedom's natal day.
Chorus.
Once more, hurra! and let the welkin ring
Till time no longer, owns a thing call'd king;
Till all creation, will the theme prolong;
That now gives birth to this, our Nation's song,
Then join the chorus, with your &c.
COLUMBIA THE GEM OF THE OCEAN.
O! Columbia the gem of the ocean,
The home of the brave and the free;
The shrine of each patriot's devotion,
A world offers homage to thee:
Thy mandates make heroes assemble,
When liberty's form stands in view;
Thy Banners make tyranny tremble,
When borne by the red white and blue.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
5
When war winged its wide desolation,
And threaten'd the land to deform,
The ark then of freedom's foundation,-
Columbia rode safe through the storm;
With her garlands of vict'ry around her,
When so proudly she bore her brave crew,
With her flag proudly floating before her,
The boast of the red white and blue.
The wine cup, the wine cup bring hither,
And fill you it true to the brim,
May the wreath's they have won never wither
Nor the star of their glory grow 'dim;
May the service united ne'er sever,
But they to their colour's prove true,
The Navy and Army for ever,
Three cheers for the red white and blue.
COLUMBIA FREEDOM'S HOME IS THINE.
Columbus as he watched by night,
The star which led him to the west,
His mind was filled with visions bright,
Of lands no tyrant e'er possess'd.
With prophet glance he view'd from far,
Beyond the waste of waters wide,
A home beneath that western star:
Where freedom ever should abide.
Thrice blest Columbia freedom's home is thine,
No envious foe shall dare molest her there;
Triumphant still thy starry flag shall shine,
And thy bold Eagle sweep the fields of air.
Hopeless, for many an age, before
Thy Eagle spread his shelt'ring wings,
The subjugated nations bore
The iron yoke of tyrant kings:
But hope revived with Freedom's light
Thou o'er th' admiring nations shed,
When rising in thy patriot might,
Oppression from thy presence fled.
Thrice blest Columbia, &c., &c.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
From every clime to Freedom's home,
Drawn by her soul-exalting charmis,
The brave, the good and gifted come,
By her received with open arms:
And cherished by her fostering care,
Columbia's sons are destined still,
The blessings Freedom yields to share,
Till time his latest task fulfil.
Thrice blest Columbia, &c., &c.
1
THE AMERICAN BOY.
Father look up and see.
That flag how gracefully it flies,
Those pretty stripes they seem to be,
A rainbow in the skies!
It is your country's Flag, my son,
And proudly drinks the light,
O'er oceans wave in foreign clime,
A symbol of our might.
Father what fearful noise is that,
Like thundering of the clouds!
Why do the people wave their hats
And rush along in crowds ?
It is the noise of Cannonry,
The glad shouts of the free!
This is a day to memory dear,
"Tis Fredom's Jubilee!
I wish that I was now a man,
I'd fire my Cannon too,
And cheer as loudly as the rest:
But Father why don't you?
I am getting old and weak, but still
My heart is big with Joy!
I've witness'd many a day like this,
Shout you aloud, my Boy!
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
Hurra! for Freedom's Jubilee !
God bless our native land:
And may I live to hold the sword,
Of Freedom in my hand!
Welcome my boy, grow up and love,
The land that gave you birth!
And home where Freedom loves to dweli,
Is paradise on Earth!
COLUMBIA FOREVER.
Columbia for ever!
From thee I'll ne'er sever;
Thy dwelling is in my heart's core.
How many opprest,
In thee have found rest,
When strangers they came to thy shore.
Thy daughters I'll prize,
Till life ebbs and dies,
Remember'd, and blest they shall be,
For when sick and laid low;
In the dark hours of wo;
They were Angels of mercy to me..
Hail! land of my choice,
In thee I rejoice;
Forget thee! no, no, I will never,
As Father and Mother,
As Sister and Brother:
I love thee, Columbia for ever.
Thy Eagle is watching,
If treason be hatching,
From Georgia the cry goes to Maine;
To the block with his head;
Let the Traitor lie dead,
That would dare to enslave thee again.
8
SINGER'S SOUVENIR,
AMERICAN NATIONAL SONG OF LIBERTY.
Hark! to arms! the trumpet's breath
Tells of liberty, liberty or death;
O'er each sunny plain and hill
Wakes the startling measure still
Who that loves his native land?
Shuns the fight at heav'n's command!
Gather to the rescue then,
When the cry is heard again!
Hark! to arms! the trumpet's breath,
Tells of Liberty! Liberty or death!
Sound! sound again, the welcome blast,
Comes where freedom's fires shall last.
Dear to valor be the light,
Yet surviving slav'ry's night:
Still be seen Columbia's star,
O'er the waves o'er the wild waves wand'ring far.
Never, on our native shore,
Tyrants wake the war-cry more:
Hark! to arms! the trumpet's breath
Telis of Liberty! Liberty or death!
BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL.
Lonely and still was the verdant hill,
And the waves below yet slumbered,
The breezes light of a summer night,
All the dewy moments numbered;
The sentry's tramp from the foeman's carap,
With his tone of hasty warning:
Came low and clear to the yeoman's ear,
As he watched the early dawning.
The heroes thought as they bravely wrought,
Their country's altar rearing,
Of a noble land by Valor's hand,
Made free and home-endearing ;
In firm array when broke the day,
The deadly charge they waited,
And side by side in silent pride,
With skill their prowess mated.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
Then waved the sword, then blood was poured,
Oppression's host dismaying,
While the death-rent air and the cannon's glare,
O'er Freedom's birth were playing;
And that green height with the evening light
Its crimson turf o'ershading,
Had holy grown as Freedom's throne,
Like her starry crown unfading.
Once more the skies with summer dyes,
Above the field are bending,
And the waters still beneath the hill,
Their crystal waves are blending;
But peace divine around the shrine
Her boundless harvest wearing,
Bids us proclaim to deathless fame,
Our father's matchless daring.
To-day a throng with festal song
The sacred mount o'erflowing,
Have gathered there with pomp and power,
All hearts with rapture glowing;
On the gory bed of the martyred dead,
Its shade majestic sleeping,
Stands Freedom's pile in Glory's smile,
Eternal vigil keeping.
CRAMBAMBULI, BRIGHT SOURCE OF PLEASURE.
Crambambuli! bright source of pleasure!
Full many joys we owe to thee!
Then fill, boys fill, and join the measure,
A song unto Crambambuli!
Oh, free from care, from sorrow free,
We'll drink and sing Crambambuli,
Crambimbambuli, Crambambuli,
Oh, free from care, from sorrow free,
We'll drink and sing, Crambambuli,
Crambimbambambuli, Crambambuli.
10
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
Oh, life has many a heavy hour,
When weary seems the way and long;
Oh! then, wouldst laugh at fortune's power?
Fill high the bowl, and join the song,
And while the wit and wine flash free,
We'll joyful sing Crambambuli.
Fill high the winter cloud is darkling!
Hear ye the storm-king's angry cry?
Fill high-nor heed, while wine is sparkling,
The tempest idly rolling by!
For storm or storm-king what. care we,
While here we quaff Crambambuli ?
Fill high the gems of night are streaming
In distant glory,-pure, but drear.
Fill high but leave their hollow gleaming,
And seize the cup that mantles near.
The stars shine chill,--to that, turn we,
Which warms and shines,-Crambambuli!
Fill high! Whene'er we meet together,
An hour of life, to joy to spare,
We'll sing,-nor réck of wind or weather,
"Still faithful all and free from care."
"Toujours fidele et sans souci,
C'est l'ordre du Crambambuli."
Fill high! old time on lusty pinion,
Still bears our youth and joys away;
Then wrest that hour from his dominion,
And quaff of pleasure while you may;
Since time with youth and strength would flee
We'll chain him with Crambambuli.
Fill high! when musing with delight,
On those bright days of Auld Land Syne,
Like peaks, that in the evening light,
Though furthest off, the brighter shine,
Oh, then we'll drain a health with thee,
To old friends all-Crambambuli!
1
3
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
11
Crambambuli! bright source of pleasure!
Thus many a joy we owe to thee;
Then fill, boys, fill, and drain the measure,
And sing unto Crambambuli.
Oh, free from care, from sorrow free,
We'll drink and sing Crambambuli.
THE BRAVE OLD OAK.
A song of the Oak the brave old Oak,
Who hath rul'd in the green-wood long,
Here's health and renown to his broad green crown,
And his fifty arms so strong!
There is fear in his frown when the sun goes down,
And the fire in the west fades out,
And he sheweth his might on a wild midnight
When storms thro' his branches shout.
Then sing to the Oak the brave old Oak,
Who hath rul'd in this land so long,
And still flourish he a hale green tree,
When a hundred years are gone.
He saw the rare times, when the Christmas chimes
Were a merry sound to hear,
And the squire's wide hall and the Cottage small,
Were full of American cheer;
And all the day to the rebeck gay,
They frolick'd with lovesome swains,
They are gone they are dead, in the church-yard laid,
But the tree, he still remains.
Then sing to the Oak the brave old Oak,
Who hath rul'd in this land so long,
And still flourish he a hale green tree,
When a hundred years are gone.
12
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
I DREAMT THAT I DWELT IN MARBLE HALLS.
I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls,
With vassals and serfs at my side,
And of all who assembled within those walls,
That I was the hope and the pride.
I had riches too great to count,—could boast
Of a high ancestral name,
But I also dreamt, which pleas'd me most,
That you loved me still the same,
That you loved me, you loved me still the same.
I dreamt that suitors sought my hand;
That Knights upon bended knee,
And with vows no maiden heart could withstand,
They pledged their faith to me.
And I dreamt that one of that noble host,
Came forth my hand to claim;
But I also dreamt, which charm'd me most,
That you loved me still the same,
That you loved me, you loved me still the same.
"TIS SAD TO LEAVE OUR FATHER LAND.
'Tis sad to leave our father land,
And friends we there lov'd well,
To wander on a stranger strand,
Where friends but seldom dwell
Yet, hard as are such ills to bear,
And deeply though they smart,
Their pangs are light to those who are
The orphans of the heart.
'Tis sad to leave our father land, &c.
Oh if there were one gentle eye,
To weep when I might grieve;
One bosom to receive the sigh,
Which sorrow oft will heave;
One heart the ways of life to cheer,
Though rugged they might be,
No language can express how dear,
That heart would be to me.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
13
THEN YOU'LL REMEMBER ME.
When coldness or deceit shall slight,
The beauty now they prize,
And deem it but a faded light,
Which beams within your eyes.
When hollow hearts shall wear a mask,
"Twill break your own to see,
In such a moment I but ask-
That you'll remember me
That you'll remember me.
When other lips and other hearts,
Their tales of love shall tell,
In language whose excess imparts,
The pow'r they feel so well,
There may perhaps in such a scene,
Some recollection be-
Of days that have as happy been,
And you'll remember me,
And you'll remember me.
FLAG OF THE FREE.
Up with the banner, let the world see,
Thy standard of liberty "Flag of the free,"
Let it fly freely down it will bring,
Bigotry's priest and tyranny's king.
Pass it from hand to hand pass it afar,
Pass it from land to land pass it for war.
Up with the banner, let the world see,
Thy standard of liberty "Flag of the free."
Wake from your slumber let the world see,
Thy standard of liberty, flag of the free,
Let it fly freely, freely to save
The great from his dungeon, the good from his grave
Thy vallies are lovely, it there must be seen,
On palace, on temple, in grove, and in green,
Up with the banner, &c.
14
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THE KING AND COUNTRYMAN.
There was an old man in the west country,
A flaw in his lease the lawyers had found,
'Twas all about felling of five oak trees,
And building a house upon his own ground.
Ri tu din, udin, nudin, udin i ump,
Ri tu din, udin, a.
Now this old chap to Lunnon would go,
To tell the king a part of his grief,
Likewise to tell him a part of his woe,
In hopes king George would give him relief.
Now when the old chap to Lunnon had come,
He found the king to Windsor had gone,
But if he'd ha' known he'd not been at whoam,
He dang'd his buttons if ever he'd come.
Now this old chap to Windsor did stump,
But the gates were barr'd and all secure;
So he rapp'd and he thump'd with his oaken clump,
There be no room for me within, I'm sure.
1
Pray Mr. Nobles show I the king,
What! be that the king that I see there?
I've seen many a chap at Bartlemy fair,
Look more like a king than that are chap there.
Pray, Mr. King, and how do you do?
I've gotten for you a bit of a job;
Which if you'll be so kind as to do,
I've gotten a summat for you in my fob.
The king he took the lease in his hand,
And to sign it he were willing;
And the farmer to make him o bit of amends,
He lugg'd out his poke, and gave him a shilling.
The king to carry on the joke,
He ordered ten pounds to be laid down;
The farmer stood, but nothing spoke,
He stared again, and he scratch'd his crown.
The farmer stood and looked wondrous funny,
But to pocket it he were likewise willing,
But if he'd ha' known he'd got so much money,
He dang'd his buttons if he'd given him that shilling,
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
15
A HEALTH TO THE OUTWARD BOUND.
Fill fill the sparkling brimmer!
Fill for the moments fly!
The stars weary light grows dimmer.
And the moon fades away from the sky!
Fill for the signal flag is up!
And the wind is veering round!
In haste let us pledge our parting cup,
To the health of the outward bound,
In haste let us pledge our parting cup,
To the health of the outward bound.
Fill high this hour to morrow,
Nor toast nor jest shall be,
But a few shall meet in sorrow,
While the many plough the sea!
Then, while we're all together,
Give the toast! let it circle round!
Full sails and prosperous weather,
And a health to the outward bound.
Full sails and prosperous weather,
And a health to the outward bound.
Let no adieu be spoken-
To weep is a woman's part!
Nor give we a farewell token,
But a health from our in-most heart!
And oft when the wind blows free,
And the rough waves roll around,
The health shall come back to their memory,
That we drank to the outward bound!
The health shall come back to their memory,
That we drank to the outward bound.
COME WREATHE THE BOWER.
Come wreathe this bow'r,
With ev'ry flow'r,
To woman's eye that's bright and fair;
Bind richest pearls,
For these fair girls,
Upon the loveliest blossom there,
Upon the loveliest blossom there.
16
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
Come while the light
Of morning bright,
Is gilding the garden and grove,
And rosy dyes,
From eastern skies,
Seem to melt on the bower of love.
To this bower bring
The buddings of spring,
The rich, the beautiful and gay.
The wreath we'll bind,
From the fair we find,
And boast of the brilliant array.
Then wreathe the bow'r,
With ev'ry flower,
To woman's eye that's bright and fair;
Bind richest pearls,
For these fair girls,
Upon the loveliest blossom there.
COME CHACE THAT STARTING TEAR AWAY.
Come, chace that starting tear away,
Ere mine to meet it springs:
To night, at least to night be gay,
Whate'er to-morrow brings!
Like sunset gleams, that linger late,
When all is dark'ning fast,
Are hours like these we snatch from fate,
The brightest and the last.
Then chase that starting tear away,
Ere mine to meet it springs,
To-night, at least to-night be gay,
Whate'er to-morrow brings.
To gild our dark’ning life, if heav'n
But one bright hour alow,
Oh! think that one bright hour is giv'n,
In all its splendour now.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
17
辈
​Let's live it out-then sink in night,
Like waves, that from the shore,
One minute swell-are touch'd with light,
Then lost forever more.
Then chase, &c.
}
FAREWELL TO THE SCENES OF MY CHILDHOOD.
Farewell to the scenes of my childhood farewell,
My lingering footsteps still cling to the spot,
For peace and content in thy bosom doth dwell,
Tho' I leave thee sweet village thou'lt ne'er be forgot,
Tho' I leave thee sweet village,
Thou'lt ne'er be forgot.
Oh who (in lifes morn) has been destined to roam,
Can erase from the heart the remembrance of home,
Where the friends of our youth still in harmony dwell,
Can that heart be unmoved, when it bids them fare-
well?
But what rapture to hope when my wanderings are o'er,
I may haste to my dear native village once more,
And revisit again each sweet meadow and grove,
Made sacred by friendship and hallow'd by love.
And when all the cares of this life shall have pass'd,
May the cot of my fathers repel the keen blast,
Till this form with my kindred in peace shall be laid,
And the old churchyard willow sigh over my head.
FAREWELL! BY THEE FORSAKEN.
Farewell by thee forsaken,
Joys ling'ring ray is o'er
This heart can ne'er awaken,
To one bright moment more,
The hopes my soul had cherish'd,
Have wither'd one by one,
And tho' life's flow'rs have perish'd,
I'm left to linger on.
B
18
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
The clouds of early sorrow,
Hang heavy on my brow,
No sunburst of to-morrow,
Can brighten o'er it now,
My broken lute alone,
Remains my grief to tell,
And thus its parting tone,
Can only say farewell
THE COT WHERE WE WERE BORN,
We stood upon the mountain height,
And view'd the valleys o'er;
The suns last rays with mellow light,
Illum'd the distant shore,
(
We gazed with rapture on the scene,
Where first in youths bright morn,
We played, where near us stood serene,
The cot where we were born.
The cot where we were born,
And still we gaze with rapture,
On the cot where we were born.
Ere sorrow blanch'd our brows with care,
And hopes were flatt'ring high;
How often have we linger'd there,
Nor heav'd the breathing sigh;
But ah! those happy days are gone,
And left our hearts forlorn,
And still we gaze with rapture,
On the cot where we were born.
'Twas there that first a mother's smile,
Lit up our hearts with joy :
That smile can yet our cares beguile,
As when a pratling boy;
Though changes many we have seen,
Since childhood's sunny morn,
Yet deep in memory still has been,
The cot where we were born.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
19
Oh! never till the stream of life
Shall cease to ebb and flow,
And earthly sorrow with its strife,
These hearts shall cease to know;
Can we forget a spot so dear,
As that we sometimes mourn,
Beside the brook which runs so clear,
The cot where we were born.
BUNKER HILL SONG.
Oh! welcome the dawn of day, brother,
Oh! welcome the dawn of the day;
The nightcloud that hung o'er our country and fame,
Is breaking in brightness away.
Aloft o'er the mountains it gleams, brother,
Aloft o'er the mountains it gleams,
And valley and plain, and the deep rolling flood,
Are alive in the flush of its beams.
In coldness and silence too long, brother,
In coldness and silence too long,
We have falter'd while memory true to her trust,
Recounted our shame and our wrong;
But joy to the day and the hour, brother,
Oh! joy to the day and the hour,
Our bright banners float o'er the ranks of the free,
And tremble the vassals of power.
The eagle may sleep on his rock, brother,
The eagle may sleep on his rock,
But wo for the hour when he springs from the crag
And welcomes his foe to the shock;
His spirit shall cheer us to-day, brother,
His spirit shall cheer us to-day,
Our slumbers have broke from our hearts, like a cloud..
That melts into glory away.
Not now on the red-gleaming plain, brother,
Not now on the red-gleaming plain,
Yet the strife is afoot for the sons of the free
With tyranny's minions again :

20
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
Then down with the traitor and slave, brother,
Then down with the traitor and slave,
And freedom's broad banner, unstain'd as of yore,
Star-bright and blood-bought let it wave.
COME SING ME THAT SWEET AIR AGAIN.
Come, sing me that simple air again,
I used so to love in life's young day,
And bring, if thou canst, the dreams that then,
Were awaken'd by that sweet lay.
The tender gloom its strain-
Shed o'er the heart and brow,
Grief's shadow, without its pain,
Say, where, where is it now?
But play me the well known air once more,
For thoughts of youth still haunt its strain,
Like dreams of some far fairy shore,
We're never to see again.
Sweet air, how ev'ry note brings back,
Some sunny hope, some day dream bright,
That shining o'er life's early track,
Fill'd even its tears with light.
The new found life that came,
With love's first echo'd vow;
The fear, the bliss, the shame,
Say, where, where are they now?
But, still the same lov'd notes prolong,
For sweet t'were thus, to that old lay,
In dreams of youth and love and song,
To breathe life's hour away.
FLOW GENTLY SWEET AFTON
flow gently sweet Afton among thy green brates;
Flow gently I'll sing thee a song in thy praise:
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream;
Flow gently, sweet Afton disturb not her dream,

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
21
Thou dove, whose soft echo resounds from the hill,
Thou green crested lapwing with noise loud and shrill,
Ye wild whistling warblers your music forbear,
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.
Thy crystal stream, Afton how lovely it glides;
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
There, oft as mild ev'ning weeps o'er the lea,
Thy sweet scented groves shade my Mary and me.
Flow gently, sweet Afton among thy green braes,
Flow gently sweet Afton, the theme of my lays,
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
THE CORK LEG.
I'll tell you a tale now without any flam,
In Holland there dwelt mynheer Von Clam,
Who ev'ry morning said I am
The richest merchant in Rotterdam,
Ri tu, di nu, di nu, di nu,
Ri tu, di ni nu, ri tu, di nu, ri na.
One day, when he had stuff'd him as full as an egg,
A poor relation came to beg,
But he kick'd him out without broaching a keg.
And in kicking him out he broke his leg.
A surgeon, the first in his vocation,
Came and made a long oration,
He wanted a limb for anatomization,
So he finish'd his jaw by amputation.
"Mr. Doctor," says he, when he'd done his work,
"By your sharp knife I lose one fork,
"But on two crutches I never will stalk,
"For I'll have a beautiful leg of cork."
An artist in Rotterdam t'would seem,
Had made cork legs his study and theme,
Each joint was as strong as an iron beam,
And the springs were a compound of clockwork
and steam.
22
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
The leg was made, and fitted right,
Inspection the artist did invite.
Its fine shape gave Mynheer delight,
As he fix'd it on and screw'd it tight.
He walk'd through squares and pass'd each shop,
Of speed he went to the utmost top,
Each step he took with a bound and a hop,
And he found his leg he could not stop!
Horror and fright were in his face,
The neighbours thought he was running a race,
He clung to a lamp post to stay his pace,
But the leg would'nt stay, but kept on the chace.
Then he call'd to some men with all his might,
"Oh! stop this leg or I'm murder'd quite!"
But though they heard him aid invite,
In less than a minute he was out of sight.
He ran o'er hill and dale and plain,
To ease his weary bones he'd fain,
Did throw himself down-but all vain,
The leg got up and was off again!
He walk'd of days and nights a score,
Of Europe he had made the tour,
He died-but though he was no more,
The leg walk'd on the same as before.
In Holland sometimes it comes in sight,
A skeleton on a cork leg tight,
No cash did the artist's skill requite,
He never was paid-and it serv'd him right.
My tale I've told both plain and free,
Of the rummest merchant that could be,
Who never was buried-though dead we see,
And I've been singing his L. E. G. (elegy.)
Ri tù, di nu, di nu, di nu,
Ri tu, di ni nu, ri tu, di nu, ri na.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
23
THE FAIRY TEMPTER.
A fair girl was sitting in a green wood shade,
List'ning to the music the spring birds made,
When, sweeter by far than the birds on the tree,
A voice murmur'd near her "Oh! come love with me.”
A voice murmur'd near her “Oli come love with me.
In earth or air, a thing so fair,
I have not seen as thee.
Then come love, come love, come love with me,
Come love, come love,
Oh come love with me.
With a star for my home in a palace of light,
Thou wilt add a fresh grace to the beauty of night;
Or, if wealth be thy wish, thine are treasures untold,
I will show thee the birth place, of jewels and gold,
I will show thee the birth place, of jewels and gold,
And pearly caves, beneath the waves,
All these, all these are thine,
If thou wilt be mine love, if thou wilt be mine,
If thou wilt be mine love,
If thou wilt be mine.
Thus whisper'd a fairy to tempt a fair girl,
But vain was his promise of gold and of pearl;
For she said "tho' thy gifts to a poor girl be dear,"
My father, my mother, my sisters are here,
My father, my mother, my sisters are here;
Oh! what would be, thy gift to me,
Of earth and sea and air,
If my heart were not there,
If my heart were not there,
1
COME, COME AWAY.
Oh! come, come away, from labour now reposing,
Let busy care awhile forbear,
Oh come, come away :
Come come, our social joys renew.
And there where trust and friendship grew,
Let true hearts welcome you,
Oh come, come away.
24
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
From toil and cares, on which the day is closing,
The hour of eve, brings sweet reprieve,
Oh come, come away:
Oh come, where love will smile on thee,
And round its hearth will gladness be,
And time fly merrily,
Oh come, come away.
While sweet Philomel, the weary. trav'ller cheering,
With evening songs, her note prolongs,
Oh come, come away:
In answering songs of sympathy
We'll sing in tuneful harmony,
Of hope, joy, liberty.
Oh come, come away.
The bright day is gone, the moon and stars appearing,
With silver light, illume the night,
Oh come, come away:
Come join your prayers with ours; address
Kind heaven, our peaceful home to bless,
With health, hope, happiness.
Oh come, come away.
FANNY GREY,
Well, well, sir, so you're come at last! I thought you'd
come no more:
I've waited, with my bonnet on, from one till half past
four!
You know I hate to sit alone, unsettled where to go:
You'll break my beart, I feel you will, if you continue so!
You'll break my heart, &c.
"Now pray, my love, put by that frown and don't begin
to scold,
You really will persuade me soon you're growing cross
and old.
I only stopp'd at grosv'nor gate, young Fanny's eye to
catch:
I won't, I swear I won't be made to keep time like a
watch."
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
25
"it took you, then, two hours to bow!-Two hours!—
Take off your hat;
I wish you'd bow that way to me; and apropos of that,
I saw you making love to her, (you see I know it all!)
I saw you making love to her, at Lady Gossip's ball!"
"Now really, Jane, your temper is so very odd to day!
You jealous? and of such a girl as little Fanny Grey!
Make love to her! indeed, my dear, you could see no such
thing:
I sat a minute by her side, to see a turquoise ring!"
"I tell you that I saw it all, the whisp'ring and grimace,
The flirting and coquetting, in her little foolish face,
Oh! Charles I wonder that the earth don't open, where
you stand,
By the heav'n that is above us both, I saw you kiss her
hand!"
"I did'nt, love! or if I did, allowing that 'tis true,
When a pretty woman shows her rings, what can a poor
man do?
My life, my soul my darling Jane! I love but you alone,
I never thought of Fanny Grey, (how tiresome she is
grown!"
"Put down your hat, don't take your stick! now prithee
Charles, do stay!
You never come to see me now, but you long to run away;
There was a time, there was a time you never wish'd to
go,
What have I done, what have I done, dear Charles, to
change you so?"
"Pooh, pooh, my love, I am not chang'd,—but dinner is at
eight;
And my father's so particular, he never likes to wait;
"Good bye!" Good bye! you'll come again?
of these fine days!"
"Yes one
"He's turn'd the street,-I knew he would-he's gone to
Fanny Grey's!"
20
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
He
She.
He.
She.
He.
She.
ACCEPTED LOVER.
A Comic Duett :-by T. B. Hayes.
Dearest girl I long have lov'd you,
Sigh'd and woo'd, and pray'd for bliss,
You have smiled, and half oppos'd me,
But you never have said yes.
I say yes? that's mighty pretty,
Girls must prudence always prize
If you are a lover witty,
Read my meaning in my eyes.
In your eyes, your words I'd seek for,
But alas! they are too bright;
Their sweet lustre, mine too weak for,
Sure would perish in their light.
You are now some joke intending,
Joke, my dear? no joke is there!
Why are you so complimenting?
Why my dear, are you so fair?
Go your way, I cannot cherish
Thoughts I want the pow'r to own.
Pity me, or else I perish,
See how very thin I'm grown,
He..
She.
He.
She.
He.
Why 'tis-
-she,-
-what?
She.
Marry? aye, then I'll say yes.
Both.
Come then, I'll be candid Harry,
What is wanting to your bliss?
That you would marry.
Then together love and hymen
Join our hands so blithe and gay,
To-morrow the village bells shall ring..
To-morrow is our wedding day.
i
}
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
27
2
ADIEU SWEET MAID 'TIS HONOR'S CALL.
A favourite patriotic Duett :-by T. a' Becket.
Gent. Adieu sweet maid 'tis honor's call,
That bids me quit this tranquil spot,
And if in distant climes I fall,
Yet shed no tear, but oh! forget me not;
For who could see unmov'd his country fall,
Her honor'd flag by despots torn,
And not rush forth at freedom's call,
Tho' those he loves he leaves behind to mourn.
Lady. Go dearest go, my pray'r shall be,
(Though absence wring this throbbing heart,)
That thou may'st safe return to me,
Thy home and friends, and ne'er again depart,
Go seek the foe, thy country's flag. defend,
To fates decree I humbly bend ;
Adieu, and when in lands afar,.
May honor ever prove thy leading star. ::
Both. Adieu, and when the moon's pale beam,
Sheds silv'ry rays on lake and tree,
Each floating breeze will to me seem,
A whisper'd pray'r or sigh that's breath'd for
me;
And when the star of evening decks the sky,
And tranquil nature sinks to rest,
In dreams of bliss I'll deem thy spirit nigh,
To soothe the anguish of this troubled breast.
And when the star of evening decks the sky,
And tranquil nature sinks to rest,
In dreams of bliss I'll deem thy spirit nigh,
To soothe the anguish of this troubled breast.
THE FLOWER GIRL,
Unpitied I roam thro' the world sad and weary,
Tho' bright are my flowrets, my visage is pale;
Oh! ye who can render misfortune less dreary,
Befriend a lone maiden and list to her tale.

28
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
In sorrow she asks it, come buy from my basket,
A rose that the dewdrop of heav'n doth impearl,
In opening buds many, pray lay out a penny,
With Ellen young Ellen, a poor flower girl.
Despoil'd are the hopes that my infancy cherish'd,
And sever'd forever, the fond and the brave;
My father, on victory's field, nobly perish'd,
And laurel'd by fame is the warrior's grave:
But his glory-deck'd end was adversity's token,
My mother would muse on his latest farewell;
Like the storm riven blossom, she faded, heart broken,
And left me an orphan-a poor flower girl.
Oh! where is the cottage, the home of my childhood!
The woodbine is wither'd that shaded the door;
No more will its shelter be sought by the wildwood,
Its welcome be blest by the trav'ler no more,
Long, long has the ruin been drear and forsaken,
The ivy entwines where the rose lov'd to dwell;
And oft will the pang of remembrance awaken,
Within the lone breast of the poor flower girl.
THE WITHERED ROSE BUD.
An why does this rosebud more beautiful seem,
Than when "racing the stem where it grew;
All wither'd and pale, of a flower but the dream!
'Tis because it was given by you,
'Tis because the sweet flow'ret had linger'd awhile,
On the bosom of beauty and youth,
Had borrow'd her lustre had stolen her smile,
And came to me breathing her truth.
Had borrow'd her lustre, had stolen her smile,
And came to me breathing her truth.
And now though its leaflets are gone to decay,
And mournfully drooping its stem,
And tints from the rainbow are fading away,
'Twill still be of roses the gem,
Like its fragrance still ling'ring fond mem'ry the while,

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
29
Will couple this blossom with thee,
And soothe by recalling the look and the smile,
That came with the rose bud to me.
And soothe by recalling the look and the smile,
That came with the rose bud to me.
AH! DO NOT FORGET LOVE.
An do not forget love the hour when we parted,
The valley where we met;
Where oft we have danc'd with the young and gay hearte 1
To the merry castanet.
'Twas there we first plighted affection so true,
Twas there we last parted in sorrow,
And shed the fond tear as we sigh'd out adieu,
In hopes of a happier to-morrow.
Ah do not forget love the hour when we parted,
The valley where we met,
Where oft we have danc'd with the gay and light hearted,
to the merry castanet.
The merry castanet, &c
Oh! why didst thou leave me so sadly to grieve me,
And break this beating heart,
Oh could I behold thee once more to enfold thee,
Oh never again would we part,
The roses may wither that deck the gay bowers-
The blossom may fall from the tree,
But never in memory shall fade those sweet hours,
So sacred to friendship and thee,
Where hope sheds its ray love and still seems to say love,
We've moments of happiness yet,
When again I shall meet thee and bring love to greet thee,
The merry castanet.
FAREWELL IN LIFE IS OFTEN HEARD.
Farewell in life is often heard,
To tell that friends must part;
In separation 'tis the knell,
That grieves the fondest heart.
30
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
1
The sister dear who from our side,
And home must ever dwell,
Implants a kiss upon the cheek,
And sighs a last farewell.
Implants a kiss upon the cheek,
And sighs a last farewell.
The lover too with heavy heart,
Leaves for a distant shore,
And prays for her whom once he loved,
Whom still he could adore:
But then the blighted vows are known,
Which time can ne'er dispel,
Yet all is hush'd save memory,
 In that last word "farewell,”
When sickness comes with direful hand,
And death calls us away,
We leave our earthly cares behind,
And part without dismay;
For in that bright celestial land,
No sighs the bosom swell,
'Tis there we meet to part no more,
To bid no last "farewell."
THE PILOT.
Oh, Pilot! 'tis a fearful night,
There's danger on the deep,
I'll come and pace the deck with thee,
I do not dare to sleep.
Go down! the sailor cried, go down,
This is no place for thee;
Fear not! but trust in Providence,
Wherever thou may'st be.
Ah! Pilot, dangers often met,
We all are apt to slight,
And thou hast known these raging waves,
But to subdue their might:
It is not apathy, he cried,
That gives this strength to me;
Fear not! but trust in Providence,
Wherever thou may'st be.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
31
On such a night, the sea engulph'd,,
My father's lifeless form;
My only brother's boat went down,
. In just so wild a storm.
And such, perhaps, may Be my fate,
But still I say to thee,
Fear not! but trust in Providence,
Wherever thou may'st be.
THE FAIR LAND OF POLAND.
When the fair land of Poland was plough'd by the hoof,
Of the ruthless invader, when might
With steel to the bosom, and flaine to the roof,
Completed her triumph o'er right:
In that moment of danger when freedom invok'd,
All the fetterless sons of her pride,
In a phalanx as dauntless as freedom e'er yok'd,
I fought and I fell by her side;
My birth is noble, unstain'd my crest,
As is thine own, let this attest,
My birth is noble, unstain'd my crest,
As is thine own, as is thine own, let this attest.
Tho' the sky fanning eagle the hunter to shun,
Seeks a shelter ignoble below,
Still will his bold eye meet the blaze of the sun,
And his breast with its proud fire glow,
So the patriot hopeless may fly from the chains,
That clank holy liberty's knell,
Still the same noble blood that first fired his veins,
Till death in his bosom shall swell.
A LADY HEARD A MINSTREL SING.
A lady heard a minstrel sing,
One night beneath her bow'r,
In wrath she cried "oh what can bring,
A stranger at this hour ?"
32
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
She clos'd the casement, veil'd the lamp,
The minstrel'paus'd in sorrow,
Yet said "tho' now I must decamp
I'll try again to-morrow."
The minstrel came again next night,
The lady was not sleeping,
She slily (tho' she veil'd the light,)
Was thro' her casement peeping.
She heard him fondly breathe her name,
Then saw him go with sorrow;
And cried "I wonder whence he came?
Perhaps he'll come to-morrow.”
Again she heard the sweet guitar,
But soon the song was broken:
Tho' songs are sweet oh! sweeter far
Are words in kindness spoken:
She loves him for himself alone,
Disguise no more he'll borrow,
The minstrel's rank at length is known,
She'll grace a court to-morrow.
THE HEART BOW'D DOWN.
The heart bow'd down by weight of woe,
To weakest hopes will cling,
To thought and impulse while they flow,
That can no comfort bring,
That can, that can no comfort bring.
With those exciting scenes will blend,
O'er pleasure's pathway thrown;
But mem'ry is the only friend,
That grief can call its own, &c.
The mind will in it's worst despair,
Still ponder o'er the past,
On moments of delight that were,
Too beautiful to last,
That were too beautiful to last,
To long departed years extend,
Its visions with them flown,
For mem'ry is &c.

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
33
COME, BRAVE THE SEA WITH ME, LOVE.
Come, brave the sea with me, love,
The empire of the free, love!
There shalt thou dwell with me, love,
My blessing and my pride.
Ah! hasten with me there, love!
While yet the wind is fair, love!
Where sparkling billows foam, love!
Where fate bids us roam, love!
My ship shall be thy home, love,
And thou a sailor's bride.
Tho' fair the earth may be, love,
It is not like the sea, love!
Where soars the spirit free, love,
As o'er its breast we ride.
Ah! then dwell with me there,
Come while the wind is fair, love!
Where sparkling billows foam, love,
So boundless and so wide,
With me all danger dare, love,
As should a sailor's bride.
Come brave the sea with me love;
And o'er its breast we'll ride,
With me all danger dare, love,
As should a sailor's bride.
THO' I SMILE AMID MY SORROW.
Tho' I smile amid my sorrow,
Know, a brow o'er prest with care,
Frequent will from pleasure borrow,
Oft'ner yet, its glance may wear,
But thy smile, that once undoing,
Left this heart to writhe in pain;
Tho' in luxury 'twere wooing,
Ne'er can win it back again.
C
Tho' in luxury 'twere wooing,
Ne'er can win it back again.
34
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
Hours there were but ah! how fleeting,
When to love me thou didst deign,
Then my tongue with softest greeting,
Breathed what it may ne'er again,
Ah! how thrilling was the pleasure,
When my lips impressing thine,
Tasted bliss thought ne'er could measure,
Transport for which gods might pine:
Tasted bliss thought ne'er could measure,
Transport for which gods might pine.
ANGEL'S WHISPER.
A baby was sleeping,
Its mother was weeping,
For her husband was far on the wild raging sea,
And the tempest was swelling
Round the fisherman's dwelling,
And she cried "Dermot darling, Oh come back to me."
Her beads while she numbered,
The baby still slumbered,
And smiled in her face as she bended her knee,
"Oh, blest be that warning,
My child thy sleep adorning,
For I know that the Angels are whispering to thee."
And while they are keeping
Bright watch o'er thy sleeping,
Oh pray to them softly my baby with me,
And say thou would'st rather
They'd watch o'er thy father,
For I know that the Angels are whispering with thee.
The dawn of the morning
Saw Dermot returning,
And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see.
And closely caressing
Her child, with a blessing,
Said "I knew that the Angels were whispering to thee."
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
95
ALICE GRAY.
She's all my fancy painted her she's lovely, she's divine;
But her heart it is another's, she never can be mine
Yet loved I as man never loved, a love without decay,"
Oh my heart, my heart is breaking, for the love of Alice
Gray,
Oh! my heart, my heart is breaking, for the love of Ali
Gray.
Her dark brown hair is braided, o'er a brow of spotle
white!
Her soft blue eye now languishes, now flashes wi
delight;
The hair is braided not for me, the eye is turned away,
Yet my heart my heart is breaking, for the love of Alice
Gray.
I've sunk beneath the summer's sun, and trembled in the
blast,
But my pilgrimage is nearly done, the weary conflict's
past;
And when the green sod wraps my grave, may pity haply
say,
"Oh his heart, his heart is broken, for the love of Alice
Gray,'
A HOME THAT I LOVE.
Give me a cot in the valley I love,
A tent in the greenwood, a home in the grove,
I care not how humble, for happy 'twill be,
If one faithful heart will but share it with me.
Our haunts shall be nature's own beautiful bow'rs,
Our gems shall be nature's own beautifu. flow'rs,
There, woo'd by the sunshine and kiss'd by the gale,
The proudest might envy our home in the vale
The proudest might envy our home in the vale.
Oh! give me a cot, &c.

36
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
Lov'st thou to listen to music's sweet voice?
Oh, come to the woods where the song birds rejoice;
Or would'st thou be free? to the forest repair,
The stag in his freedom bounds merrily there.
When summer is gone, and the winter chill hours
Have rifled the greenwood and blighted the flow'rs,
Tho' ice bound the brook, and snow covered the dale,
The proudest might sigh for our home in the vale,
The proudest might sigh for our home in the vale.
Then give me a cot, &c.
ANNOT LYLE.
The snow white plume her bonnet bore,
Waved not more pure and fair,
Her sparkling eye a floating gem,
Like gold her auburn hair;
The rose bud slumb'ring on its bed,
Ne'er waked a sweeter smile,
But now she's gone! and lost to me,
My lovely Annot Lyle!
Thy fairy form I oft have seen,
On ev'ry passing breeze,
Have heard the melody of song,
But ah! no strains like these;
The thrilling tones that from thy harp,
The feelings oft beguile,
But now thou'rt gone and fost to me,
My lovely Annot Lyle!
Although thy heart's another's now,
And beats no more for me,
Yet I will teach my soul to pray,
That it may pray for thee;
This bursting heart alone can feel,
The absence of thy smile,
Since thou art gone! and lost to me,
My lovely Annot Lyle!

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
37
ANNIE BROWN.
She's a gay and graceful creature,
With laughter loving eyes,
Joy lights up ev'ry feature,
As her pure thoughts arise.
With an arch smile fondly playing,
On a face that cannot frown;
With an arch smile fondly playing,
On a face that cannot frown;
All who view the maid are saying
What a sprite is Annie Brown!
All who view the maid are saying
What a sprite is Annie Brown.
The lark its bright course winging
Through summer's cloudless sky,
Of its deep felt gladness singing,
Yields to her soft melody.
Art has ne'er its lesson taught her,
Nature swells in ev'ry tone;
She is nature's fav'rite daughter,
Free and artless Annie Brown.
Well she knows each chord to waken
That can vibrate to the heart,
Raise the sigh for love forsaken,
And a kindred grief impart;
Or in light and sportive measure
Moody care and sorrow drown,
Rouse the dullest soul to pleasure,
What a witch is Annie Brown!
Well I know the heart of Annie
Lightly bounds within her breast;
And, tho' loved and sought by many
Cupid never broke her rest.
But the day will come, when sighing
She shall love's soft empire own;
A lucky one-there's no denying,
He who wins fair Annie Brown.
A lucky one-there's no denying
He who wins fair Annie Brown.
38
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THE AULD SCOTTISH GENTLEMAN.
Oh! some will sing wi' sore lament, the dropping and
decay
Of their fine old English Gentlemen, like wonders pass'à
away:
My song is not o' miracles, sin' they have had their day;
But let the sons o' Scotland 'gi' their gude auld Sires a lay:
Here's the braw auld Scottish Gentleman o' the merry
time gane by!
A stout an' gallant set they were, a proud an' stately
band;
I think I see my grandsire noo; the grandest o' the grand ;
As if the warld were all his ain, a pointing wi' his hand,
To a pedigree o' Macs that, faith, would cover half his
land:
Like a braw auld Scottish Gentleman, &c.
An' when he bade the cup go round, while rung the
piper's strain,
Whate'er ye tauk o' duty noo, 'twas no sae heavy then ;
For there was the true spirit found, where all his ready
train
Pledg'd him in right good Ferintosh, agen an' yet agen,
Like a braw auld Scottish Gentleman, &c.
I speak not o' his gude claymore, and a' its auld renown,
But when the voice of "Auld lang syñe" was o'er his
mettle thrown;
"Twas fine to see him doff his age and, kindlin' at the
soun",
Keep up the song, an' only wi' the stirrin' dance gae
down;
Like a braw auld Scottish Gentleman, &e.
Wi' tartan trew, an' bonnet blue, the Laird wad head
the chase,
An' aye be foremost wi' his boon, at game or manly race ;
Or where a bonny lassie showed her sweetly smilin' face
True son o' Caledonia, he was never out o' place;
Like a braw auld Scottish Gentleman, &lin
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
39
An' when his days were number'd, an to kirk they bro't
him home,
Oh! there was such bewailing raised around his honor'd
tomb,
Ye wad hae thought that a' his like had met their final
doom;
But I trust, ye ken, we've many such, baith now and yet
to come,
Like our braw auld Scottish Gentleman, &c.
THE ATTACHE.
Oh! where is my lover? tell me, I pray?
Has any one seen him passing this way?
He's tall and he's slender, and dresses quite neat,
High crown on his head and high heels on his feet.
Can no one inform me if such they have seen?
With strip'd velvet waistcoat and spectacles green :
He wears an impérial, and combs his hair back,
With down on his chin and mostache quite black.
He says he's attache to some foreign count,
And speaks broken English-as surely he ought;
He sings so divinely-such pathos-such grace,
That music's soul breathes from each twist of his face.
He told me he lov’d me—that I don't believe,
For such a nice fellow is bound to deceive;
Yet he's just the being to flirt with awhile,
To make the belles jealous and old people smile.
Some say he's a swindler, and lives by his means,
Au fait at a flirt with a miss in her teens ;
But this is all scandal-by envy began,
I know that my lover's a very nice man.
If any one's seen him, I wish he would say,
For he borrow'd ten dollars of me yesterday-
Besides finger rings, and a necklace of gold,
Which some people tell me-this morning he sold!
40
SINGER'S SOUVENIR
BILLY BARLOW.
Oh ladies and gentlemen how do you do?
I've come out before you with one boot and shoe,
I do not know how it is, but somehow 'tis so,
Oh! isn't it hard upon Billy Barlow.
Oh! oh! ragedy oh! now isn't it hard upon Billy Barlow.
As I was walking down street jist tother day,
The people all gazed and some of’em did say
Why, that fellow there, why he aint so slow,
Humph! I guess not says a lady, that's Mr. Barlow.
They say there 's been a robbery committed in town,
I dont know who could have done it but Canker, the
clown,
I feel perfectly safe I'd have you to know,
I should like to see a man try to rob Billy Barlow
I went to the races jist the other day,
The man that keeps the gate asked me to pay,
Pay-says I, and looked at him so,-
O̟ you can pass on, I know you, you are Billy Barlow.
I hadn't been long you must know on the course,
When the good people all flocked around me of course,
Asking who's that gemman, does any one know?
Why yes that's the fat chap that sings Billy Barlow.
Oh dear bless my soul, I'm tired of this life,
I wish in my heart I could get a good wife,
If there's any young lady here in want of a beau-
Let her fly to the arms of young William Barlow.
They say there's a wild beast show come to town,
Of lions and monkeys and porcupines too,
But if they start to show I'll beat them I know,
For they aint got a varmint like Billy Barlow.
They tried to buy me to go with that show,
But the monkeys got jealous and the lion snapped at
me too,
The Hyæna growled, and looked at me so-
Thinks I 'twill never do for you Mr. Billy Barlow.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
41
I'm sure I was born, but where I cant tell,
My mother never told me I know very well,
But I've grown up, that all of you know,
For perfection itself just look at Billy Barlow.
There's been a nigger here singing about a long tail blue,
But he aint a patching, and that's very true,
If you want the cut of a coat or any thing so,
Just look at the rigging of Billy Barlow.
The tailors in town are all running after me,
To get the cut of my clothes that's plain to see,
But before they can get them I'll just let you know
They must spill out the rhino to Mr. Barlow.
Dinah Rosa, has reported that I've got married,
I wish here she had a little longer tarried,
If she had, I'd caught her and choked her jes so,
She dont know how she has abused Billy Barlow.
Oh ladies and gemmen I bid you good bye,
I'll get a new suit when clothes aint so high,
My hat's shocking bad, that all of you know,
Yet it looks well on the head of this Billy Barlow.
A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA.
A wet sheet and a flowing sea,
A wind that follows fast,
And fills the white and rustling sail,
And bends the gallant mast,
And bends the gallant mast, my boys!
While like on eagle free,
Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Columbia on our lea.
Oh! give me a wet sheet, a flowing sea,
And a wind that follows fast,
And fills the white and rustling sail,
And bends the gallant mast.
42
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
SOUV
O for a soft and gentle wind,
I heard a fair one cry!
But give to me the roaring breeze,
And white waves heaving high;
And white waves heaving high, my boys!
The good ship tight and free;
The world of waters is our home,
And merry men are we.
Oh! give me a wet sheet, &c.
There's tempest in yon horned moon,
And lightning in yon cloud,
And hark the music, mariners,
The wind is piping loud:
The wind is piping loud, my boys,
The lightning flashes free,
While the hollow oak our palace is,
Our heritage the sea.
Oh! give me a wet sheet, &c.
1
A SOLDIER'S THE LAD I ADORE,
A soldier's the lad I adore,
Tho' he's far from his friends and his home,
Love grant I may see him once more,
And march to the roll of his drum.
With plume in his helm, and his sword
By his side in a hero-like show,
He march'd to the field at the glorious word,
And beat the retreat of the foe.
Then march to the roll of the drum,
It summons the brave to the plain,
Where heroes contend for the home
Which perchance they may ne'er see again.
Full many a youth have I seen,
Who has whisper'd affection to me,
But give me the lad with a doublet of green,
Who can beat freedom's reveille.
Then march to the roll of the drum, &c.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
་་
43
Should he fall, but I hope he may not,
His spirit shall dwell with the brave,
His deeds by his country shall ne'er be forgot
While freedom weeps over his grave.
Then march to the roll of the drum,
It summons the brave to the plain,
Where heroes contend for the home
Which perchance they may ne'er see again.
AWAY I GO O’ER THE TREACH’RÓUS DEEP.
Away I go on the treach'rous deep,
On the swelling sea,
To rove,
And when the midnight watch I keep,
Or when I to my couch to sleep,
My thoughts are still
On thee
And love,
On thee, on thee
And love.
I go to sail on the ocean tide,
On the open sea,
To roam;
And when my gallant bark shall rido
And ev'ry whistling wind deride,
My thoughts shall be
On thee
And home.
Away I go on the sea to sail,
On the heaving sea,
To rove;
And when round goes the merry tale
And at all danger seamen rail
My thoughts shall be,
On thee
And love.
44
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THE BELLS OF ST. PETERSBURG.
Those ev❜ning bells, those ev'ning bells,
How many a tale their music tells,
Of youth, and home, and that sweet time,
When last I heard their soothing chime.
Of youth and home and that sweet time,
When last I heard their soothing chime.
Those joyous hours are passed away,
And many a heart that then was gay,
Within the tomb now darkly dwells,
And hears no more those ev'ning bells.
Within the tomb now darkly dwells,
And hears no more those ev'ning bells.
And so 'twill be when I am gone,
That timeful peal will still ring on,
While other bards shall walk these dells,
And sing your praise, sweet ev'ning bells.
While other bards shall walk these dells,
And sing your praise, sweet ev'ning bells.
5
BEHOLD IN HIS SOFT EXPRESSIVE FACE.
Behold! behold! in his soft expressive face,
Her well-known features, her features here I see,
And here her gentle smile can trace,
Which once so sweetly, so sweetly beamed on me ;
Ah! Rosalvin! ah! Rosalie !
Ah! Rosalie! that death, that death should sever,
Two hearts, two hearts that could have lov'd, have lov d
forever.
Here could I fancy I beheld,
In thee, sweet boy, her heavenly charms;
Could think, by hope and love impell'd
I clasped her offspring in my arms.
My child! my child!
My child, like this, was lovely ever,
Till death decreed our hearts to sever.

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
45
THE BEAUTIFUL DAY.
Day on the mountain, the beautiful day,
And the torrents leap forth in the pride of his ray,
The chamois awakes from his wild forest dream,
And bounds in the gladness and life of his beam;
And the horn of the hunter is sounding away!
Light, light on the hills, 'tis the beautiful day!-
Light, light on the hills, 'tis the beautiful, beautiful day!
Day in the valley, the rivulet rolls,
Cloudless and calm as the home of our souls,
The harvest is waving; and fountain and flower,
Are sparkling and sweet as the radiant hour;
And the song of the reapers, the larks' sunny lay,
Proclaim thro' the valley, day, beautiful day!
Proclaim thro' the valley, day, beautiful, beautiful day!
Oh solemn and sad his far setting appears,
When the last ray declines, and the flowers are in tears,
When the shadows of ev'ning like death banners wave,
And darkness encloses the world, like a grave;
Yet the sun, like the soul, shall arise from decay,
And again light the world with day, beautiful day!
And again light the world with day, beautiful, beautiful
day!
AWAY! MY GALLANT PAGE, AWAY!
Away! my gallant page, away!
The clarion sounds afar;
I see the victor's proud array,
Returning from the war!
The heroes throng the shining strand,
Thy valiant Lord is there,
And thou shalt from his lady's hand,
The promised greeting bear:
Then gallop away my young and brave!
The welcome call obey,
And merrily speed thy eager steed,
My gallant boy' away!
46
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
Away, and meet my warrior love!
The joyous shout is high,
O'er vale and mountain, dale and grove,
And echo joins the cry:
Oh! say that, from his native tow'r,
I watch o'er hill and plain,
The triumphs of the happy hour
That brings him home again.
Then gallop away my young and bravel
The welcome call obey,
And merrily speed thy eager steed,
My gallant boy away!
BACHELOR'S HÄLL.
Bachelor's hall, what a quare looking place it is!
Kape me from sich all the days of my life!
Sure but I think what a burnin' disgrace it is,
Niver at all to be gettin' a wife.
See the ould bachelor gloomy and sad enough,
Placing his tay kittle over the fire;
Soon tips it over, St. Patrick, he's mad enough,
(If he were present) to fight with the squire.
Now like a hog in a mortar bed wallowing,
Awkward enough, see him knading his dough;
Troth! if the bread he could ate without swallowing,
How he would favor his palate you know.
Pots, dishes, pans, and sich greasy commodities,
Ashes and prata skins kiver the floor:
His cupboard's a storehouse of comical oddities,
Things that had niver been neighbors before.
His meal being over, his tables left sitting so,
Dishes take care of yourselves if you can;
But hunger returns, then he's fuming and fretting so,
Och! let him alone for a baste of a man!
Late in the night when he goes to bed shiverin',
Niver a bit is the bed made at all;
He crapes like a tarapin under the kiverin',
Bad luck to the picture of bachelor's hall
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
47
BEAUTIFUL VENICE.
Beautiful Venice, city of song,
What mem'ries of old to thy regions belong ;
What sweet recollections cling to my heart,
As thy fast fading shores from my vision depart.
Oh! poesy's home is thy light colonades,
Where the winds gently sigh as the sweet twilight fades;
I have known many homes, but the dwelling for me
Is beautiful Venice, the bride of the sea.
Is beautiful Venice the bride of the sea.
Beautiful Venice, beautiful Venice,
Beautiful Venice, the bride of the sea.
Beautiful Venice ! queen of the earth,
Where dark eyes shine brightly mid music and mirth,
Where gay serenaders by light of the star,
Oft mingle their songs with the dulcet guitar.
All that's lovely in life, all that's deathless in song,
Fair Italy's isles to thy regions belong;
I have known many homes, but the dwelling for me,
Is beautiful Venice, the bride of the sea.
BE MINE DEAR MAID
Be mine dear maid, this faithful heart
Can never, can never prove untrue,
'Twere easier far from life to part,
Than cease to live for you.
Be mine dear maid, this faithful heart
Can never prove untrue,
"Twere easier far from life to part,
Than cease to live, to live for you,
Than cease to live for you.
My soul gone forth from this lone breast,
Lives only love in thine,
There is its holy home of rest,
Its dear its chosen shrine.
48.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THE BAY OF BISCAY O!
Loud roar'd the dreadful thunder,
The rain a deluge show'rs,
The clouds were rent asunder
By lightning's vivid pow'rs;
The night both drear and dark,
Our poor devoted bark-
Till next day there she lay,
In the Bay of Biscay O!
Now dash'd upon the billow,
Her op'ning timbers creak;
Each fears a watery pillow,
None stop the dreadful leak!
To cling to slipp'ry shrouds,
Each breathless seaman crowds.
As she lay till the day,
In the Bay of Biscay O?
At length the wished for morrow
Broke through the hazy sky!
Absorbed in silent sorrow,
Each heaved a bitter sigh;
The dismal wreck to view,
Struck horror to the crew,
As she lay on that day,
In the Bay of Biscay O!
Her yielding timbers sever,
Her pitchy seams are rent;
When heav'n all bounteous ever,
Its boundless mercy sent :
A sail in sight appears,
We hail her with three cheers;
Now we sail with the gale,
From the Bay of Biscay Ö!
THE BLOOMING ROSE FOR ME.
The rose, the blooming rose for me,
The fairest of the flow'rs
That blossom in the happy isle,
Which we with pride call ours.
1

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
49
The orange groves of sunny Spain,
For me display their charms in vain;
Nor shall the vines of Italy
E'er win my heart dear rose, from thee.
Thou England art my home,
Thy emblem is my pride,
And land and flow'r are dearer
Than all the world beside.
It climbs about our cottage homes,
It decks the ladye's bow'r,
And prince and peasant love alike
Old England's bonny flow'r :
The rival roses spread no more
Their discord on our favor'd shore;
The red, the white, in peace expand,
Both lov'd throughout our smiling land
To shield from traitor hearts,
To save from foreign foes,
Ten thousand British bosoms
Would guard the English rose.
BEATS THERE A HEART ON EARTH SINCERE?
Beats there a heart on earth sincere?
A heart where guileless love is known;
No purer gem this breast would wear,
No dearer treasure own!
Where shall I turn? ah! can this cabin
The prize I search for at length conceal?
Rests unknown in such a casket
That one pearl rank could ne'er reveal.
I rov'd in vain through the gilded harem,
Planets of beauty have dazzled my eyes;
But women all, some vain, some ungrateful
And doubting, still this bosom sighs-
Ah! beats there a heart on earth sincere?
A heart where guileless love is known;
No purer gem this breast would wear,
No dearer, richer treasure own.
D
50
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THE BLOOMING FLOWERS OF VARIED HUE.
The blooming flow'rs of varied hue,
By autumn's blast are hasten'd to decay,
So youth's bright days are number'd few:
Then let them not so swiftly glide away.
These blooming flow'rs whose fragrance sweet,
By winds forever onward borne,
Are like the sunny days of youth,
Departed never to return.
Remember this when joys impart
Their thrilling rapture to the heart.
The blooming flow'rs of varied hue, &c., &c.
In pleasure's maze then let us rove,
While joyous hearts with rapture thrill,
The sun darts forth his rays of love,
Now to the brim life's cup of pleasure fill.
Come let us seize th' enchanting hours,
And wisely thus our time employ,
To sport in pleasure's sunny bowers,
Till ev'ry heart is fill'd with joy,
To sport in pleasure's sunny bowers,
Till ev'ry heart is fill'd with joy,
Ev'ry heart is fill'd with joy.
BEAUTIFUL RHINE.
The bright stars of night on thy dark waters shine,
And bards oft have nam'd thee their region divine
So calm is thy bosom, oh! beautiful Rhine!
Ulli ai, ulli ai, ulli ai, ulli ai, ulli ai, ulli ai,
Ulli ulli ai, ulli ulli ai, ulti ai ai, ulli ai, ulli ulli ai.
The glory that erst on thy banks did recline,
Has passed as the leaves that in Autumn decline,
But thou'rt fair as ever, oli! beautiful Rhine!
Ulli ai, ulli ai, &c.
What bard would not offer a lay at thy shrine,
To thy bowers of old and thy clustering vine ?
In peace flow forever, oh! beautiful Rhine!
Ulli ai, ulli ai, &c.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
51
BOYHOOD.
Oh! blessed boy, how full of joy
And buoyant life art thou!
Not yet dependant upon hope,
Thy world, thy world is Eden now.
Thy thoughts are cast upon no past;
Thou hast not to, not to complain,
Of being as a barren waste,
Of languor and of pain,
Of languor and of pain.
Thine eyes are bright, thy smiles are fight,
Thou dreamest not of care;
Tierce passion lights not in thy breast
The beacon of despair.
But thou must know, must have, and know,
Thy heart must be engrossed
With hope's warm blessings undefined,
And memories of the lost,
And memories of the lost.
I gaze on thee, and 'hear and see,
And feel what I have been;
And memories come from myriad things
Which may no more be seen.
With what is gained my heart is pained,
And what has been resigned,
For sorely pays the bleeding heart
For treasures of the mind,
For treasures of the mind.
The ebbing tide swells back with pride-
The bird, forewarned, that flies
Before the wild and wintry blast,
Will come with summer skies;
But thou, my heart! canst have no part
In this sweet scene, I see,
For never like returning spring,
Can boyhood come o'er thee,
Can boyhood come o'er thee.
52
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
BIRD AT SEA.
Bird of the greenwood!
O! why art thou here?
Leaves dance not o'er thee,
Flowers bloom not here;
All the sweet waters far hence are at play,
Bird of the greenwood away, away,
Away, away, away, away.
Midst the wild billows,
Thy place must not be,
As midst the wavings
Of wild rose and tree;
How should'st thou battle with storm and with spray?
Bird of the greenwood away, away,
Away, away, away, away.
Or art thou seeking
Some brighter land,
Where, by the south wind,
Vine leaves are fann'd!
Midst the wild billows why then delay?
Bird of the greenwood away, away,
Away, away, away, away.
"Chide not my ling'ring
Where waves are dark!
A hand that has nurs'd me
Is in the bark!-
A heart that hath cherish'd thro' winter's long day,
So I turn from the greenwood away, away,
Away, away, away, away.
BY THE MARGIN OF FAIR ZURICH'S WATERS.
By the margin of fair Zurich's waters,-ai ai u,
Dwelt a youth whose fond heart night and day;
For the fairest of fair Zurich's daughters,-ai ai u,
In a dream of love melted away,
SINGER'S SOUVENIR
53
If alone no one bolder than he,
But with her none more timid could be;
"Oh list to me dearest I pray,"-ai ai u,
When she did so he only could say,-ai ai u, ai al u,
Alack well a day,-ai ai y, ai ai u,
Was all he could say.
By the margin of fair Zurich's waters,-ai ai u,
At the close of a sweet summer's day;
To the fairest of fair Zurich's daughters,-ai ai u,
The fond youth found at last tongue to say,
"I'm in love, as thou surely must see,
Could I love any other than thee?
Oh say then wilt thou be my bride ?"-ai ai u,
Can you tell how the fair one replied ?-ai ai u, ai ai u,
I leave you to guess,-ai ai u, aí ai u,
Of course she said yes.
THE BLIND FLOWER GIRL.
Buy my flowers, O buy I pray,
The blind girl comes from afar;
If the earth be as fair as I hear them say,
These flowers her children are!
Do they her beauty keep?
They are fresh from her lap I know;
For I caught them fast asleep
In her arms an hour ago.
Buy my flowers, &c.
Ye have a world of light,
Where love in the lov'd rejoices,
But the blind girl's home is the house of night,
And her beings are empty voices.
Buy my flowers, O buy I pray,
The blind girl comes from afar ;
If the earth be as fair as I hear them say,
These flowers her children are!
Buy my flowers, &c.
54
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
BRING FLOWERS.
Bring flow'rs to the captive's lonely cell,
They have tales of the joyous woods to tell;
Bring flow'rs to the captive's lonely cell,
They have tales of the joyous woods to tell :
Of the clear blue stream, and the summer sky;
And the world shut out from his languid eye.
They will bear him a thought of his sunny hours,
And a dream of his youth, bring him flowers, fresh flow's.
Bring flowers, fresh flow'rs for the bride to wear i
They were born to blush in her shining hair,
She is leaving the home of her childhood's mirth,
She hath bid farewell to her father's hearth;
Her place is now by another's side,.
Bring flowers for the locks of the fair young bride.
Bring flowers, pale flow'rs o'er the bier to shed,
A crown for the brow of the early dead!
For this through its leaves has the white rose burst,
For this in the woods was the violet nurs'd.
Though they smite in vain, for what once was ours,
They are love's last gift, bring ye flow'rs, pale flow'rs.
Bring flowers to the shrine where we kneel in prayer,
They are nature's offering, there place is there!
They speak of hope to the fainting heart,
With a voice of promise they come and part,
They sleep in dust through the wintry hours,
They break forth in glory, bring flow'rs, bright flow'rs?
THE BROKEN HEART.
I saw that the glow of her beauty had faded,
The eye that illum'd it gaz'd wildly and drear,
Her tresses neglected, hung loose and unbraided,
And shrouded a cheek dew'd with meinory's tear:
Yet she breath'd not the name of her truant deceiver,
The solace of friendship 'twas vain to impart,
She had lov'd with the warmth of a guileless believer,
But man had been faithless and broken her heart.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
55
The dwelling is lone where she wither'd in sadness,
The bower deserted, her harp is unstrung,
The roses she twin'd and the light notes of gladness,
No longer shall blossom, no more shall be sung:
The dove hath a refuge, a house of protection,
When rent is the storm-cloud, and vivid its dart ;
But desolate wanders the maid of affection,
Whose truth has been slighted, and broken her heart.
She is gone, and her relics the willow weeps over,
In the grave's quiet slumber are hush'd her deep woes,
She hears not the sigh of a recreant lover,
No promises blighted disturb her repose.
Her spirit too pure for the bonds that enchain'd it,
Now hallowed in realms whence it ne'er shall depart,
Looks radiantly down on the wretch who disdain'd´it,
On him who has rifled and broken a heart.
BUT IS THERE NOT A BLISS ?
There's something in a kiss,
Though I cannot reveal it,
Which never comes amiss,
Not even when we steal it;
We cannot taste a kiss,
And sure we cannot view it
But is there not a bliss
Communicated through it?
I am well convinced there is
A certain something in it,
For though a simple kiss,
We wisely strive to win it.
Yes, there's something in a kiss,
And if nothing else would prove it,
It might be prov'd alone by this-
All honest people love it.
39
56
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
+
THE BROKEN VOW.
Hark! the gay peal is ringing,
The bridal is o'er,
And the hope which I foster'd
May flourish no more.
See! see all rejoicing
Together are gone,
And have left me distracted,
Heart-broken, alone.
Yet one there the brightest,
Where all are so bright,
Whose heart seems the lightest,
Where all hearts are light,
Tho' her eye dances gaily,
Tho' smooth is her brow,
There's a barb in her bosom,
A broken vow!
In the pomp of her bridal
She thinks of ine yet;
Though her lips have renounced me,
She cannot forget;
Yet think not I blame her,
'Tis fate is my foe;
May it grant her that comfort
I never can know !
BY GONE HOURS.
'Tis sad, 'tis sad to think upon,
The joyous days of old,
When ev'ry year that wearies on,
Is number'd by some friendship gone!
Some kindly heart grown cold!
Could those days but come again!
With their thorns and flow'rs!
I would give the hopes of years!
For those by gone hours!

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
57
'Tis sad, 'tis sad to number o'er,
The faces glad and gay,
Which we have lov'd!-Some smile no more
Around us, as they did of yore!
And some have turn'd away!
Could those days, &c.
'Tis sad, 'tis sad to come again,
With chang'd heart and brow,
To our youth's home where none remain,
Of those who made it blessed then,
Who leave it lonely now!
Could those days, &c.
Oh! little things bring back to me,
The thoughts of by gone hours;
The breath of kine upon the lea,
The murmur of the mountain bee,
The scent of hawthorn flow'rs!
Could those days, &c.
THE DARK BLUE EYE.
O far away is that dear light,
Which o'er my lonely pathway shed
Sweet hues of joy and made it bright,
When ev'ry other ray had fled.
I care not now for summer beams,
Their lustre only makes me sich,
I have no joy but in those dreams
Which bring me back that dark blue eye.
As thro' the gloom of life I steal,
Tired of this cold and cheerless den,
My heart one only wish can feel,
To see that azure orb again.
But when at eve I gaze above,
Methinks it trembles in the sky,
And full of halm the dews of love
Fall gently from that dark blue eye.
59
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
ALL'S WELL.
Deserted by the waning moon,
When skies proclaim night's cheerless noon;
On tower, fort, or tented ground,
The sentry walks his lonely round,
The sentry walks his lonely round,
The sentry walks his lonely round:
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 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 from foes or wreck :
And while his thoughts oft homeward veer
Some well known voice salutes his ear,
Some well known voice salutes his ear,
Salutes his ear:
What cheer? brother quickly tell!
Above-below-good night-all's well,
All's well-above-good night-all all's well.
DEAREST MAID I ADORE THEE.
By the pure light of love that now beams from thine eye,
By the magic that breathes in the balm of thy sigh,
By the numberless spells which lie hid in thy smile,
By the bend of thy brow's irresistible wile,
I swear dearest maid I adore thee,
I swear dearest maid I adore thee,
I swear dearest maid, dearest maid, dearest maid,
I adore thee,
Lovely maid, lovely maid I adore thee,
Lovely maid I adore thee.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
59
By those dark, raven locks, which so gracefully flow,
In affectionate wreaths o'er thy forehead of snow;
By the loves and the lures in those dimples that play,
And all the bright charms thy perfections display,
I swear dearest maid I adore thee.
When old time shall have stol?n that sweet bloom from
thy face,
And bereav'd thy fair form of its beauty and grace;
Still sincere to its vows this fond heart shalt thou find
Still revering thy worth, and admiring thy mind,
I swear dearest maid I adore thee.
THE COTTAGER'S SONG.
Away with grandeur, pomp and pride,.
Away with childish ease,
Give me but strength my plough to hold,
And I'll find means to please.
"Tis sweet to toil for those we love,
My wife my darling boys
But tend to make my labor prove
The sweetest of my joys.
The humble morsel I procure,
When labor makes it sweet,
Is eaten with a taste more pure
Than meats that monarchs eat,
'Tis mine, yes, 'tis my happy lot,
From cares and av'rice free,
To own but this secluded spot,
Sweet friends and liberty,
Sweet friends and liberty.
Thus I no monarch on his throne,
Can grudge his destiny,
Let him his weight of cares bemoan,
Whilst I am truly free.
When labor wearies and grows dull,
I with my dog and gun
60
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
Set forth the finest game to cull,
And thus all sorrows shun.
Now tell me all ye gouty train,
Who have what fortune gives,
Is not the humble country swain.
The happiest man that lives?
Now tell me all ye gouty train,
Who have what fortune gives,
Is not the humble country swain
The happiest man that lives?
The happiest man that lives?
CORA DEAR.
Amidst the calm sweet hour of night,
Dear Cora has my dreams,
Star of my hope, my love's delight,
She breaks upon my soul and sight,
Like morning's golden beams.
When last we met her looks of love
Did pierce my inmost breast,
I knew and felt where'er I rove,
Sweet Cora, like a mourning dove,
Would grieve and feel bereft,
Would grieve and feel bereft.
But Cora dear, when anxious cares
Around thy bosom close,
Think of the faithful friend who shares
Alike thy sorrows, joys and fears,
Who fain would drown thy woes.
That golden link, that silken tie,
Our kindred thoughts reveal;
That chrystal tear and grateful sigh,
That smile of joy that melting eye,
My fond affections steal.
My Cora dear, I live for thee,
And sing my sweetest lays
I pray thee grieve no more for me,
For hope still whispers we may see
Again those happy days
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
61
Then will I press thee to my heart,
Forget each worldly strife;
And will no more from thee depart,
But lavish love with guiltless art,
On Cora through my life.
BUY A BROOM ?
From Teutschland I come with my light wares all laden,
To dear happy England in summer's gay bloom;
Then listen fair lady and young pretty maiden,
Oh buy of the wand'ring Bavarian a broom.
Buy a broom? buy a broom?-(spoken) buy a broom?
Oh buy of the wand'ring Bavarian a broom.
To brush away insects that sometimes annoy you,
You'll find it quite handy to use night and day;
And what better exercise pray can employ you,
Than to sweep all vexatious intruders away.
Buy a broom? buy a broom ?-(spoken) buy a broom?
And sweep all vexatious intruders away.
Ere winter comes on, for sweet home soon departing,
My toils for your favor again I'll resume;
And while gratitude's tear in my eyelid is starting,
Bless the time that in England I cried, buy a broom.
Buy a broom? buy a broom?-(spoken) buy a broom?
Bless the time that in England I cried buy a broom.
(Spoken)-Yes, I shall go back to my own country, and
tell them there, I sold all my wares in England, singing
O' mein leiber Augustin, Augustin, Augustin,
O' mein leiber Augustin Alles ist weg:
Buck ist weg, Stock ist weg,
Auch ich bin in dem dreck
O' mein leiber Augustin Alles ist weg.
2
62
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THE ALPINE FLOWER GIRL.
From woodland, mead, and bower,
In morning's dewy hour
I've cull'd each sweetest flower,
Come! will ye, will ye buy?
The lilly here reposes,
The violet bud uncloses,
While richly blushing roses
With golden tulips vie.
I pluck'd them freshly springing,
And hither sped away,
To offer them while singing
My native mountain lay!
Ahu, ahu, a a a hu, a hu a a a hu, a hu
My cottage leaving daily,
As twilight glimmers palely,
I seek the green fields gaily
That shed their perfume nigh.
But brief are summer hours,
The wintry storm soon lowers,
Then haste to buy my flowers,
Oh! will ye, will ye buy?
I pluck'd them freshly springing,
And hither sped away,
To offer them while singing
My native mountain lay!
Ahu, ahu, &c.
ALL THE BLUE BONNETS ARE OVER THE BORDER
March! march, Ettrick and Teviotdale!
Why my lads dinna ye march forward in order?
March! march, Eskdale and Liddelsdale !
All the blue bonnets are over the border!
Many a banner spread flutters above your head,
Many a crest that is famous in story,
Mount and make ready then, sons of the mountain glen,
Fight for your rights, and the old Scottish border!
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
63
Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing,
Come from the glen of the buck and the roe,
Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing,
Come with the buckler, the lance and the bow.
Trumpets are sounding, war steeds are bounding,
Stand to your arms, and march in good order ;
England shall many a day, tell of the bloody fray,
When the blue bonnets came over the border!
"TWILL NEBER DO TO GIB IT UP SO!
I'm old Mister Brown, jis from de south,
I lef Lynchburgh in de time of de drouth,
De times dey got so hard in de place,
Dat niggers daresent show their face.
It will neher do to gib it up so!
It will neber do to gib it up so!
It will neber do to gib it up, old Mister Brown!
It will neber do to gib it up so!
De old Jim ribber I float down,
I run my backer boat upon de groun'
De drift log come wid a rushin' din,
And stove both ends ob de ole boat in.
De old log rake me aft and fore,
An leff my cook house on de shore ;
I thought it wouldn't do to gib it up so,
So I scull myself ashore wid de ole banjo..
I 'light on de sand an feel sorter glad,
I looks at de banjo an feels bery mad;
My foot slipp'd an I fell down,
It will neber do to gib it up so Mister Brown.
It will neber do to gib it up so, Mister Brown,
I jump up agin an stood upon de groun';
I haul de boat out high and dry upon de bank,
Den float down de ribber wid de backer on a plank
Nigger on a wood pile barkin' like a dog,
Toad in de mill-pond sittin' on a log,
'Possum up a gum tree, sarcy, fat an dirty;
Come kiss me gals, or I'll run like a turkey.
1
64
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THE FINE OLD COLORED GENTLEMAN.
In Tennessee as I've heard say dar once did use to dwell,
A fine old color'd gemman, and dis nigger know'd him well,
Dey use to call him Sambo or somethin' near the same,
De reason why da call him dat was 'case it was his name;
For Sambo was a gemman; one of de oldest kind.
、
His temper was bery mild when he was let alone.
But when you get him dander up he spunk to de backbone;
He whale de sugar off ye by de.double rule of three,
And whip his weight in wild cats when he got on a spree.
When dis nigger took a snooze, it was in a nigger crowd,
He used to keep dem all awake becase he snored so loud;
He draw'd himself up in a knot, his knees did touch his
chin,
De bedbugs had to clar de track when he stretched down
agin.
He had a good old banjo, and well he kept it strung,
He used to sing the good old song, of “go it while you're
young;"
He sung so long and sung so loud he scared the pigs and
goats,
Because he took a pint of yeast to raise the highest notes.
When dis nigga stood upright an wasn't slantindicular,
He measured about 'leven feet, he wasn't ver partic'lar,
For he could jump, and run a race, and do a little hoppin'
And when he got a goin' fast, the debil couldn't stop 'im.
Old father time kept rolling by, and age grew on apace,
The wool all drapt from off his head, and wrinkled was his
face;
He was de oldest nigger what lived on dat plantation,
He didn't fear de debil den, nor all of his relation.
Old age came on, his teeth drapt out, it made no odds to
him,
He eat as many taters and he drank as many gin;
He swallowed two small railroads wid a spoonful of ice
cream;
And a locomotive bulgine while dey blowin' off de steam.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
65
One berry windy mornin' dis good old nigger died,
De niggers came from odder states, and loud for joy dey
cried;
He layin' down upon de bench as stiff as any post,
De 'coons did roar, de 'possums howled when he guv up
de ghost.
1
De niggers held an inquest when dey heard of his death,
De verdict of de jury was, he died for want of breath;
Dey went to work and skinned him, and then they had it
dried,
And de head of dis here banjo is off dat old nigger's hide.
For Sambo was a gemman, one of de oldest kind.
DAY DEPARTS THIS UPPER AIR.
Day departs this upper air,
My lively, lovely lady;
The star of eve now sparkles fair,
And our good steeds are ready.
Leave, leave these loveless halls,
So lordly tho' they be;
Come, come, affection calls,
Away at once with me!
Day departs this upper air,
My lively, lovely lady,
The star of eve now sparkles fair,
And our good steeds are ready.
Sweet thy words in sense as sound,
And gladly do I hear them;
Though thy kinsmen be around,
And tamer bosoms fear them,
Mount, mount-I'll keep thee, dear,
In safety as we ride!
On, on-my heart is here,
E
My sword is at my side!
Day departs this upper air, &c.
B6
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
SO DEARLY I LOVE JOHNNY O.
Young Sandy once a wooing came,
And fondly tried to gain my heart;
He sigh'd whene'er he own'd his flame,
But soon I guessed his wily art:
Though ilka lad in tartan plaid,
Should call me blithe and bonny O,
They'd try in vain my heart to gain,
So dearly I love Johnny O.
Though ilka lad in tartan plaid,
Should call me blithe and bonny C,
They'd try in vain my heart to gain,
So dearly I love Johnny O,
So dearly I love Johnny O,
So dearly I love Johnny O.
Though Johnny canna boast of wealth,
Contentment crowns his lowly state;
His rosy cheeks denote sweet health,
And goodness makes the laddie great ;
In Aberdeen there ne'er was seen
A youth so blithe and bonny O,
His flattering talk can a' prevail,
So dearly I love Johnny O.
In Aberdeen there ne'er was seen,
A youth so blithe and bonny O,
His flattering talk can a' prevail,
So dearly I love Johnny O, &c.
The other morn upon the bent,
I met my lad so brisk and gay;
He vow'd unless I'd give consent,
He'd o'er the hills and far away;
As home we stray'd his pipes he play d,
And sang so sweet and bonny Ò,
I made a vow to buckle to,
So dearly I love Johnny O.
As home we stray'd his pipes he play'd,
And sang so sweet and bonny, O,
I made a vow to buckle to,
So dearly I love Johnny O, &c.

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
67
BYRON'S FAREWELL.
Farewell! if ever fondest prayer
For others' weal avail'd on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,
But waft thy name beyond the sky.
"Twere vain to speak, to weep to sigh:
Oh! more than tears, than tears of blood tan tell
When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,
Oh! yes, are in that word-farewell!
Are in that word-farewell
These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;
But in my breast and in my brain,
Awake the pangs that pass not by,
The thoughts that ne'er shall sleep again
My soul nor deigns, nor deigns complain,
Though grief, though grief and passion there rebel;
I only know we loved in vain,
Yes! yes! I only feel farewell!
I only feel farewell!
DARK EYED ONE.
Dark eyed one! dark eyed one, come hither to me,
I'll sing thee a song 'neath the tamarind tree;
The queen of the garden, the ruby-lipp'd rose,
On her emerald throne by the rivulet grows:
Come hither, my rose-bud, and shame the proud flower,
Out blush the gay queen in her own gaudy bower:
I'll sing thee a song, and the burden shall be-
Dark eyed one! dark eyed one! I languish for thee!
So laden with sweets is each sigh of the gale,
I'm sure my beloved is crossing the vale!
The tulip is quaffing his cup full of wine,
The turtle dove murmuring vows to the pine:
Oh! waste not the moments so precious to love,
Come drink with the tulip and court with the dove;
I'll sing thee a song, and the burden shall be--
Dark eyed one! dark eyed one! I languish for thee !

68
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THE DYING SOLDIER.
The moon rose o'er the battle plain,
And smil'd from her dark throne,
Upon the wounded and the slain,
Left bleeding there alone.
A maiden sought that place of death,
And gazing round the scene,
She caught a faintly passing breath,
And knelt upon the green.
Oh! Mary dear, why art thou here?
Cried one she bended o'er,
Our friends have fled, our freedom's dead,
It is our home no more.
Then Mary, dearest Mary fly,
And leave, oh! leave me here to die.
What, still upon the gory ground,
This bleak and fearful night?
Flends hold their revelries around.
Too horrid for your sight.
Oh! if thou pray'st, pray not for me,
But for each breathing slave,
"Twere better far, not being free,
To perish with the brave!
Oh! Mary dear, forgive this tear,
Not for myself 'tis shed,
With thee alone I could live on,
Tho' all the world were dead.
Then Mary, dearest Mary fly, &c.
COME AND WANDER WITH ME.
I am up with the lark, and my song is as gay,
As the notes with which he welcomes in the young day,
And my heart shall be light while my footstep is free,
In the sunshine to roam with the bird and the bee;
In the glare of the noon I will hie to the shade,
And entwine the wild gems I have borne from the glade
And at night in the dance, when my sisters are there,
I will give them all wreaths for their bonny black hair;
Do you love the green fields and the blossoming tree,
With the bright sky above, come and wander with me

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
All the wild flowers bloom in their beauty for me,
And for me all the birds carol forth in their glee,
Not a bird, tree, or flow'r. lives in forest or grove,
But I know them by name, and in knowing them love;
O! there's nothing I dread but the winter's dark sky,
When the leaves are all gone and the snow-flakes drift by
For my heart yearneth then for the summer to come,
And the tent which shall then be the gypsey's dear home
Do you love the green fields and the blossoming tree,
With the bright sky above, O! then wander with me.
BUY MY ROSES.
Come buy my little roses red,
Come buy my roses red,
Born and nurs'd in Cupid's bed,
Nurs'd in Cupid's bed;
Cupid, little god of love,
Wand'ring thro' the rosy grove,
Met and woo'd me, ah. 'tis true,
Then pity while I chant to you,
"Come buy my roses red,
Come buy my roses red,"
Buy my roses red,
Born and nurs'd in Cupid's bed,
Buy my roses red, buy, who'l. buy?
Coine buy my roses red, buy, who'll buy?
Come buy my roses red, buy, who'll buy
My roses red?
There is a tear on yonder leaf,
A tear on yonder leaf,
Love fain would mark for maiden's grief,
Would mark for maiden's grief,
For sure when rosy morn appears,
It melts as doth my lover's fears;
Thus Cupid went for me, 'tis true,
Then pity while I chant to you,
"Come buy my roses red," &c.
70
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
COME, LOVE DANCE THE POLKA WITH ME.
Dear youth, from the forest and mountain,
Oh, come 'neath the wild cherry tree,
My flax thread I've wash'd in the fountaia,
Come, love, dance the Polka with me.
Like the waves of the Elbe madly bounding,
Let not the dark wodnyk affright,
The mandolin long has been sounding,
Like Vilas we'll dance through the night.
Dear youth from the forest and mountain,
Oh, come 'neath the wild cherry tree,
My flax thread I've wash'd in the fountain
Come, love, dance the Polka with me.
With the garnets you gave to adorn me,
Those gems in our giant's glen found,
That our burgrave himself would not scorn me,
By my gold-hearted mother I'm crown'd.
There's life in my feet and my arms, love,
There's fire in my heart and my soul,
I pant for the Polka's wild charms, love,
Which each sorrow of life can control.
Then come from the forest and mountain,
Oh, come 'neath the wild cherry tree,
My flax thread I've wash'd in the fountain,
Come, love, dance the Polka with me.
Like wine, that glad dance will inspire me,
With transport 'twill thrill every vein,
Did I dance through the night 'twould not tire me,
I would dance it at morning again.
What rapture, when heart to heart joining,
In thine eyes, love, as onward we go,
All its magical circles entwining,
I must gaze, or 1 giddy should grow.
Then come from the forest and mountain,
Oh, come 'neath the wild cherry tree
My flax thread I've wash'd in the fountaṁ,
Come, love, dance the Polka with me.
BINGER'S SOUVENIR.
71
COME, OH! COME WITH ME.
Comc, oh! come with me, the moon is beaming;
Come, oh! come with me, the stars are gleaming;
All around above, with beauty teeming:
Moonlight hours are meet for love.
Tra la la la la la la la la la, tra la la la la la la la la la,
Come, oh! come with me, the moon is beaming;
Come, oh! come with me, the stars are gleaming;
All around above, with beauty teeming;
Moonlight hours are meet for love.
My skiff is by the shore; she's light and free;
To ply the feather'd oar is joy to me ;
And while we glide along my song shall be :
"My dearest maid I love but thee."
Tra la la la la la la la la la, tra la la la la la la la la la,
My skiff is by the shore; she's light and free:
To ply the feather'd oar is joy to me;
And while we glide along my song shall be :
"My dearest maid I love but thee."
COME LISTEN TO MY SONG MY LOVE.
Come listen to my song, my love,
"Twill not offend thine ear;
The moon is beaming bright above,
Thou hast no cause of fear.
I'll sing of lovers brave and true,
If thou wilt list to me;
I'll sing the charms of ladies fair,
But none so fair as thee!
I'll sing of battles, love, and fame,
Of love in distant clime;
I'll sing of eyes so blue and bright,
But none so bright as thine!
Then listen to my song, my love,
For thou art dear to me,
And while there beams a light above,
I'll sing of love and thee!
*2
SINGER'S BOUVENIR,
COME DEAREST, COME.
Come dearest, come, the day has clos'd,
The shadows leave the hill,
And evening from her jewelled throne,
Smiles softly on the rill :
The air perfum'd by fragrant flow'rs,
In murmurs steals along,
And o'er the heart with rapture thrills
The wild bird's plaintive song.
Come, for the dreamy moonlight calls,
And all seems hush'd and still,
Our thoughts shall seek the joyous tone
Of yonder murm'ring rill;
And I'll forget the heartless mirth,
That fills the crowded hall,
And know no pleasure but thy smile,
No music but thy call.
DEAREST! I AM THINE.
"The spell is broken, we must part!"
Oh ne'er again that strain repeat;
Say, what can soothe my trembling heart,
If we no more may meet.
And didst thou think I could forsake
The heart that fondly trusted mine ;
Or leave that trusting heart to break?
No, dearest, I am thine!
Dearest!-No, dearest, I am thine,
I am thine! I am thine!
How oft when I appear'd most gay,
My thoughts would ever turn to thee,
And fondly hope when far away
Thou wouldst remember me !
And ne'er that mournful song repeat,
But ev'ry doubt and care resign;
And bless ine when again we meet,
With-dearest! I am thine!
Yes, dearest, etc.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR,
73
MISS MYRTLE.
So Miss Myrtle is going to marry!
What a number of hearts she will break!
There's Lord George, and Tom Brown, and Sir Harry,
Are dying of love for her sake!
'Tis a match that we all must approve,
Let the gossips say all that they can,
For indeed she's a charming woman,
And he's a most fortunate man!
For indeed she's a charming woman,
And he's a most fortunate man!
Yes indeed she's a charming woman,
And she reads both Latin and Greek,
And I'm told that she solved a problem
In Euclid, before she could speak!
Had she been a daughter of mine,
I'd have taught her to hem and to sew;
But her mother, (a charming woman!)
Couldn't think of such trifles you know!
Oh she's really a charming woman!
But I think she's a little too thin,
And no wonder such very late hours
Should ruin her beautiful skin!
It may be a fancy of mine,
But her voice has a rather sharp tone,
And I'm told that these charming women
Are apt to have wills of their own '
She sings like a bulfinch or linnet,
And she talks like an archbishop too,
She can play you a rubber and win it,
If she's got nothing better to do!
She can chatter of poor laws and tithes
And the value of labor and land,
'Tis a pity when charming women
Talk of things which they don't understand!
I'm told that she hasn't a penny,
Yet her gowns would make Maradan stare,
And I fear that her bills must be many,
But you know that's her husband's affair!
*}
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
Such husbands are very uncommon,
So regardless of prudence and pelf,
But they say such a charming woman
Is a fortune you know in herself!
1
She has brothers and sisters by dozens,
And all charming people they say!
And she's several tall Irish cousins,
Whom she loves-in a sisterly way.
Oh young men if you'd take my advice,
You would find it an excellent plan,
Don't marry such a charming woman,
If you are a sensible man!
THE CARRIER DOVE.
Fly away to my native land, sweet dove!
Fly away to my native land,
And bear these lines to my lady love,
That I've trac'd with a feeble hand.
She marvels much at my long delay,
A rumor of death she has heard,
Or she thinks, perhaps, I falsely stray,
Then fly to her bower, sweet bird!
Oh! fly to her bower, and say the chain
Of the tyrant is o'er me now,
That I never shall mount my steed again,
With helmet upon my brow :
No friend to my lattice a solace brings,
Except when your voice is heard,
When you beat the bars with your snowy wings,
Then fly to her bower, sweet bird!
I shall miss thy visit at dawn, sweet dove!
I shall miss thy visit at eve!
But bring me a line from my lady love,
And then I shall cease to grieve!
I can bear in a dungeon to waste away youth:
I can fall by the conqueror's sword:
But I cannot endure she should doubt my truth,
Then fly to her bower, sweet bird!
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
75
I'M GWINë ober dE MOUNTAINS.
Away down in de Kentuck brake,
De darkey lib, dey call him Jake,
He pick upon de banjo string,
Dis am de song dat he would sing :
Ree ro my true lub,
O come along my darlin,
So fare you well my Dinah gal,
I'm gwine ober de mountains
Come my lub an go wid me,
I'm gwine away to Tennessee;
A hoss an cart shall put you roun,
Walk up hill, an foot it down.
Ree ro my true lub, etc.
One kind kiss before we part,
One more kiss would break my heart;
Hitch your hoss up to a rail,
Make him fast both head an tail.
I fed my hoss in a poplar trough,
De ole hoss catch de hoopin cough,
I lick him wid a hick'ry stick,
He paw de groun an begin to kick.
I hitch him to a swingin' limb
De ole hoss cut a pidgeon wing;
Den I wrote de tanner a letter
I thought de hoss was gettin no better.
De tanner made me dis reply:
"I want de boss-hide when he die;"
De tanner he was well enuff,
De hoss-hide was ole an tuff.
De ole hoss die, I dig a hole,
I cover him up both body an soul,
De tanner come but soon he foun,
De hoss was too deep under groun.
Ree ro my true lub,
O come along my darlin,
So fare you well my Dinah gal,
I'm gwine ober de mountains.
76
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
CHILD OF THE WEST.
Fair Chiel of the West will ye gang wi' me,
And dance on the highland hill,
Where the piper's merrie minstrelsie
Flows on like a rushing rill, flows on like a rushing rill.
Where the bonnie bonnie thistle rears its head,
And nods o'er the purple heather;
Fair Chiel o' the West will ye gang wi' me,
And we'll dance o'er the highlands together,
And we'll dance o'er the highlands together.
Fair Chiel gin the snaw fa' white and fast,
When winter tempest lowers,
And my winsome girl to the Northern blast
Like a drooping lilly cowers, like a drooping lilly cowers,
I've a canny canny cot by the blue hill side,
Love flies there in stormy weather,
And gin ye will take it and be my bride,
We'll live in the highlands together.
Look awa' to the North, Jovely Chiel o' the West,
And see where the white mist gathers,
Like the spirit of song, in its shadowy vest,
When it hung o'er the harps of my fathers;
When auld winter is gone, o'er the hills it will fling,
The dew that still freshens the heather,
Then we'll gang out loved lassie, to meet the fair Spring,
And we'll dance o'er the highlands together.
DISPEL THOSE CLOUDS.
Dispel those clouds that sorrows cast,
Around thee with malicious spell,
And dry those tear-drops gath'ring fast,
That of long cherish'd cares do tell.
And never thus bid sorrow stay,
But chase its image from thy heart;
In life why should we not he gay,
Since soon from all that's lov'd we part.
Then dispel those clouds that sorrows cast, &c

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
77
Thy tears will not avail thee aught,
Then dry them and once more be glad,
They'll never ease a heart that's fraught
With fix'd resolves e'er to be sad.
Thy pining thus will steal thy bloom,
And dim the sparkle of thine eye,
Thy spirits wed to darkest gloom,
And deepen ten-fold ev'ry sigh.
Then dispel those clouds that sorrows cast, &c.
DOWN IN THE VALLEY MY FATHER DWELLS,
Down in the valley my father dwells,
See yonder on brother he's leaning!
Allhat our garden produces he sells,
And I help a little by gleaning.
I must away by break of day,
My basket to fill from the water,
And earn what I can, for my father, poor man,
For I am his only daughter,
For I am his only daughter.
Ladies have offer'd me places three,
And bid me choose which I had rather;
But this was the answer they got from me,
Dear ma'am only think of my father:
What would he do were Jane with you,
Forgetting the duty he taught her?
How would he grieve, if the cot I should lea
For I am his only daughter,
For I am his only daughter.
William, who bought with the field below,
The three pretty cows of old Mary,
Shortly will want, (for he told me so
A wife to look after the dairy:
He lives so near my father dear,
"Tis only just over the water;
Should he ask me to go, sure I cannot say no,
Though I am his only daughter,
Though I am his only daughter.
78
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
CAPE ANN.
We hunted and we halloed, and the first thing we did find
Was a barn in the meadow, and that we left behind.
Look ye there!
One said it was a barn, But the other said nay;
He said it was a meeting-house, with the steeple blown
away.
Look ye there!
We hunted and we halloed, and the next thing we did find
Was the moon in the element, and that we left behind.
Look ye there!
One said it was the moon, but the other said nay;
He said it was a Yankee cheese, with the one half cut
away.
Look ye there!
We hunted and we halloed, and the next thing we did find
Was a frog in the mill-pond, and that we left behind.
Look ye there!
One said it was a frog, but the other said nay;
He said it was a canary bird, with its feathers washed
away.
Look ye there!
We hunted and we halloed, and the next thing we did find
Was the light-house in Cape Ann, and that we left behind
Look ye there!
One said it was the light-house, but the other said nay;
He said it was a sugar-loaf, with the paper blown away.
Look ye there!
We hunted and we halloed, and the last thing we did find
Was the owl in the olive bush, and that we left behind.
Look ye there!
One said it was an owl, but the other said nay;
He said it was the Evil One! and we all three ran away.
Look ye there!'
THE DREAM IS PAST.
The dream is past, and with it fled,
The hopes that once my passion fed;
And darkly die, 'mid grief and pain,
The joys which gone come not again.

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
79
My soul in silence and in tears,
Has cherish'd now for many years,
A love for one who does not know
The thoughts that in my bosom glow.
Oh! cease my heart, thy throbbing hide,
Another soon will be his bride;
And hope's last faint but cheering ray
Will then forever pass away.
They cannot see the silent tear,
That falls uncheck'd when none are near,
Nor do they mark the smother'd sigh,
That leaves my breast when they are by.
I know my cheek is paler now,
And smiles no longer deck my brow,
'Tis youth's decay, 'twill soon begin
To tell the thoughts that dwell within.
Oh! let me rouse my sleeping pride,
And from his gaze my feelings hide;
He shall not smile to think that I
With love for him, could pine and die.
DEAR NATIVE HOME.
Dear native home! still I behold thee,
Peaceful and calm as when we did part;
Friends long belov'd, again crowd around me,
Greeting with welcome the wand'rer's lone heart,
Greeting with welcome the wand'rer's lone heart.
Oh! never more from thee will I roam,
Haunt of my childhood, dear Native Home!
Haunt of my childhood, dear Native Home!
Wild waving woods, green fertile valleys!
Throbs my glad breast while on you I gaze,
Ev'ry sweet spot my footsteps now wander,
Brings some remembrance of past happy days,
Brings some remembrance of past happy days.
Ah! I return. no longer to roam,
Blest with thy shelter, dear Native Home!
Blest with thy shelter, dear Native Home!
80.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
DUMBARTON'S BONNIE DELL.
There's no' a nook in a' the land,
By mountain, moss, or fell,
There's naething half sae canty grand,
As blithe Dumbarton's dell.
And would ye speir the reason why,
The truth I'll fairly tell;
A winsome lassie lives hard by,
Dumbarton's bonnie dell.
And would ye speir the reason why, &c.
Up by yon glen Loch Lomond laves,
And bold Mac Greggors dwell,
Where bogles dance o'er heroes graves,
There lives Dumbarton's belle;
She's blest with every charm in life,
And this I know full well,
I'll ne'er be happy till my wife,
Is blythe Dumbarton's belle.
She's blest with every charm in life, &c.
EARLY LOVE CAN NEVER DIE.
My early love, I'll think on thee,
When evening seeks its crimson throne,
Sweet hours which gentle memory,
Delights to consecrate her own.
Ah! then thy cherish'd image clings,
To all I meet, or hear, or see,
And twilight's breeze like music brings,
Thy voice of gladness back to me.
Friendship's young bloom may pass away,
As dreams depart the sleeper's mind,
The hopes of life's maturer day,
May fade and leave no trace behind.
But early love can never die,
That fairest bud of Spring's bright years;
"Twill still look green in memory,
When time all other feeling sears.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
81
DRINK TO ME ONLY.
Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
But leave a kiss within the cup,
And I'll not ask for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise,
Requires a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sip,
I would exchange for thine.
Drink to me only, &c.
I sent thee late a roseate wreath,
Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it, a hope, that there,
It would not wither'd be.
Drink to me only, &c.
But thou thereon didst only breathe,
And sent it back to me;
Since when, it blooms and smells, I know
Not of itself, but thee.
Drink to me only, &c.
DINNA FORGET
Dinna forget! laddie, dinna forget!
Ne'er make me rue that we ever have met;
Wide tho' we sever, parted forever,
Willie! when far awa' dinna forget
We part, and it may be, we meet never mair :
Yet my heart, as in hope, will be true in despair;
And the sigh of remembrance, the tear of regret,
For thee will be frequent, then dinna forget!
When the star o' the gloamin is beaming above,
Think how oft it hath lighted the tryst of our love;
Oh! deem it an angel's e'e heaven hath set,
To watch thee, to warn thee, sae dinna forget!
82
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THE EXILE OF ERIN.
There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin,
The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill,
For his country he sigh'd when in twilight repairing:
To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill;
But the day-star attracted his eyes' sad devotion,
For it rose on his own native isle of the ocean,
Where once in the flow of his youthful emotion,
He sung the bold anthem of Erin go bragh.
Oh! sad is my fate, said the heart-broken stranger,
The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee,
But I have no refuge from famine and danger,
A home and a country remain not for me;
Ah! never again in the green shady bowers,
Where my forefathers liv'd shall I spend the sweet hours
Or cover my harp with the wild woven flowers,
And strike the sweet numbers of Erin go bragh.
Oh! Erin, my country, though sad and forsaken
In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore,
But alas in a far foreign land I awaken,
And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more;
And thou, cruel fate, wilt thou never replace me,
In a mansion of peace where, no sorrow can chase me,
Ah! never again shall my brothers embrace me,
They died to defend me, or live to deplore.
Oh! where is the cottage that stood by the wild-wood?
Sisters and sire, did ye weep for its fall?
Where is the mother that look'd on my childhood ?
And where is my bosom-friend dearer than all
Ah! my sad soul long abandon'd by pleasure,.
Why did it doat on a fast fading treasure,
Tears like the rain, may fall without measure,
But rapture and beauty they cannot recal.
But yet all its fond recollections suppressing,
One dying wish my fond bosom shall draw,
Erin, an exile bequeathes thee his blessing,
Land of my forefathers, Erin go bragh;
Buried and cold when my heart stills its motion,
Green be thy fields, sweetest isle of the ocean,
And thy harp striking bards, sing aloud with devotion,
Erin ma vourneen, sweet Erin go bragh.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
83
LUCY NEALE.
Oh! I liv'd down with my master,
His name was Mister Beale;
He had a little yallow gal,
He called her Lucy Neale.
Oh Miss Lucy Neale,
Poor Miss Lucy Neale,
If I had her in my arms,
How happy I would feel.
One day she wrote me a letter,
Seal'd up with a big seal,
And ev'ry word she did put in,
Was all Miss Lucy Neale.
Oh when I fell in love,
How happy I did feel,
I thought that I would marry
My lovely Lucy Neale.
Massa he wont give us rum,
When we work in de field,
But when I'm done at night,
I runs to Lucy Neale:
One day we went to work
Down in de old corn field,
Oh den you ought to see me
Hug sweet Lucy Neale.
Oh master he did sell me,
Bekase he tought I'd steal,
And dats de way I parted
From my sweet Lucy Neale.
Miss Lucy she got sick,
She eat so much corn meal,
De doctor he did gib her up,
Alas! poor Lucy Neale.
'Twas on a Monday morning
And berry sad I feel,
I got a letter of the death
Of my sweet Lucy Neale.
H
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
COME LOVE TO ME.
Oh! sweetly, oh! sweetly
The noonday ending,
Evening now sending
Shades o'er the sea;
'Neath my window
I would hear thee,
Singing near me,
"Come love to me."
Oh! fleetly, more fleetly,
The night star weeping,
All are now sleeping
O'er wave and lea;
From the mountain
Sure I hear thee,
Singing near me,
"Come love to me."
Oh! darker and darker
The night is growing,
Deeper throwing
Shades soon to flee;
Now I see thee,
Now I hear thee,
Singing near me,
"I Come to thee.”
ELLEN OF LINDALE.
Forhear, forbear, to wake for me,
Remembrance of those hours,
When gaily singing o'er the lea,
I cull'd the woodland flow'rs.
Whilst as I rov'd fond fancy breath'd
The far too flatt'ring tale,
That thornless roses might be wreath'd
By Ellen of Lyndale.
By Ellen, by Ellen, by Ellen of Lyndale.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
85
For then affection blest the cot,
Beside the mountain's brow;
And mine, I thought, the happiest lot,
That fortune could bestow.
But clouds came o'er my sunny years,
And many an adverse gale
Has strew'd, alas! unnumber'd cares,
Round Ellen of Lyndale.
Round Ellen, &c.
The hope did still my heart beguile,
And cheer'd my hapless state,
That he was living yet, whose smile
Could soothe the frowns of fate:
But since that hope prov'd false as brief,
I've wander'd lone and pale,
While all who love her, look with grief,
On Ellen of Lyndale.
On Ellen, &c.
THE EVENING GUN.
Rememb'rest thou that fading sun,
The last I saw with thee;
When loud we heard the evening gun
Peal o'er the twilight sea?
The sound appear'd to sweep
Far o'er the verge of day,
Fill into realms beyond the deep,
They seem'd to die away,
Die away,-die away.
Oft when the toils of day are o’er,
In pensive dreams of thee,
I sit to hear that evening gun,
Peal o'er the stormy sea;
And while o'er billows curl'd,
The distant sounds decay,
I weep, and wish from this rough world,
Like them to die away,
Die away, die away.
66
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THE EGYPTIAN GIRL'S SONG.
Bend softly down ye gentle skies,
Bend softly down to me,
That I may see those spirit eyes,
If spirit eyes they be;
Bend gently down, for I have dream'd
That there were forms above,
In ev'ry pearly star that beam'd,
Made up of light and love.
Bend softly down, ye gentle stars,
And lift the azure veil,
That I may see your pearly brow,
That ne'er with sorrows pale;
There must be hearts in that blue realm
That throb with fearful bliss,
They cannot be so, dull and cold,
So pulseless as in this.
Oh! I have set my weary heart
On love this earth hath not,
And mine through life must ever be
A sad and lonely lot;
Bend softly down, ye gentle skies,
Bend softly down to me,
That I may see those spirit eyes,
If spirit eyes they be.
IF I SPEAK TO THEE IN FRIENDSHIP'S NAME,
If I speak to thee in friendship's name,
Thou think'st I talk too coldly,
If I mention love's devoted flame,
Thou say'st I speak too boldly.
Between these two unequal fires,
Why doom me thus to hover?
I'm a friend, if such thy heart requires,
If more thou seek'st, a lover.
Winch shall it be, how shall I woo?
Fair one, choose between the two,
Fair one choose between the two.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
87
Though the wings of love will brightly play,
When first he comes to woo thee,
There's a chance that he may fly away,
As fast as he flies to thee:
While Friendship, though on foot she come
No flights of fancy trying,
Will therefore, oft be found at home,
When Love abroad is flying.
Which shall it be, how shall I woo?
Dear one, choose between the two,
But if neither feeling suits thy heart,
Let's see, to please thee, whether,
We may not learn some precious art,
To mix their charms together:
One feeling, still more sweet, to form,
From two so sweet already,
A friendship that like love is warni
A love like friendship steady.
Thus let it be, thus let me woo!
Dearest, thus we'll join the two,
OH! ASK ME NOT TO LOVE AGAIN.
Oh ask me not to love again,
Tho' many a day hath careless swept
O'er the one cherish'd memory,
So dearly in my bosom kept;
The smother'd sigh, the hidden tear,
Which seem an earnest of my pain,
Are to my soul than smiles more dear,
Oh! ask me not, oh! ask me not to love again

Can I recal those well-lov'd hours,
The careless stroll, the offer'd flowers,
The whisper'd vows by moonlight breathed,
In that well-remember'd bower;
Go bid the wither'd wreath revive,
The dying bird its flight regain,
But leave me to my own own tears,
I cannot cannot cannot cannot love again.
88
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
MARY MAVOURNEEN.
Mary, dear Mary, the grey dawn is breaking,
The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill:
The lark from her light wing the bright dew is shaking,
Mary mavourneen, what! slumbering still!
Oh! hast thou forgotten how soon we must sever,
Oh! hast thou forgotten this day we must part,
It may be for years, or it may be forever,
Oh! why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart?
Mary, dear Mary, awake from thy slumbers,
f
The blue mountains glow in the sun's golden light;
Oh! where is the spell that once hung on my numbers?
Arise in thy beauty, thou star of the night!
Mavourneen!mavourneen! my sad tears are falling,
To think that from home and from thee I must part,
Mavourneen! mavourneen! thy lover is calling,
Oh why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart?
THE NIGHT'S SOFT WIND IS BREATHING.
The night's soft wind is breathing,
The sweets of summer flowers,
The elves are garlands wreathing
To dress their tiny bowers.
Then wake from thy slumbers, maiden,
And wander forth with me,
The night with beauty laden,
Stays but to welcome thee.
The moon is fast declining;
The stars with timid ray,
Like angel's eyes are shining,
And hail the coming day.
Then wake from thy slumbers, maiden, &c.
We'll roam till Phœbus bright, love,
With kisses greets the hills,
And with his golden light, love,
Bedeck the mountain rills.
Then wake from thy slumbers, maiden, &c.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
89
*
THE TEAR UPON MY CHEEK.
A cold glance or a word unkind,
Oh! how it penetrates the heart;
Yea, quicker than when on the wind,
Directed flies the feather'd dart.
Alas for me, that I must pay.
For every pleasure that I borrow;
The friend all tenderness to-day,
Is cold and stern, perhaps, to-morrow.
I cannot see my friend grow strange,
And leave me desolate and lone;
But I must keenly feel the change,
And melt like some expiring tone.
Oh! blame me not if then I turn,
To hide the tear upon my cheek;
Or if the thoughts that in me burn,
Refuse my tongue the pow'r to speak.
CUDJO'S WILD HUNT.
From yonder dark cabin, what, niggers adwance,
De fust one de tambourine pounding;
De moon bright is shining, de niggers all dance
And loud de shrill banjo is sounding,
And loud de shrill banjo is sounding.
And if you ax what you dar behole,
Who dar?
It am de hunt ob Cudjo dat nigger so bold,
It am de hunt ob Cudjo dat nigger so bold.
Dem niggers for sartain, are gwan for to fight,
See dar dat big nigger dere frashing,
Dey squash his big head, and dey sarve him right,
And Cudjo his banjo is smashing,
And Cudjo his banjo is smashing.
And if you ax what you dar behole,
Who dar?
It am de hunt ob Cudjo dat nigger so bold,
It am de hunt ob Cudjo dat nigger so bold.
90
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
STILL FLOAT SPANGLED BANNER.
Still float spangled banner o'er land and o'er ocean,
Hope of the bondsman and strength of the free,
Thy home is as free as thy own gentle motion,
The patriot stranger is shielded by thee;,
Where is the eye doth not view thee with gladness,
Or where is the slave be he ever so low,
Whose heart doth not bound in the midst of his sadness,
Whose soul is not fired by liberty's glow.
Thy stars they are brilliant, an emblem of glory,
Thy sons are protected alike under thee:
Freedom's first sires, emblazoned in story,
Have left thee their blessing, oh! flag of the free;
All nations for ages were trod by oppression,
No day-star of freedom enlighten'd the world:
To freemen indignant, resisting aggression,
Columbia's broad banner its glories unfurled.
Like Aurora's bright rays through the arches of heav'n,
Refulgent it broke o'er the sorrowing night;
The black veil of tyrants in pieces was riven,
Displaying the Eagle encircled in light.
Oh flag of my heart may'st thou flourish forever,
The terror of tyrants and hope of the slave;
May the foul fiend of discord ne'er hope to sever
The stars of our Union, oh home of the brave.
UNDERNEATH THY LATTICE LOVE.
Underneath thy lattice, love, at even,
When the village clock is tolling seven,
And the stars are gleaming in the heaven,
Thou wilt hear my light guitar;
Tra lera le ra la la la la tra la lera le ra la la la la.
Then thy casement op'ning sweetly smiling,
With thy gentle glances woe beguiling,
All my sorrow from my bosom wiling,
Thou wilt fly with me afar.
Tra lera le ra la la la la tra la lera le ra la la la la.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
91
Hark! that signal through the distant valley,
Tells me, love, with danger here I dally,
Tells me that my foemen near me rally,
While I sing of love to thee;
Tra lera le ra la la la la tra la era le ra la la la la.
Love, remember, at the hour of seven,
When the stars are beaming bright in heaven,
Thou wilt hear my song to-morrow even,
Thou wilt fly with me afar.
Tra lera le ra la la la la tra la lera le ra la la la la.
OUT!
Out John! out John! what are you about John?
If you don't say out at once, you make the fellow doubt
John!
Say I'm out whoever calls, and hide my hat and cane
John!
Say you've not the least idea when I shall come again
John!
Let the people leave their bills, but tell them not to call
John!
Say I'm courting Miss Rupee, and mean to pay them all
John!
Out John run John! what are you about John?
If you don't say out at once, you make the fellow
doubt John!
Run John, run John, there's another dun John!
If its Podger bid him call to-morrow week at one John,
If he says he saw me at the window as he knock'd John,
Make a face and shake your head and tell him you are
shock'd John;
Take your pocket handkerchief, and put it to your eye
John,
Say your master 's not the man to bid you tell a lie John.
Out John! out John! what are you about John ?
If you don't say out at once, you make the fellow
doubt John!
!
92
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
Oh John, go John, there's Noodle's knock I know John;
Tell him that all yesterday you sought him high and low
John;
Tell him just before he came you saw me mount the hill
John ;
Say you think I'm only gone to pay his little bill John ;
Then I think you'd better add that if I miss to-day John,
You're sure I mean to call when next I pass his way John.
Out John! out John! &c.
Hie John, fly John, I will tell you why John,
If there is not Grimshawe at the corner, may I die John,
He will hear of no excuse, I'm sure he'll search the house
John,
Peeping into corners hardly fit to hold a mouse John ;
Beg he'll take a chair and wait, I know he wont refuse
John,
I'll pop through the little door that opens to the mews
John.
Out John! out John! &c.
NO MORE.
Oh tell me not of future peace,
Nor let my wand'ring fancy soar,
To realms where ev'ry doubt may cease,
And our fond hearts can part no more.
This magic tale awhile may charm,
But can it lasting peace restore?
The transient glow awhile may warm,
Then fades to think we meet no more.
Oh in that word there is a spell,
Sinks to my bosom's inmost core
To live, yet hear that hated knell
Proclaim'd on earth we meet no more.
Then may we hope in heav'n to meet,
Where all our sorrows will be o'er,
To find at last a sure retreat,
Where worldly wisdom guides no more.

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
93
86
NORAH MCSHANE.
I've left Ballymornach a long way behind me,
To better my fortune I've cross'd the big sea;
But I'm sadly alone, not a creature to mind me,
And faith I'm as wretched as wretched can be.
I think of the buttermilk fresh as a daisy,
The beautiful hills and the emerald plain,
And ah! don't I oftentimes think myself crazy,
About that young black-eyed rogue, Norah McShane.
Norah McShane, Norah McShane,
About that young black-eyed rogue, Norah McShane.
I sigh for the turf-pile so cheerfully burning,
When barefoot I'd trudg'd it from toiling afar;
When I toss'd in the light the thirteen I'd been earning,
And whistled the anthem of Erin go bragh.
In truth I believe that I'm half broken hearted,
To my country and love I must get back again,
For I've never been happy at all since I parted,
From sweet Ballymornach and Norah McShane.
O there's something so dear in the cot I was born in,
Though the walls are but mud and the roof is but thatch,
How familiar the grunt of the pigs in the morning,
What music in lifting the rusty old latch.
'Tis true I'd no money, but then I'd no sorrow,
My pockets were light, but my head had no pain,
And if I but live till the sun shine to-morrow,
I'll be off to dear Erin and Norah McShane.
THE NORMANDY MAID.
I once knew a Normandy maid,
Whose sire was a testy old elf,
And who always was greatly afraid,
That the maiden would choose for herself.
So he kept her quite under control,
By means of a good lock and key,
And I saw her one ev'ning, poor soul,
Look down from her lattice on me.
And I saw her one ev'ning, poor soul,
Look down from her lattice on me.
04
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
1
With iron her lattice was barr'd,
And to none could she utter a word,
And I thought it was wondrously hard,
That a maid should be caged like a bird.
So at night when sleep conquer'd her sire,
I flew with a step light and free,
And I said should the house be on fire,
Sweet maiden come downward to me.
And the branches I burnt and the smoke,
By the wind to the house was conveyed
Then cried fire till the father awoke,
And let out the poor trembling maid.
He was very near dead with affright,
Tho' nor flame nor spark could he see,
And the maiden ran down with delight,
To the spark that had just set her free.
THE YOUNG HIGHLAND GIRL.
How happy the moments that carelessly fly,
As she wanders o'er lea and o'er brae,
In watching the wild deer that speed quickly by,
When they catch the fleet hound's swelling bay;
And the voice of the birds, and the song of the stream
That leaps onwards in merriest whirl,
Lend grateful applause as the morning's first beam
Glads the heart of the young highland girl.
And the song of the stream,
That leaps onward with meṛriest whirl,
Lends grateful applause as the morning's first beam,
Glads the heart of the young highland girl.
When rosy lipped morn night's watches reprove,
And dons her fair vestment of light,
With a heart void of care the highland girl roves,
With joy in her face beaming bright.
Through the verdure-clad glen young voices resound,
And wake the deep echoes to song,
Wle from hilltop to hilltop the glad notes rebound,
And course the green valleys along.
And the song of the stream, &c.-
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
95
THE STRUGGLE IS O'ER.
The charm has departed, the struggle is o'er,
I've prov'd thee false hearted, and prize thee no more;
No more canst thou come to this heart's ruin'd shrine,
It is not the home of such falsehood as thine,
No more canst thou come to this heart's ruin'd shrine,
It is not the home of such falsehood as thine,
It is not the home of such falsehood as thine.
Go, go and be blest, with the gay and the free,
Nor mar thou thy rest, with one sad thought of me ;
The pain be mine only, my love was too leal,
And wretched and lonely, this bosom must feel.
O now we must sever, for broke is love's chain,
And never, O never, can bind us again;
Had'st thou but have known, my devotion to thee,
Thou ne'er couldst have shown, such unkindness to me.
May no evils come near thee, may each bliss be thine,
May'st thou still have to cheer thee some soul true as mine
And ne'er may'st thou know, by word or by token,
The sorrow and woe, of the heart thou hast broken.
NOTHING ELSE TO DO.
The summer being over my flocks were all shorn,
My meadows were cut down and I'd harvested my corn;
To Mary's neat cottage so sweetly in view,
I straight went a courting for I'd nothing else to do.
Nothing else to do, nothing else to do,
I straight went a courting for I'd nothing else to do.
'Twas down in yon valley together we sat,
And passed away the hours in curious chat,
I told her I loved her, I hoped she loved me too,
So we'd love one another, for we'd nothing else to do.
She hung down her head and with blushes replied,
I loved you from the first, you must make me your bride;
I made her this vow, without any more ado,
I'll marry you my dear, for. I've nothing else to do.
:
96
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
So to the next village away we did roam,
In search of a clergy, we found him at home,
I paid him his fee, he made one of us two,
And married us straightway, for he'd nothing else to do.
We lived in felicity, in joy and content,
And never knew the sorrows of those that do repent,
Our neighbors around us were loyal and true,
And we loved one another, for we'd nothing else to do.
The change which time has brought, I should tell you in
this place,
Our table is too small, and our cottage wanting space;
We've a healthy rosy laughing set of lads and lasses too,
And we love the little rogues that's caus'd us something
else to do.
I'D MARRY HIM TO MORROW.
I've no money, so you see,
Peter never thinks of me,
Peter never thinks of me,
I own it to my sorrow.
O could I grow rich, and he
Be reduced to poverty,
What sweet revenge 'twould be to me,
To marry him, to mary him,
To marry him to-morrow.
To marry him, to marry him,
To marry him to-morrow.
Peter's thought almost a fool,
You have profited by school;
Peter's thought almost a fool,
Wit from you folks borrow.
Peter's plain, you handsome, gay,
But if you were both to say,
"Will you have me, Gertrude pray ?"
I'd marry him, I'd marry him,
I'd marry him to-morrow.
I'd marry him, I'd marry him,
I'd marry him to-morrow.

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
37
WHEN YOU AND I WERE GIRLS.
Our village looks as pretty now,
As 't did in childhood's hour,
When Autumn burden'd bush and bough
With choicest fruit and flower.
Still stands the hill behind the mill,
Just where the river whirls,
Adown whose side we used to glide,
When you and I were girls.
When you when you when you and I were girls
And I and I
when you and I were girls
Our cottage stands the same sweet thing,
So quiet and so calm,
The roses o'er its sides still cling,
And load the gale with balm;
Its white front hid their leaves amid,
Like beauty's brow 'mid curls,
And every thing the past doth bring,
When you and I were girls.
The brook with rustic wood bridge spann'd,
Goes babbling on its way,
O'er hidden tracks of sedge and sand,
Like some glad child at play!
Then down some steep in noisy leap,
The tiny cat'ract hurls,
Like hope's false light, all dazzling bright,
When you and I were girls.
I DON'T THINK I'M UGLY.
I don't think I'm ugly. I'm only just twenty,
I know I should make a most excellent wife;
The girls all around me have lovers in plenty,
But I not a sweetheart can get for my life.
It is not because I'm not worth a penny,
For lasses as poor I've known dozens to win;
That I should have none, and others so many,
I vow and declare its a shame and a sin.
G
98
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
I'LL LOVE THEE AS LONG AS I LIVE,
I will love thee as long as I live,
But when that brief season is o'er,
Oh! do not despairingly grieve,
For him who can love thee no more!
Oh! do not despairingly grieve,
For him who can love thee no more!
I know if I bid thee forget,
Thou wilt tell me the thought is unkind,
Thou wilt say that each spot where we met,
Must recal all my love to thy mind.
I'll love thee as long as I live,
But when that brief season is o'er,
Oh I do not despairingly grieve,
For him who can love thee no more!
But thou art too young for despair,
Too gentle with frowns to repay,
The smile of the fond and the fair,
Who would fain chase thy first grief away,
The smile of the fond and the fair,
Who would fain chase thy first grief away:
Thou wilt think of me sometimes I know,
With a kindness new friends cannot claim;
If such thoughts could make thy tears flow,
I'd have thee ne'er think of my name.
I'll love thee, &c.
I DREAM OF ALL THINGS FREE.
I dream of all things free!
Of a gallant bark,
That sweeps thro' storm and sea,
Like an arrow to its mark!
Of a stag, that o'er the hills
Goes bounding, bounding in his glee
Of a thousand flashing, flashing rills,
Of all things glad and free!
I dream of all things free!
Of a gallant bark,
That sweeps thro' storm and sea,
Like an arrow to its mark!
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
99
!
I dream of some proud bird,
A bright eyed mountain king!
In my visions I have heard
The rushing of his wing.
I follow some wild river,
On whose breast no sail may be ;
Dark woods around it shiver-
I dream of all things free!
I dream, &c.
Of a happy forest child,
With fawns and flowers at play;
Of an Indian 'midst the wild,
With stars to guide his way:
Of a chief his warriors leading,
Of an archer's greenwood tree:
My heart in chains is bleeding,
And I dream of all things free!
I dream, &c.
LOOK OUT UPON THE STARS MY LOVE.
Look out upon the stars, my love,
And shame them with thine eyes;
On which, than on the lights above,
There hang more destinies.
Night's beauty is the harmony
Of blending hues of shade and light;
Then lady up, look out and be
A sister to the night.
Sleep not, thine image wakes for aye,
Within my watching breast;
Sleep not, from her soft sleep should fly,
Who robs all hearts of rest!
Then lady from thy slumbers break,
And make, O make this darkness gay,
With looks whose brightness well might make
Of darker nights a day.

100
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
I'LL SHED NO TEAR FOR THEE.
I'll shed no fear for thee, no,
Tears would but spoil my eyes;
If thou would'st go from me, go,
The path before thee lies,
If other maids have won thee,
Let others smile upon thee,
Go! woo them if thou'rt wise,
Go! woo them if thou'rt wise,
If wise, if wise.
I'll shed no tear for thee, no,
Tears would but spoil my eyes;
If thou would'st go from me, go.
The path before thee lies.
I'll smile when thou art gone, yes,
Don't threaten me, but go;
I mean to smile on one, guess,
If thou his name would'st know:
When gone thou still returnest!
Oh! when thou'rt gone in earnest,
How well 1' bear the blow!
How well I'll bear the blow!
The blow! the blow!
I'll smile when thou art gone, yes,
Don't threaten me, but go;
I mean to smile on one, guess,
If thou his name would'st know.
MARY HAY.
Thou ken'st Mary Hay, that I lo'e thee weel,
My ain auld wife sae kindly and leal,
Then what gars thee stand, wi' the tear in thine e'e,
And look aye sae wae when thou look'st at me.
Dost thou miss, Mary Hay, the soft bloom o' my cheek,
Wi' my hair curling round it sae jetty and sleek,
For the snaw's on my head, and the roses are gane,
Since that day of days I ea'd thee my ain.

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
101
But tho' Mary Hay my e'en be turn'd dim,
And age wi' its frost stiffens ev'ry limb,
My heart thou ken'st weel, has nae frost for thee,
For Simmer returns at the blink o' thine e'e.
The miser hands firm and still firmer his gold,
The ivy grasps closer the tree when its old;
And thou grows the dearer to me, Mary Hay,
As a' else turns eild and life wears away.
We maun part Mary Hay, when our journey's done,
But I'll meet thee again in the warld aboon,
Then what gars thee stand wi' a tear in thine e'e,
And look aye sae wae, when thou look'st at me.
MARY MORISON
O Mary at thy window be,
It is the wish'd the trysted hour;
Those smiles and glances let me see,
That make the miser's treasure poor
How blithely wad I bide the stour,
A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Could I the rich reward secure,
The lovely Mary Morison.
Yestreen when to the trembling string,
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha',
To thee my fancy took its wing,
I sat but neither heard nor saw:
Tho' this was fair and that was braw,
And you the toast of a' the town,
I sigh'd and said amang them a'
"Ye are na Mary Morison."
O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die!
Or canst thou break that heart of his,
Whase only fau't is loveing thee!
If love for love thou wilt not gie,
At least be pity to me shown;
A thought ungentle, canna be
The thought o' Mary Morison.
102
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
1:
MARY, WHEN LATE YOU BLESSED MY VIEW.
Mary, when you blessed my view,
I deem'd thou wert the same, love,
But, had I known thee, then untrue,
I could not dare to blame, love,
I could not dare to blame, love ;
In blissful visions of the night,
Thy form was present to my sight;
And oh! with what a deep delight,
Theard thy whisper'd name, love,
I heard thy whisper'd name, love.
And oh! with what a deep delight,
I heard thy whisper'd' name, love.
Now must I cease to think of thee,
Though bitter be the task, love,
And when they breathe thy name to me,
I e'en must wear a mask, love,
I e'en must wear a mask, love;
Thy name must be unheeded now,
Forgotten every plighted vow;
And I unto my fate must bow-
And why ? oh need'st thou ask, love,
And why? oh need'st thou ask, love.
And I unto my fate must bow-
And why ? oh need'st thou ask, love.

1
I CANNOT DANCE TO NIGHT.
Oh! when they brought me hither,
They wonder'd at my wild delight,
But would I were at home again,
I cannot dance to-night.
How can they all look cheerful?
The dance seems strangely dull to me,
The music sounds so mournfuk
What can the reason be?
Oh! when they brought me hither,
They wonder'd at my wild delight,
But would I were at home again
I cannot dance to-night.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
103
Hark! hark! at length he's coming,
I am not weary-let me stay!
I hear his laugh distinctly now,
"Twill chase the gloom away:
Oh! would that I were near him,
He sees me not amid the crowd,
He hears me not-ah would I dared
To breathe his name aloud,
Oh! when they brought me hither, &c.
He leaves that group of triflers,
And with the smile I love to see,
He seems to seek for some one-
Oh is it not for me?
No, no! 'tis for that dark eyed girl,
I see her now return his glance,
He passes me-he takes her hand-
He leads her to the dance!
Oh! when they brought me hither, &c.
LOVE'S RITORNELLA.
Gentle Zitella, whither away?
Love's ritornella, list while I play;
No I have linger'd too long on my road,
Night is advancing, the brigand's abroad.
Lonely Zitella hath too much to fear,
Love's ritornella she may not hear.
Charming Zitella, why should'st thou care?
Night is not darker than thy raven hair;
And those bright eyes if the brigand should see,
Thou art the robber, the cantive is he.
Gentle Zitella, banish thy fear,
Love's ritornella tarry and hear.
Simple Zitella, beware, ah! beware,
List ye no ditty, grant ye no pray'r.
To your light footsteps let terror add wings,
'Tis Massaroni himself, who now sings.
Gentle Zitella banish thy fear,
Love's ritornella tarry and hear.

104
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
LONG, LONG AGO
Tell me the tales that to me were so dear,
Long, long ago, long, long ago:
Sing me the songs I delighted to hear,
Long, long ago, long ago.
Now you are come all my grief is remov'd;
Let me forget that so long you have rov'd,
Let me believe that you love as you lov'd,
Long, long ago, long ago.
Do you remember the path where we met,
Long, long ago, long, long ago?
O yes you told me you ne'er would forget,
Long, long ago, long ago.
Then to all others my smile you prefer'd,
Love when you spoke, gave a charm to each word,
Still my heart treasures the praises I heard,
Long, long ago, long ago.
Though by your kindness my fond hopes were rais'd,
Long, long ago, long, long ago,
You by more eloquent lips have been prais'd,
Long, long ago, long ago.
But by long absence your truth has been tried,
Still to your accents I listen with pride,
Blest as I was when I sat by your side,
Long, long ago, long ago.
THE LORDS OF CREATION.
The Lords of Creation men we call,
And they think they rule the whole;
But they're much mistaken after all,
For they're under woman's control.
As ever since the world began,
It has always been the way,
For did not Adam, the very first man,
The very first woman obey, obey, obey, obey!
The very first woman obey.

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
105
Ye lords; who at present hear my song,
I know you will quickly say,
"Our sizes more large, our nerves more strong,
"Shall the stronger the weaker obey?"
But think not tho' these words we hear,
We shall e'er mind a thing you say;
For as long as a woman's possess'd of a tear,
Your power will vanish away.
But should there be so strange a wight,
As not to be moved by a tear,
Though much astonished at the sight,
We shall still have no cause for fear.
Then let them please themselves awhile,
Upon their fancied sway,
For as long as a woman's possess'd of a smile,
She will certainly have her own way.
Now, ladies, since I've made it plain,
That the thing is really so,
We'll even let them hold the rein,
But we'll show them the way to go;
As ever since the world began,
It has always been the way,
And we'll manage it so that the very last man
Shall the very last woman obey.
THE MOON O'ER THE HILLS IS BEAMING.
The moon o'er the hills is beaming, the moon o'er the hills
is beaming,
Wake, awake, wake, awake, List to the light guitar!
Oh! listen to the sound love of the chrystal pure and bright,
From the mountain's rugged brow, love, falling in gay
delight.
The moon o'er the hills is beaming, &c.
The lake in the vale is sleeping, the lake in the vale is
sleeping,
Haste, oh, haste, haste, oh, haste, haste to the gondolier!
While twilight glimmers o'er us and the lake unruffled lies,
"Tis the time to bind our vows love, you know how swift
it flies.
106
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
LOVE IS THE THEME OF THE MINSTREL,
Love is the theme, love is the theme of the minstrel all
over the earth,
Love is the theme, love is the theme of the minstrel all
over the earth.
List to the light hearted chanson of France,
Trace the burthen of German romance,
Hear the guitar in the sweet orange grove,
Of what sings the Spaniard, oh is it not love?
Yes, yes, love is the theme, love is the theme of the min
strel all over the earth,
Love is the theme, love is the theme of the minstrel all
over the earth.
Love is the theme, love is the theme of the minstrel all
over the earth,
Love is the theme, love is the theme of the minstrel all
over the earth.
List to the song in the camp of the brave,
Hear the sailor the sport of the wave,
In court or in cottage wherever you rove,
Of what sings the minstrel, oh! is it not love?
Yes, love is the theme, love is the theme of the minstrel
all over the earth,
Love is the theme, love is the theme of the minstrel all
over the earth.
THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS.
The light of other days has faded,
And all their glories past,
For grief with heavy wing bath shaded,
The hopes too bright to last;
The world, which morning's mantle clouded,
Shines forth with purer rays;
But the heart ne'er feels in sorrow shrouded,
The light of other days :
But the heart ne'er feels in sorrow shrouded,
The light of other days.

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
107
The leaves which autumn tempests wither,
The Birds which then take wing,
When winter's winds are past come hither,
To welcome back the spring;
The very ivy on the ruin,
In gloom full life displays,
But the heart alone sees no renewing,
The light of other days:
But the heart alone sees no renewing,
The light of other days.
LILLA'S A LADY.
The church bells are ringing, the village is gay,
And Lilla is deck'd in her bridal array;
She's woo'd and she's won by a proud baron's son,
And Lilla Lilla Lilla's a lady, and Lilla Lilla Lilla's a lady,
And see o'er the valley who rides at full speed,
A gallant young knight on a spirited steed,
And why starts the youth when they tell him the truth,
That Lilla Lilla Lilla's a lady, that Lilla Lilla Lilla's a lady.
He's smiling in scorn, or he's smiling in jest,
While three snow-white lillys he takes from his breast;
A poor maid, says he, gave this token to me,
But Lilla Lilla Lilla's a lady, but Lilla Lilla Lilla's a lady.
These sweet little lillies that grew in the shade,
Transplanted to sunshine unnotic'd may fade,
Though mere words of course, you may yet feel their force,
Since Lilla Lilla Lilla's a lady, since Lilla Lilla Lilla's a
lady.
I came here misled by a false woman's vow,
I'll stay to drink health to the baroness now;
And oh! it will be quite as pleasant to me,
Since Lilla Lilla Lilla's a lady, since Lilla Lilla Lilla's a
lady.
Believe not I'll pine, no! I travel'd so far,
For the girl that you seem'd, not the girl that you are;
You are woo'd, you are won, by a proud baron's son,
And Lilla Lilla Lilla's a lady, and Lilla Lilla Lilla's a lady.
103
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
LIGHT MAY THE BOAT ROW.
Oh! calmly may the waves flow,
And lightly may the boat row,
And safe and swift the boat go,
That my lad's in.
Oh! calmly may the waves flow, and lightly may the boat
row,
And safe and swift the boat go, that my lad's in.
He plys the oar so tightly,
Moves in the dance so sprightly,
So gracefully and lightly,
Oh there are none like him.
Light may the boat row, the boat row, the boat row,
Light may the boat row, that my lad's in.
I know he's true-hearted,
True-hearted, true-hearted,
He promis'd when we parted,
To come to me again.
Light, light may the boat row, the boat row, the boat row,
Light may the boat row that my lad's in.
He wears a blue jacket,
Blue jacket, blue jacket,
He wears a blue jacket,
And a dimple in his chin.
Light may the boat row, the boat row, the boat
Light may the boat row, that my lad's in.
Light may the boat row, that my lad's in.
Light may the boat row, that my lad's in.
JIM ALONG JOSEY
I'se from Lucianna as you all know,
Dar where Jim along Josey's all de go,
Dem niggars all rise when de bell does ring,
And dis is de song dat dey sing,
Hey get along, get along Josey,
Hey get along, Jim along Joe!

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
109
Oh! when I gets dat new coat which I expects to hab soon,
Likewise a new pair tight-kneed trousaloon,
Den I walks up and down Broadway wid my Susanna,
And de white folks will take me to be Santa Anna.
Hey get along, &c.
My sister Rose de odder night did dream,
Dat she was floating up and down de stream,
And when she woke she began to cry,
And de white cat pick'd out de black cat's eye
Hey get along, &c.
Now way down souf, not very far off,
A bullfrog died wid de whooping cough,
And de odder side of Mississippi as you must know,
Dare's where I was christen'd Jim along Joe.
Hey get along, &c.
LITTLE EDDIE.
God bless you, little Eddie! Your mother's only boy;
The centre of your father's hopes, the springtide of his joy.
You are a darling baby, your eyes are brightly blue;
How pretty is your dimpled hand, and sweet your lips a
dew.
How gently you are sleeping upon your mother's breast,
A pretty picture are ye two, of perfect love and rest.
As sweetly may you slumber, when tired of childhood's
play,
As peaceful may that mother look when years have
passed away.
And if in life's bright noonday, you breast the waves of
care,
Oh! may your heart repose on God, borne up on wings of
prayer.
And then in life's last evening, you'll calmly sink to rest;
To wake, with rapture all untold, and live forever blest.
110
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
LET ME SING LOVE.
Let me sing love, let me sing love,
What in speech I cannot say ;
Do not smile love, do not smile love,
Let me look another way.
Do I love ye, do ye ask me?
Oh! do ask me so no more,
Never will I live without ye,
Never will I live without ye,
Never will I live without ye,
Could I tell ye, could I so before ↑
Yes I love ye, yes I love ye,
Now do ask me nothing more ;
But behave ye, but behave ye,
Like ye always did before.
Do not doubt me, do not doubt me
But be faithful and be true;
And I'll have ye, yes I'll have ye,
If a thousand other's sue.
LADY I HAVE LOVED THEE LONG.
Lady, I have lov'd thee long,
But ah! 'tis all in vain :
A soothing hope 'midst fears that throng,
Doth not as once remain.
I've dearly lov'd, and still adore ;
But thou wert ever cold:
And now the fate I fear'd before,
Too plainly hath been told.
When late I vow'd I lov'd but thee,
Thy words-I hear them yet!
And not until I cease to be,
Shall I those words forget.
Long, long shall I deplore the day,
Thou first didst meet mine eyes;
Since now alas! I'm doom'd to say
Adieu to all I prize!
*
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
111
KING DEATH.
King Death was a rare old fellow,
He sate where no sun could shine
And he lifted his hand so yellow,
And pour'd out his coal-black wine.
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
For the coal-black wine, for the coal-black wine.
There came to him many a maiden,
Whose eyes had forgot to shine,
And widows with grief o'erladen,
For a draught of his sleepy wine.
The scholar left all his learning,
The poet his fancied woes,
And the beauty her bloom returning
Like life to the fading rose.
All came to the rare old fellow,
Who laugh'd till his eyes dropp'd brine,
As he gave them his hand so yellow,
And pledg'd them in Death's black wine.
THE LAST SAD TIME WE MET AND PARTED.
The last sad time we met and parted,
Soft twilight deepen'd o'er the grove,
Where long we lingered, broken hearted,
Repeating vows of endless love!
That hour, long years have circled o'er it,
And time hath many a grief effaced;
But every year I more deplore it,
And deeper in my heart 'tis traced!
As chrystal streams in constant motion,
More deeply still their channels wear,
So this true heart's untired devotion,
But stamps one image deeper there!
The last sad time we met and parted,
When twilight shadowed o'er the grove,
Memory retains, though broken hearted,
As the sole relic left of love l

112
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
JESS MAC FARLANE.
When first she came to town,
They call'd her Jess Mac Farlane,
But now she's come and gone,
They call her the wand'ring darling.
Oh this love, this love,
Of this love I'm weary,
And sleep I canna get.
For thinking of my deary.
Oh this love, this love!
Her father loved her well,
Her mother loved her better,
And I like the girl mysel',
But alas! I canna get her.
Oh this love, this love, &c.
I took it in my head,
To write my love a letter,
But alas! she canna read,
And I like her the better.
Oh this love, this love, &c.
MISS LUCY LONG.
I just come out afore you,
"To sing a little song,
I plays it on de banjo,
And dey calls it Lucy Long.
Oh take your time Miss Lucy,
Take your time Miss Lucy Long;
Oh take your time Miss Lucy,
Take your time Miss Lucy Long.
I ask her for to marry,
She hadn't much to say,
But thought she'd rather tarry,
So I let her have her way.
Oh take your time, &c.

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
113
Miss Lucy she is handsome,
And Miss Lucy she is tall,
To see her dance cachuca,
Is death to niggers all.
Oh take your time, &c.
Oh Miss Lucy's teeth is grinning,
Just like an ear ob corn,
And her eyes dey look so winning,
Oh! would I'd ne'er been born.
Oh take your time, &c.
LIST TO THE CONVENT BELLS
List! 'tis music stealing, over the rippling sea;
Bright yon moon is beaming, over each tower and tree.
List! 'tis music stealing, over the rippling sea;
Bright von moon is beaming, over each tower and tree.
The waves seem list'ing to the sound as silently they flow,
O'er coral groves, and fairy ground, and sparkling caves
below.
List! 'tis music stealing, over the rippling sea;
Bright yon moon is beaming, over each tower and tree.
List! list! list! to the convent bells!
List! list! list! to the convent bells!
Music sounds the sweetest, when on the moonlit sea;
We sail in our bark the fleetest, to a sweet melody.
Music sounds the sweetest when on the moonlit sea;
We sail in our bark the fleetest, to a sweet melody.
Then as we're gently sailing, we'll sing that plaintive
strain,
Which mem'ry makes endearing, and home recals again,
List! 'tis music stealing, over the rippling sea;
Bright yon moon is beaming, over each tower and tree.
H
List! list! list! to the convent bells!
List! list! list! to the convent bells!
114
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
I TURN TO THEE IN TIME OF NEED.
I turn to thee in time of need,
And never turn in vain ;
I see thy fond and fearless smile,
And hope revives again.
It gives me strength to struggle on,
Whate'er the strife may be ;
And if again my courage fails,
Again I turn to thee.
Thy timid beauty charm'd me first;
I breath'd a lover's vow,
But little thought to find the friend
Whose strength sustains me now.
I-deem'd thee made for summer skies,
But in the stormy sea,
Deserted by all other friends,
Dear love, I turn to thee.
Should e'er some keener sorrow throw
A shadow o'er my mind,
And should I thoughtless breathe to thee
One word that is unkind,
Forgive it love, thy smile will set
My better feelings free,
And with a look of boundless love,
I still shall turn to thee.
I'LL EVER THINK OF THEE.
We met, I could not turn from thee,
Perhaps you heeded not,
But ah emotions seized my soul,
That hour I ne'er forgot, I ne'er forgot;
You left, I watch'd thee till the night,
Had torn thee from my view,
Had torn thee from my view,
But with my dreams thine image carne,
For still I thought of you.
But with my dreams thine image came,
For still I thought, for still I thought of you.

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
115
We met, and then I heard thy voice,
As that of some sweet bird,
So much of hope and joy and love,
Was breathed in each dear word;
And long I feasted on thine eyes,
And deeply drank their bliss,
And long I gazed upon thy form
So wrapt in loveliness.
And though another proudly claims,
Affections pure as thine,
That I would brave the world to win,
Or die to call but mine,
I still may love thy memory,
For thou art dear to me,
And thro' my life's lone pilgrimage,
I'll ever think of thee.
ALABAMA JOE.
I've liv'd in Alabama where de color'd race am plenty,
Where dey dont get their freedom then when dey are one
and twenty.
Exceptin when dey get it in a light and fancy way,
Dey turn and twist their bodies till at last dey run away.
Striked toe and heel nigger, O strike de heel and toe,
For Pb is am a waiting for her Alabama Joe.
Oh de gal, in Alabama am a very shiny black,
Dey feel Jove de white folks, and make em clar de track,
O my sw mouf do water when I think of days gone by,
Where I used to see my Phillissee wid de tear in her eye.
I met wid a misfortune one day when I was young,
Whi- very near obstructed me for ever having sung,
An Alligator grab at me with his ivory so long,
But he couldn't go this nigger because he is so strong.
New dis Alabama nigger mustn't sing any more,
Because he kick up such a row he make de possum roar,
Fut if amalgamation does come down to de South,
You'll know an Alabama nigger by de shape of his mouth.

116
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
I WONDER IF SHE LOVES ME
I wonder if she loves me?
I'd give the world to know,
For though her look still whispers yes,
Her lips still utter no!
Why should she blush so when we meet,
If I'm not near her heart?
Her tiny hand why tremble,
When we undertake to part?
I wonder if she loves me?
I'd give the world to know,
For though her look still whispers yes,
Her lips still utter no!
I wonder if she loves me?
Last night we were alone,
And I thought there was a coldness
Unusual in her tone,
Yes toying with her curls, I stole
Oh! such a kiss! and though
She did not kiss me in return,
She did not bid me go!
I wonder if she loves me?
To wake her woman's pride,
I feigned to love another once,
She never spoke nor sighed;
Still though she seemed emotionless,
I watched her blue eye well,
And I'm certain that a tear-drop
From its silken lashes fell.
I wonder if she loves me?
I'm sure I can't decide,
For sometimes she's all tenderness,
And sometimes she's all pride;
In vain I question of my hopes,
My fears still weigh them down,
Since even her sweetest, sunniest smile
Is featured by a frown.
I wonder, &c.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
117
O! LOVE IS LIKE THE SUNNY RAY.
Oh! love is like the sunny ray,
That beams with morning's brightness,
He twines his wreath of roses gay,
And smiles in joyous lightness;
Oh! never doubt that beaming smile,
A heart's devotion telling,
Can sorrow's cloud, or falsehood's guîle,
E'er rest within love's dwelling?
No! love is like the sunny ray,
That beams with morning's brightness,
He twines his wreath of roses gay,
And smiles in joyous lightness.
Oh! love is like the dewy eve,
O'er day's departure weeping,
Hope's chaplet then fond vot'ries weave,
Where moonbeams soft are sleeping.
Then list to love's entrancing notes,
Though breath'd in joy or sadness;
When grief the heart to care devotes,
Love's song calls back its gladness.
For love is like the sunny ray, &c.
*..
THE INGLE SIDE.
It's rare to see the morning bleeze,
Like a bonfire frac the sea,
It's fair to see the burnie kiss
The lip o' the flowery lea,
An fine it is on green hill side,
Where hums the bonny bee,
But rarer, fairer, finer far,
Is the ingle side for me.
Glens may be gilt wi' gowans rare,
The birds may fill the tree,
And haughs hae a' the scented ware,
That simmer growth can gie :
But the cantie hearth where cronies meet
An the darling o' our e'e,
That makes to ns a warl complete,
O the ingle side for me.
118
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
I'LL THINK OF THEE.
I'll think of thee when hawthorn trees
The morning pearls are shading,
When sunbeams sport on azure seas,
When evening flow'rs are fading.
I'll love thee while thine eye is bright,
I'll leave thee dearest never,
But when old time has dimm'd its light,
I'll love thee, love thee still as ever,
I'll love thee, love thee still as ever.
I'll think of thee when midnight stream,
Is sighing to its willow;
Thine is the spirit of the dream,
That flits around my pillow.
And if I dimly scan the past,
And happy days gone over,
Thy fairy form is still the last,
That comes to bless thy lover.
OH! HITHER PLUME THY WING
Oh! hither plume thy fairy wing,
Thou lov'd and lovely thing,
For thy voice's murmuring,
Is all to me.
Then hither plume thy wing,
Thou lovely thing,
Thy voice's murmuring,
Is all to me.
Oh! from thý viewless sphere,
From thy sphere,
Once more to me appear, appear.
E'en life itself must wither here,
Yes! life must wither here,
Bereft, bereft of thee,
Yes! life itself must wither here,
Bereft of thee
1
1
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
119
Sweet spirit of the balmy air,
The flow'rs tho' brightly fair,
May not with thy smile compare,
Then oh! appear.
The flow'rs tho' brightly fair,
May not, may not
With thy sweet smile compare,
Then oh! appear!
Oh! I am sad and lone, sad and lone,
Leave then thy radiant throne,
Thy throne,
A bright spell is o'er my senses thrown,
A spell is o'er me thrown,
When thou, when thou art near,
A spell is o'er me thrown,
When thou art near.
O'ER THE WATER TO CHARLIE.
Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er,
Come boat me o'er to Charlie,
I'll gie John Ross another bawbee,
To boat me o'er to Charlie.
We'll over the water we'll over the sea,
We'll over the water to Charlie.
Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go,
And live or die with Charlie.
We'll over the water, etc.
I loe my bonnie Charlie's name,
Tho' some there be abhor him,
But O, to see auld Nick gaun home,
And Charlie's faes before him!
We'll over the water, etc.
I swear and vow by moon and stars,
And sun that shines so clearly,
If I had twenty thousand lives,
I'd die as aft for Charlie!
We'll over the water, etc.
120
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
MY BARK IS UPON THE DEEP, LOVE.
My bark is upon the deep, love,
My comrades impatient call,
Awake while the fairies sleep, love,
Awake thee more bright than all.
Awake while the fairies sleep, love,
Awake thee more bright than all.
Awake, awake, awake, Rosalia love, awake.
The sun may dry up the tear, love,
Night hangs on the drooping flower;
But cold will its rays appear, love,
Away from my lady's bower.
Awake, awake, &c.
Awake, for yon splashing oar, love,
Its diamonds now throws to light;
And faint from the distant shore, love,
My summons comes over the night.
Awake, awake, &c.
I go, and e'er yonder star, love,
Shall set in the mighty sea;
Thy Carlos shall seek the war, love,
To gather its wreaths for thee.
Farewell, farewell, &c.
MY NATIVE HOME.
My native home, I've wandered far,
Yet wheresoe'er I roam,
Thou still art inem'ry's morning star,
My own, my native home.
Let huntsmen praise the wild-wood glen,
The sailor boast the sea,
The mountaineer his hut revere,
My native home, my native home for me.
My native home, my native home for me.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
121
My native home, alas! I stand
On Fate's bleak shore alone,
All friendless in a foreign land,
'Midst heartless strangers thrown.
Tho' colder climes and colder hearts,
Be still reserved for me,
I'll ne'er complain, but turn again,
My native home to thee.
My native home, I did forsake
Those scenes once only mine,
Ambition's cup I fain would take,
And kneel to fame's bright shrine.
Oh should I win the laurel wreath,
Its leaves should bloom for thee,
The circling vine for age entwine,
My native home and me.
MEET ME BY MOONLIGHT.
Meet me by moonlight alone,
And then I will tell thee 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,
'Tis the loveliest ever was seen.
Oh! meet me by moonlight alone,
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.
Oh! remember, be sure to be there,
For tho' 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,
Meet me by moonlight alone.
122
!
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
"
MY MOUNTAIN HOME.
Farewell, farewell my mountain home,
No more shall I behold,
My bosom friends, they all are gone,
My sunny hearth is cold,
My sunny hearth is cold.
Far from the scenes of infancy,
Though distant we may roam,
The heart still fondly turns to thee,
My own dear mountain home.
My own dear home, my mountain home,
My own dear mountain home,
My own dear home, my mountain home,
My own, my own dear mountain home.
I gazed on other sunny hills,
A tear drop wet mine eye,
I heard soft strains of music float,
I heav'd a heart-drawn sigh,
I heav'd a heart-drawn sigh.
I stood upon the shore and look'd,
Far o'er the ocean's foam,
To catch one parting glance of thee,
My own dear mountain home.
My own dear home, &c.
THE MERRY SLEIGH BELLS.
Hark! hark! hear ye not from the valley below,
The music that floats o'er the glittering snow?
'Tis sweeter than summer's soft hum of the bees,
Or spring zephyr's carol 'midst blossoming trees,
Than warbling of earliest song birds more clear,
For it tells the lone wand'rer some kindred is near
Now it lingers-it dies-now redoubled it swells!
List ye not, 'tis the ring of the merry sleigh bells.
The merry sleigh bells, the merry sleigh bells,
The merry, the merry sleigh bells,
The merry, the merry sleigh bells.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
123
'
The steed swift and proud as the noble reindeer,
Erecting his crest dashes on without fear,
Like a light skimming bark o'er the silvery tide,
Smooth o'er the bright track see the bonny sleigh glide.
The sportsman now pauses to catch the sweet sound,
The chased deer has halted-arrested the hound!
All nature is mute, and in extacy dwells,
To hear echo answer the merry sleigh bells.
Arrived at the cot, (ere the day beams expire,)
Now cheer'd by the blaze of the hickory fire,
Fond greetings of friendship, exchanged with delight
Here gladden each heart, by the flickering light.
The bounteous repast with a welcome is crown'd,
While the song, jest, or laugh, passes joyously round,
And the young maiden lists, as her first lover tells.
A tale that is sweet as the merry sleigh bells.
THE MEETING.
We met, and only met,
Ere doom'd by fate to sever;
But ah! I can forget,
That meeting with thee, never!
Thy locks of auburn hue,
On wanton zephyr's straying;
Thine eyes of liquid blue,
Where light of soul was playing.
Thy voice, whose dulcet thrill,
Waked such sweet emotion.
I seem to hear it still,
Though far upon the ocean;
'Twas these that charm'd me then,
When first and last I met thee;
We may not meet again,
But ne'er can I forget thee.
We may not meet again,
But ne'er can I forget thee,
We may not meet again,
But ne'er can I forget thee.
124
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
'Twas evening when we met,
By Arno's rippling billow,
(In dreams I see thee yet,
Whene'er I press my pillow ;)
It was a lovely night,
The balmy breeze was sighing,
And heaven's sweetest light,
On tower and stream was lying.
When in some thicket's shade,
His vows the lover's telling,
Like breast of listening maid,
The playful waves were swelling.
We met, and only met,
Ere doom'd by fate to sever;
But ah! I can forget
That meeting with thee, never..
MEET ME IN THE WILLOW GLEN.
Meet me in the willow glen,
When the silver moon is beaming;
Songs of love I'll sing thee then,
When all the world is dreaming:
Meet me in the willow glen,
When the silver moon is beaming;
Songs of love I'll sing thee then,
If you'll meet me in the willow glen.
To melodious mandolins,
My songs I'll softly blend, love,
While to thee my melody,
A soothing balm shall lend, love.
Meet me in the willow glen, &c.
No prying eye shall come,
No stranger foot be seen,
And the distant village hum, love,
Shall echo through the glen.
The busy village hum, love,
Shall echo through the glen.
Meet me in the willow glen, &c.
:
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
125
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 careless, careless love,
Such as kindleth hearts that rove.
This is careless, careless love,
Such as kindleth hearts that rove
To keep one sacred flame,
Thro' life, unchill'd, unmov'd,
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
We could not live with less;
This is faithful, faithful love,
Such as saints might feel above.
This is faithful, faithful love, &c.
COME REST IN THIS BOSOM.
Come rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer,
Tho' the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here;
Here still is the smile that no cloud can o'ercast,
And the heart and the hand all thy own to the last.
Oh! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same,
Through joy and through torments, through glory and
shame?
I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart,
I but know that I love thee whatever thou art!
Thou hast call'd me thy angel in moments of bliss,
Still thy angel I'll be, mid the horrors of this:
Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue,
And shield thee, and save thee,or perish there tos!

126
SINGER'S SOUVENIR
THO' LOVE IS WARM AWIIILE
Tho' love is warm awhile,
Soon it grows cold,
Absence soon blights the smile,
When it grows cold;
When it grows cold.
Dearest, thy love was mine,
My ev'ry thought was thine,
Thus did our hearts entwine,
Ere love was old.
Dearest thy love was mine,
My ev'ry thought was thine,
Thus did our hearts entwine,
Ere love was old.
But could thy bosom prove,
Faithful, my fair!
Could'st thou still fondly love,
Still absence bear?
Oh! it was sweet to he
Lov'd as I was by thee,
But if thou'rt false to me
Welcome despair!
MAID OF MY LOVE.
I will come to thee when night winds creep,
O'er the crimson rose's odorous sleep;
When the song of the gurgling nightingale,
Sounds like a harp in the greenwood vale;
When moonlight sleeps, when moonlight sleeps,
Sleeps on the deep blue sea,
Maid of my love, maid of my love,
Maid of my love I will come to thee.
When the tulip flower has closed its leaf,
Like a bosom that hides from the world its grief;
When the lilly is drooping its beautiful head,
Like a love sick girl o'er the violet's bed,
When the night dew hangs on the passion tree,
Maid of my love, I will come to thee.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
127
OH! SING ME AGAIN THAT LITTLE SONG.
Sing me again that little song,
Oh! sing it once again!
A thousand buried mem'ries rise,
Before its simple strain.
I heard it when a happy child,
Amid a merry throng,
From gleesome voices long since hush'd,
Oh! sing that little song!
Oh! sing that little song!
I see again that bright green sward,
Whereon we gladly played,
I hear again the echoing sound
Their little footsteps made.
Their voices like a ringing shell,
Are murmuring in mine ears,
And not a single eye is dim,
With sorrow or with tears.
Oh! thro' the long, long lapse of years,
They greet me once again,
Those young companions of my mirth,
Wak'd by that simple strain.
Heed not the tears within mine eyes,.
While the quick mem'ries throng,
Of other days upon my heart,
Oh! sing that little song!
OH! NO I NEVER SHALL FORGET
Oh! no I never shall forget
When in our early years,
She smil'd, and should I heave a sigh,,
She'd calm my rising fears;
Her name, I ne'er can mention it,
It glows within my breast;
Her words I never shall forget,
Till in my grave I rest.
128
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
Her beauty, unsurpass'd by none,
None with her form could vie;
Her virtue, ah! the poor can tell,
And spirits in the sky:
She lov'd me, why was I bereav'd,
Of her none can replace ;
Oh! when shall I again behold,
That form, that smile, that face.
Like one unheeding all around,
I fancy she is nigh,
Oh! could I take her to my arms,·
She'd drive away the sigh;
And yet that sigh a pleasure gives,
Tho' short, within my breast,
Her words, I never shall forget,
Till in the grave I rest.
ONE KISS BEFORE WE PART, LOVE.
One kiss before we part, love,
Ere o'er the waters blue,
Yon bark too swiftly bounding,
Shall waft me from thy view!
Oh! let thy lips infuse, love,
Their balm into my heart,
To soothe this hour of pain, bestow
One kiss before we part!
Love, one kiss before we part!
One kiss before we part, love,
That till we meet again,
My dearest hopes may cherish,
Though all those hopes be vain ;
Oh! say not they are vain, love,
To wring this doating heart,
But give, though but in kind deceit,
One kiss before we part!
Love, one kiss before we part
SINGER'S SOUVENIR
!
129
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.
They bid me seek in change of scene,
The charms that others see;
But were I in a foreign land,
They'd find no change in ine:
'Tis 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 heed not what they say:
Like me perhaps she struggles with
Each feeling of regret,
But if she loves as I have lov'd,
She never can forget.
THE KNIGHT ERRANT.
It was Dunois the young and brave, was bound for
Palestine,
But first he made his orisons before St. Mary's shrine
And grant, immortal queen of heav'n, was still the
soldier's pray'r,
That I may prove the bravest knight, and love the fairest
fair.
That I may prove the bravest knight, and love the
fairest fair
I
130
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
. His oath of honor on the shrine, he grav'd it with his
sword,
And follow'd to the holy land, the banner of his lord,
When faithful to his noble vow, his war cry fill'd the
air,
Be honor'd aye the bravest knight, belov'd the fairest
fair.
They owe the conquest to his arm, and then his leige
lord said,
The heart that has for honor beat, must be by bliss repaid,
My daughter Isabel and thou shall be a wedded pair,
For thou art bravest of the brave, she fairest of the fair.
And then they bound the holy knot, before Saint Mary's
shrine,
Which makes a paradise on earth, when hearts and
hands combine,
And every lord and lady bright, that was in chapel there,
Cried honor'd be the bravest knight, belov'd the fairest
fair.
BELIEVE ME.
Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day,
Were to change by to-morrow, and fade in my arms,
Like fairy gifts fleeting away;
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And around the dear ruin, each wish of my heart,
Would entwine itself verdantly still.
It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheek unprofaned by a tear,
That the fervor and truth of a heart can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear.
Oh! the heart that has truly lov'd, never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close ;
As the sun-flower turns on her god when he sets,
The same look which she turn'd when he rose.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
_31
THE MUSICAL WIFE.
My wife is very musical,
She tunes it over much,
And teases me with what they call
. Her fingering and touch,
She's instrumental to my pain,
Her very broadwood quakes,
Her vocal efforts split my brain,
I shiver when she shakes!
She tells me with the greatest ease,
Her voice goes up to C!
And proves it till her melodies
Are maladies to me.
She's "Isabelling." if I stir,
From where my books lie hid,
Or "Oh! no never mention her,"
-I wish she never did.
Her newest tunes turn out to be,
The same as heard last year,
Alas! there's no variety,
In variations here.
I see her puff, I see her pant,
Through ditties wild and strange,
I wish she'd change her notes, they want
Some silver and some change.
THE MAID OF LLANGOLLEN.
Tho' lowly my lot and tho' poor my estate,
I see without envy the wealthy and great,
Contented and proud a poor shepherd to be,
While the maid of Llangollen smiles sweetly on me.
My way o'er the mountain I cheerfully take,
At morn when the song birds their melody wake,
And at eve I return with a heart full of glee,
For the maid of Llangollen smiles sweetly on me.
Glenarvon's proud lord passes scornfully by,
But wealth can ne'er make him so happy as I,
And prouder than even the proudest I'll be,
ile the maid of Llangollen smiles sweetly on me.
132
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
ONE DAY WHILE WORKING AT MY PLOUGH.
John.-One day, while working at my plough,
Fal la la la la la la la la,
I felt just here, I can't tell how,
Fal la la la la la la la la,
I turn'd my head round, just to see,
Who 'twas I heard, when there stood thee,
Like Wenus com'd out of the sea,
Fal lal la la la la la la la.
Nan.-La! John, you flatters now, I'm sure, fal lal &£
I look'd like I-and nothing more, fal lal, &c.
I'd walk'd across a field or two,
And might look rosy-cheek'd or so,
Besides I met a charming beau! fal lal, &c.
John.-I knows that chap you mean, I trow, fal lal, &c.
He's at the squire's just here below, fal lal, &c.
•
Be careful, Nan, take heed in time,
Here's honest John, just in his prime,
If you'd be his'n, he'd be thine, fal lal, &c.
Nun.-Why, John, you're sartin well to do, fal lal, &c.
You've got a cow, and pig or two, fal lal, &c.
But mother's magpie talks to I,
She calls me angel of the sky!
John. Then "mother's magpie” tells a lie, fal lal, &c.
Nan.-Tell lies! the bird does no such thing, fal lal,
For I'm an angel! John. where's your wings? fal
Nan. That gemman, sir, all sweet perfume,
<.
Said O, you goddess from the moon!"
John. He meant a witch upon a broom, fal lal.
Nan.-Well time will show, and, John, you'll find, fal,
John.—You'd best take me, Nan, in the mind, fal lal,
Nan.-W' all my heart, next Sunday, John. Done!
We'll married be, as sure as fun,
Nan. And then John,-you and I'll make one, fa! lal.
Both. So lads who'd wish to happy be,
Just copy pretty Nan, and me,
But to old Nick send jealousy, fal lal, &c.

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
133
SAW YE THE LASS WI' THE BONNY BLUE E'EN?
O, saw ye the lass wi' the bonny blue e'en,
Her smile is the sweetest that ever was seen;
Her cheek like the rose is, but fresher I ween,
She's the loveliest lassie that trips on the green.
The home of my love is below in the valley,
Where wild flowers welcome the wandering bee,
But the sweetest of flow'rs in that spot that is seen,
Is the maid that I love with the bonny blue e'en.
O, saw ye the lass wi' the bonny blue e'en,
Hier smile is the sweetest that ever was seen,
Her cheek like the rose is, but fresher I ween,
She's the loveliest lassie that trips on the green.
When night overshadows her cot in the glen,
She'll steal out to meet her lov'd Donald again,
And when the moon shines on the valley so green,
I'll welcome the lass wi' the bonny blue e'en.
As the dove that has wander'd away from his nest,
Returns to the mate his fond heart loves the best,
I'll fly from the world's false and vanishing scene,
To my dear one, the lass wi' the bonny blue e'en.
THE CASTILIAN MAID.
Oh! remember the time in La Mancha's shades,
When our moments so blissfully flew;
When you call'd me the flow'r of Castilian maids,
And I blush'd to be call'd so by you.
When I taught you to warble the gay seguadille,
And to dance to the light castanet,
Oh! never, dear youth, let you roam where you will,
The delight of those moments forget.
They tell me you lovers from Erin's green isle,
Ev'ry hour a new passion can feel;
And that soon in the light of some lovelier smile,
You'N forget the poor maid of Castile
But they know not how brave in the battle you are,
Or they never could think you would rove;
For 'tis always the spirit most gallant in war
That is fondest and truest in love."
134
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
OH! SAIL WITH ME.
Oh! sail with me o'er the sunny sea,
The morn is gay and glowing,
The heav'ns are bright, our spirits light,
And the fav'ring breeze is blowing.
Oh! sail with me o'er the sunny sea,
The morn is gay and glowing,
The heav'ns are bright, our spirits light,
And the fav'ring breeze is blowing,
Without a sigh from shore we'll fly,
And leave all care behind us,
Away, away, the closing day,
Far from the land shall find us.
Far from the land shall find us,
Far from the land shall find us.
In morn's sweet face, new charms we'll trace,
From sky to ocean glancing,
At eventide on the waters wide,
We'll watch the bright stars dancing.
In morn's sweet face, new charms we'll trace,
From sky to ocean glancing,
At eventide on the waters wide,
We'll watch the bright stars dancing.
With tale and song we'll night prolong,
And wake each glad emotion,
Oh! who shall tell the joys that dwell
With the gallant sons of ocean.
The gallant sons of ocean,
The gallant sons of ocean.
The sailor's life is free from strife,
No broils his peace endanger,
But blithe and brave he walks the wave,
To care and fear a stranger.
The sailor's life is free from strife,
No broils his peace endanger,
But blithe and brave, he walks the wave,
To care and fear a stranger.
Then sail with me on the sunny sea,
The morn is gay and glowing,
The heav'ns are bright, our spirits light,
And the fav'ring breeze is blowing. etc.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
135.
MY HEART IS WITH ITS EARLY DREAM.
My heart is with its early dream
It cannot turn away,
To seek again the hopes of youth,
Or mingle with the gay,
The dew-nurs'd flow'r that lifts its head,
Beneath the moon's pale light,
Must wither when the sunbeams shed,
Their too resplendent light.
My heart is with its early dream,
And vainly love's soft power,
May seek to change this heart anew,
In an unguarded hour.
I would not that some gentle one,
Should hear my frequent sigh,
The deer that bears its death-wound, turns
In loneliness to die.
OUR YANKEE GIRLS.
The gay grissette whose fingers touch,
Love's thousand chords so well,
The fond Italian loving much,
But more than one can tell.
The fond Italian loving much,
But more than one can tell.
And England's fair-hair'd, blue-eyed dame,
Who binds her brow with pearls,
Ye who have seen them, can they shame,
Our own dear Yankee girls.
Our own dear Yankee girls,
Our own, our own, our own dear Yankee gi
Our own dear Yankee girls,
Our own dear Yankee girls.
Oh! no, no, no, they ne'er can shame,
Our own dear Yankee girls,
Our own dear Yankee girls,
Oh no, no, no, they ne'er can shame,
Our own dear Yankee girls,
Our Yankee girls, our Yankee girls,
Our own, our own dear Yankee girls.
196
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
And what if court or castle vaunt,
Its children loftier born,
Who heeds the silken tassel's flaunt,
Beside the golden corn?
Who heeds the silken tassel's flaunt,
Beside the golden corn?
They ask not for the courtly toil
Of jewelled knights and earls,
The daughters of the virgin soil!
Our freeborn Yankee girls!
Our freeborn Yankee girls,
Our own, our own, our freeborn Yankee girls,
Our own dear Yankee girls,
Our own dear Yankee girls,
The daughters of the virgin soil,
Our freeborn Yankee girls.
Our own dear Yankee girls,
The daughters of the virgin soil,
Our freeborn Yankee girls,
Our Yankee girls, our Yankee girls,
Our own, our own dear Yankee girls.
By ev'ry hill whose stately pines,
Wave their dark arms above,
The home where some fair being shines,
To warm the wilds with love.
The home where some fair being shines,
To warm the wilds with love.
From barest rock to bleakest shore,
Where farthest sail unfurls,
That STARS and STRIPES are floating o'er,
God bless our Yankee girls.
God bless our Yankee girls,
Our own, our own, our own dear Yankee girls.
Our own dear Yankee girls,
Our own dear Yankee girls,
Where stars and stripes are floating o'ef,
God bless our Yankee girls,
Our own dear Yankee girls,
Where stars and stripes are floating o'er,
God bless our Yankee girls.
Our Yankee girls, our Yankee girls,
God bless our own dear Yankee girls.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
137
ALL THE WORLD IS SCHEMING.
Oh! times are really very hard,
There's little cash about now,
Tho' 'tis not that, that I regard,
If I could make it out now.
What causes such a panic, I
To think of have been dreaming,
And would you guess the reason why?
'Tis all mankind are scheming.
With plans your purse to renovate,
The papers all are teeming,
So now's the time to speculate,
For all the world are scheming.
There's one thing though, that puzzles me,
You'll own it is surprising,
A joint stock banking company,
We here and there see rising.
That folks have money 'twould denote,
Tho' I am more for thinking,
What they call "capital afloat,"
Is capital a sinking.
A SOLDIER'S LIFE.
A soldier's life has seen of strife,
In all its forms, so much,
That no gentler theme the world will deem,
A soldier's heart can touch.
In peace or war, in hall or bower,
His heart is still the same,
And on the wings of fame will soar,
The daring soldier's name.
But tell him how some comrade fell,
Upon the battle-field,
You'll see the soldier's bosom swell,
Beneath its iron shield.
In peace or war, in hall or bower,
His heart is still the same,
.
And on the wings of fame will soar,
The daring soldier's name.
:
138
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THE WOUND UPON THY ARM.
The wound upon thy arm,
Whose mark through life will be,
In saving thee from greater harm,
Was there transfix'd by me.
Ere on thy gentle head,
Thy sixth sun had its radiance shed,
A wild deer who had lain at bay,
Pursued by hunters, cross'd the way;
By slaying him I rescued thee,
And in his death-throes' agony,
Thy gentle form by his antler gored,
This humble arm to thy home restored.
Thus, the wound upon thy arm,
Whose mark through life will be,
In saving thee from greater harm,
Was there transfix'd by me.
NE'ER LET THE HEART FOR SORROWS GRIEVE.
Ne'er let the heart for sorrows grieve,
With which the bosom hath ceased to heave;
Ne'er let us think of the tempest past,
If we reach the haven at last.
Ne'er let the heart for sorrows grieve,
With which the bosom hath ceased to heave,
If we reach the haven, the haven at last,
If we reach the haven at last,
The haven at last, last.
GIPSIES' CHORUS.
Come with the gipsy bride,
And repair
To the fair,
Where the mazy dance,
Will the hours entrance.
In the gipsy's life you read,
The life that all would like to lead.
In the gipsy's life you read,
The life that all would like to lead.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
139
OUR FLAG IS THERE.
Where spicy winds kiss eastern shores,
And fervid sunbeams glare,
Where mighty Ganges onward roars,
Our flag is there, huzza! our flag is there!
Where Hecla belches out its fires,
Upon the trembling air,
And tinges ranks of icy spires,
Our flag is there, huzza! our flag is there!
Our flag is there, huzza! our flag is there!
Lo! where the ocean's surgy wave,
Drinks in the lightning's glare,
And mocks the thunder-bolts that rave,
Our flag is there, huzza! our flag is there!
Look north, and south, and east, and west,
Its stripes float in the air,
Reflected from the water's breast,
Our flag is there, huzza! our flag is there!
Where booming cannon tell the world,
What perils freemen dare,
What gallant sign is that unfurl'd?
Our flag is there, huzza! our flag is there!
Where states are bound in union strong,
And glad songs fill the air,
1
The land by freedom cherish'd long,
Our flag is there, huzza! our flag is there!
OH! SAY NOT FAREWELL.
Oh! say not farewell, there is grief in the word,
That hangs o'er my heart like a cloud-darken'd sky;
'Tis like taking the nest from the storm-stricken bird,
And leaving it lone mid the tempest to die.
Oh! say not farewell, let the joys that are past,
Endear thee as erst to the heart that is true;
'Twere cruel a cloud o'er the sunshine to cast,
Or sever the tendrils which bind me to you.
140
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
STRIKE THE HARP COLUMBIA.
Strike the harp, Columbia, Columbia, Columbia,、
Thy hero has triumph'd, thy eagle's on the sea;
And glory is sounding, sounding. sounding,
The praise of thy chieftain, of freedom and thee.
The foe they are silent, silent, silent,
The foe they are silent, forever and aye,
But the soul of thy hero, hero, hero,
Is glowing in millions of freemen to-day.
Strike the harp, Columbia, Columbia, Columbia,
Thy warriors are round thee still fearless and free ;
Their hearts they are burning, burning, burning,
To conquer or die, Columbia for thee.
Wreath the harp, Columbia, Columbia, Columbia,
O bright in its verdure the garland shall be,
O'er the chords that are glist'ning, glist'ning, glist'nin
With tears for the chief who has parted from thee.
From the battle he's resting, resting, resting,
From the battle he's resting, but dwells not alone,
Then weep not my country, my country, my country,
Thy chief's where the mighty before him have gon
Strike the harp, Columbia, Columbia, Columbia,
From the face of the foemen thy son's shall never flee
But bear o'er the ocean, the ocean, the ocean,
The fame of thy hero, thy eagle, and thee.
:
OH! WERE I NOW THE MOUNTAIN BOY.
Oh. were I now the mountain boy,
I ne'er should think of love and thee,
But now, alas! those days of joy,
Are past, are past to hapless me:
Yet still, ah! yes, there is a smile,
Oft plays o'er that sweet face of thine,
Which when I see, dispels awhile,
The sorrow of this heart of mine.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
141
Amid surrounding forms that throng,
I've gazed to find one vision'd thee;
But no, I could not trace among,
One half so fair as thee to me.
That fatal glance where softly beams,
A secret charm enchanting all;
'Tis mine to vainly think there gleams,
A love I dare not now recal.
My gentle lute, with sweetest tone,
Shall sigh what words may not reveal,
To her whose beauty's not outshone,
The thoughts that I must now conceal.
And as the soft strains die away,
Which tell my ceaseless love to thee,
Let one last fleeting echo say,
Forget, ah! no, forget not me.
DAME DURDEN.
Dame Durden had five serving maids,
To carry the milking pail,
She also had five serving men,
To manage the spade and flail.
There was Moll and Kate, and Doll and Bet,
And Dorothy Draggletail,
And Joe and Jack, and Tom and Dick,
And Humphrey with his flail.
There was Joe kiss'd Molly, and Jack kiss'd Kate,
And Dick kiss'd Dolly, and Tom kiss'd Bet,
And Humphrey with his flail kiss'd Dorothy Draggletail,
And Katy was a charming maid to carry the milking pail.
And Katy was a charming maid to carry the milking pail
'Twas on the morn of Valentine,
The birds began to prate,
Dame Durden's servants, maids and men,
They all began to mate.
Chorus.
Dame Durden, in the morn so soon,
She did begin to call,
To rouse her serving men and maids.
Most loudly she did bawl.
Chorus.
142
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THE WHITE SQUALL.
The sea was bright and the bark rode well,
The breeze bore the tone of the vesper bell,
'Twas a gallant bark with a crew as brave,
As ever launch'd on the heaving wave,
As ever launch'd on the heaving wave.
She shone in the light of declining day,
And each sail was set and each heart was gay,
She shone in the light of declining day,
And each sail was set and each heart was gay.
And each heart was gay.
They near'd the land where in beauty smiles,
The sunny shore of the Grecian Isles,
All thought of home, o' that welcome dear,
Which soon should greet each wand'rer's ear,
Which soon should greet each wand'rer's ear
And in fancy join'd the social throng,
In the festive dance and the joyous song.
And in fancy join'd the social throng,
In the festive dance and the joyous song.
And the joyous song.
A white cloud glides through the azure sky,
What means that wild despairing cry?
Farewell the vision'd scenes of home,
Farewell the vision'd scenes of home,
That cry is help, where no help can come,
That cry is help, where no help can come.
Farewell the vision'd scenes of home,
Farewell the vision'd scenes of home.
For the white squall rides on the surging wave,
And the bark is gulph'd in an ocean's grave,
For the white squall rides on the surging wave,
And the bark is gulph'd in an ocean's grave.
For the white squall rides on the surging wave,
And the bark is gulph'd in an ocean's grave.
For the white squall rides on the surging wave,
And the bark is gulph'd in an ocean's grave.
In an ocean's grave. In an ocean's grave.

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
143
TEA IN THE ARBOUR.
What pleasure folks feel when they live out of town,
In the culture of turnips and flowers,
And getting a friend now and then to come down,
To look at their walks and their bowers:
And such is the taste of some dear friends of mine,
Mister, Mistress, and Miss Mary Barber,
Who will oft have me come to their villa to dine,
And then to take tea in the arbour;
Where there are sweet billies and daffydowndillies,
Perfumes like the shop of a barber;
And roses and posies to scent up your noses,
Then come and take tea in the arbour.
As oft as I can I decline their invite,
For of rural delights I'm no lover;
Of insects and reptiles I can't bear the sight,
Oh! they e'er make me shudder all over:
And when I went there a great frog made me jump,
Which was excellent fun to Miss Barber,
Then there was a long catterpillar fell plump,
In my first cup of tea in the arbour.
Sweet billies and lillies, &c.
Of little green flies on my dress came a host,
And a bee put me all in a flutter;
A great daddy-long-legs stuck fast on my toast,
And left one of his limbs in the butter:
On the sugar six blue-bottles sat hob-a-nob,
And while I discoursed with old Barber,
From above a black spider swung hibbity-bob
In my chops, as I sat in the arbour.
Sweet billies and lillies, &c.
In the fields at our back, boys were shooting at crows,
And a shot coming through, I was wounded,
To expostulate with them of course I arose,
And I climb'd up the palings that bounded:
When behold my nankeens were bedaub'd and crossbar'd
"O I ought to be flogg'd," said old Barber,
"I neglected to tell you the palings were tarr'd,
"When I ask'd you to tea in the arbour."
Sweet billies and lillies &c.
144
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
Then I happen'd to tread where a man-trap was set,
Which snapping, my leg held fast in, sirs,
And ere I got out it came on heavy wet,
And soon I was soak'd to the skin, sirs:
In rather bad temper I homewards did jog,
And next morning I wrote to Miss Barber,
That squash'd in my pocket I found the great frog,
Which had frighten'd me first in the arbour.
And though there be lillies and daffydowndillies,
Said I in my note to Miss Barber,
And roses perfuming, excuse me from coming
Again to take tea in the arbour.
THE BEE GUM.
I guess you don' know how old massa do,
When him send nigger Bob to hoe corn an' tater;
He hab a long whip, an' he gib a strong clip,
An' he no let him go to hunt alligator;
But guess he hab he fun when he git a rifle-gun,
He no ax de odds of any nigger nabob;
He hunt de big raccon, by de sunshine ob de moon,
Den don't hang a lip, but laugh and grin away, Bob.
Bob went toder day, when de sun gone away,
And he hunt, an' he hunt all around de plantation;
He see'd in a tree some bery, bery fine bee-gum,
An' he tought if he cotch him, be a wonder to de nation.
So he creep'd into the hollow, an' den he gan to swaller.
De honey as fas' as de ting-bee would let him;
Intil so much he eat dat he could not move he feet,
An' he tuck so fas' dat nothing out could get him.
ob tuck de whole day thro', an' he no know what to do,
At las' de night come on, oh la, how he bodder;
At las' a hungry bear, tought honey must be dare,
An' so he tought he crep in to eat mid he brodder.
Bob tuck him by de skin as de bear was comin' in,
An' he pull, an' he pull till down de hollow tree come,
When nigger Bob cum out an' run like nigger mought,
An' de bear tought he cotch de debil in a beegum.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
145
ROCKAWAY.
On old Long Island's sea-girt shore,
Many an hour I've whil'd away,
In list'ning to the breakers' roar,
That wash the beach at Rockaway.
On old Long Island's sea-girt shore,
Many an hour I've whil'd away,
In list'ning to the breakers' roar,
That wash the beach at Rockaway.
Transfix'd I've stood while nature's lyre,
In one harmonious concert broke,
And catching its promethean fire,
My inmost soul to rapture woke.
Oh! on Long Island's sea-girt shore,
Many an hour I've whil'd away,
In list'ning to the breakers' roar,
That wash the beach at Rockaway.
Oh! how delightful 'tis to stroll,
Where murm'ring winds and waters meet,
Marking the billows as they roll,
And break resistless at your feet.
To watch young Iris as she dips
Her mantle in the sparkling dew,
And chas'd by Sol, away she trips,
O'er the horizon's quiv'ring blue.
Oh! on Long Island's sea-girt shore,
Many an hour I've whil'd away,
In list'ning to the breakers' roar,
That wash the beach at Rockaway.
To hear the startling night winds sigh,
As dreamy twilight lulls to sleep,
While the pale moon reflects from high,
Her image in the mighty deep.
Majestic scene where nature dwells,
Profound in everlasting love,
While her unmeasur'd music swells,
The vaulted firmament above.
Oh! on Long Island's sea-girt shore,
Many an hour I've whil'd away,
In list'ning to the breakers' roar,
That wash the beach at Rockaway.
}
146
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
SOME LOVE TO ROAM.
Some love to roam o'er the dark sea foam,
Where the shrill winds whistle free,
But a chosen band in a mountain land,
And a life in the woods for me;
Where the shrill winds whistle free;
But a chosen band in a mountain land,
And a life in the woods for me.
When morning beams o'er the mountain streams,
Oh merrily forth we go,
To follow the stag to his slippery crag,
And to chase the bounding roe,
To follow the stag to his slippery crag,
And to chase the bounding roe,
Ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho
Ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho,
Some love to roam o'er the dark sea foam,
Where the shrill winds whistle free,
But a chosen band in a mountain land,
And a life in the woods for me,
And a life in the woods for me,
And a life in the woods for me.
The deer we mark through the forest dark,
And the prowling wolf we track,
And for right good cheer in the wild wood here,
Oh why should a hunter lack.
And the prowling wolf we track,
And for right good cheer in the wild wood here
Oh why should a hunter lack.
For with steady aim at the bounding game,
And hearts that fear no foe,
To the darksome glade in the forest shade,
Oh merrily forth we go.
To the darksome glade in the forest shade,
Oh merrily forth we go.
Ho ho ho, etc.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
147
1
OH! FOR SHAME, LITTLE CUPID.
You may laugh pretty boy as you will,
You may peep through your tresses of gold,
You may lurk 'mong the lads of the mill,
But you're known, little urchin, of old,
But you're known little urchin, of old.
I've a list of your friends who would fain make amends,
For the dances you've led them, 'tis true;
Who collected his darts to destroy worthy hearts?
Oh for shame, little Cupid, 'twas you,
Oh! for shame, little Cupid, 'twas you.
You are sly and deceitful, you know,
As are some of the victims you make,
You amuse, while you level your bow,
Such amusement you'll never forsake,
Such amusement you'll never forsake.
I would ask if you know, who with steps faint and slow,
For the widow's compassion did sue,
Pleading hunger and cold, to betray, I am told,
Oh! for shame, little Cupid, 'twas you,
Oh! for shame, little Cupid, 'twas you.
IN THE DAYS WHEN WE WENT GIPSYING.
In the days when we went gipsying,
A long time ago,
The lads and lasses in their best
Were dress'd from top to toe :
We danc'd and sung the jocund song,
Upon the forest green,
And naught but mirth and jollity,
Around us could be seen.
And thus we pass'd the pleasant time,
Nor thought of care or woe,
In the days when we went gipsying,
A long time ago,
In the days when we went gipsying,
A long time ago.
148
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
All hearts were light and eyes were bright,
While nature's face was gay;
The trees their leafy branches spread,
And perfume fill'd sweet May:
'Twas there we heard the cuckoo's note,
Steal softly through the air,
While every thing around us look'd
Most beautiful and fair.
And thus we pass'd, etc.
We fill'd a glass to ev'ry lass,
And friends we lov'd most dear,
And wish'd them many happy days,
And many a happy year;
To friends away we turn'd our thoughts,
With feelings kind and free,
And oh we wish'd them with us there,
Beneath the forest tree.
And thus we pass'd, etc.
A LIFE IN THE WEST.
Oh! brothers come hither and list to my story,
Merry and brief will the narrative be,
Here like a monarch I reign in my glory,
Master am I, boys, of all that I see.
Where once frown'd the forest, a garden is smiling,
The meadows and moorlands are marshes no more;
And there curls the smoke of my cottage, beguiling
The children who cluster like grapes at the door.
Then enter boys, cheerly boys, enter and rest,
The land of the heart is the land of the west.
Oh ho, boys, oh ho, boys, oh ho, boys, oh ho.
Talk not of the town, boys, give me the broad prairie,
Where man like the wind roams impulsive and free;
Behold how its beautiful colours all vary,
Like those of the clouds or the deep rolling sea.
A life in the woods, boys, is even as changing,
With proud independence we season our cheer,
And those who the world are for happiness ranging,
Wont find it at all, if they don't find it here.

SINGER'S SOUVENIR
149
Here, brothers, secure from all turmoil and danger,
We reap what we sow, for the soil is our own;
We spread hospitality's board for the stranger,
And care not a fig for the king on his throne.
We never know want for we live by our labor,
And in it contentment and happiness find;
We do what we can for a friend or a neighbor,
And die, boys, in peace and good-will to mankind.
MY BOYHOOD'S HOME.
My boyhood's home! I see thy hills,
I see thy valleys' changeful green,
And manhood's eye a tear-drop fills,
Tho' years have roll'd since thee I've seen,
Tho' years have roll'd since thee I've seen.
My boyhood's home! I see thy hills,
I see thy valley's changeful green,
And manhood's eye a tear-drop fills, a tear-drop fills,
Tho' years have roll'd since thee I've seen,
Tho' years have roll'd since thee I've seen.
My boyhood's home, my native home,
My boyhood's, boyhood's home.
I come to thee from war's dread school,
A warrior stern o'er thee to rule;
But while I gaze on each lov'd plain,
I feel, I feel I am a boy again.
To the war-steed adieu, to the trumpet farewell,
To the pomp of the palace, the proud gilded dome;
For the green scenes of childhood I bid ye farewell,
The warrior returns to his boyhood's lov'd home,
For the green scenes of childhood I bid ye farewell,
The warrior returns to his boyhood's lov'd home,
His lov'd native home, to his lov'd native home,
Returns to his lov'd native home.
My boyhood's home! I see thy hills,
I see thy valleys' changeful green,
And manhood's eye a tear-drop fills, a tear-drop fills,
Tho' years have roll'd since thee I've seen,
Tho' years have roll'd since thee I've seen.
My boyhood's home, my native home!
My boyhood's, boyhood's home.
150
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
NEAR THE LAKE WHERE DROOP'D THE WILLOW
Near the lake where droop'd the willow,
Long time ago,
Where the rock threw back the billow,
Brighter than snow,
Dwelt a maid belov'd and cherish'd,
By high and low,
But with autumn's leaf she perish'd,
Long time ago.
Rock and tree and flowing water,
Long time ago,
Bird and bee and blossom taught her,
Love's spell to know.
While to my fond words she listen'd,
Murmuring low,
Tenderly her dove-eyes glisten'd,
Long time ago.
Mingled were our hearts forever,
Long time ago,
Can I now forget her? never!
No, lost one, no!
To her grave these tears are given,
Ever to flow,
She's the star I miss'd from heaven,
Long time ago.
LEDDER BREECHES.
Richmond town, dat place ob renown,
Old Pompey sold hot and cold wittles;
His fame had spread, like hot butter bread,
So clean did he scour up his kittles.
Himself an he wife bofe work tro dar life,
On week-days he work in de ditches,
On Sunday him dress in he eb'ry day bess,
But him pride was his old ledder breeches.
Success to Pompey, case he was a cook,
Ob de real old Warginny breed, sehs,
Dey found him in de cotton field,
Among de backar seed sehs.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
151
For forty long year, so it does appear,
His fadder dese breeches hab ware um,
His heel was so long, an de ledder so strong,
Dat debbil de bit had he tear um.
Advice he did gib as long as he lib,
Sez he, Pomp, took care o' your riches,
'Tis not any use to jump in my shoes,
But I wish dat you'd jump into my breeches.
De las winter's snow leff provisions so low,
Dat de corn ris all ober de nation,
De snow comin down him no get to town,
Poor Pomp tink him die wid starvation.
One night as he lay a dreamin away,
'Bout coons, possums, bulldogs, and witches,
He heard an uproar jis outside de door,
Den he jump right bang into his breeches.
By de Jeehossyfat, what rumpus am dat?
Cried Pompey, who look'd out in wonder;
Sez big Isham Moore, jis open dis door,
Or I'll bust it open for ye, by thunder.
He scarcely had spoke, as de door went in broke,
And de niggs crowd around him like leeches,
Sez dey make us soup for to feed de whole troop,
Or we'll eat you clean out ob your breeches.
Now more scar'd dan hurt, Pomp pull off his shirt,
Den hid in de straw bed widout it,
While dar he agreed to gib dem a feed,
If dey'd leff, an say no more about it.
Den his ole trowseloon was cut up so soon,
He ripped off de buttons and stitches,
De fire was hot, dey went bang in de pot,
And he boil'd um his old ledder breeches.
Dey all eat de stuff, some thought it was tough,
Sez Pompey, you're no judge ob mutton;
When old Tony Work on de pint ob his fork,
Held up a big ibory button!
Sez Tony, whats dat? Gosh, I thought it was fat
Isham jumps on his legs an he screeches;
By de jumpin jingo, I'be tried all I know,
To shove my tuth through his old breeches.
152
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
For Pomp dey look roun he was not to be foun,
He run when he seen dem all risin;
Sez old Gumbo Tugg, go fetch Doctor Drugg,
For I'm shoar we all taken pizin.
Revenge for de joke dey had, for dey broke,
All de stools, tables, benches an dishes,
From dat berry night dey'll knock out your light,
If dey cotch you wear'n old ledder breeches.
WILL NOBODY MARRY ME?
Heigh ho! for a husband! heigh ho!
There's danger, in longer delay!
Shall I never again have a beau ?
Will nobody marry me, pray?
I begin to feel strange, I declare,
With beauty my prospects will fade,
I'd give myself up to despair,
If I thought I should die an old maid!
Heigh ho! for a husband! heìgh ho!
Will nobody marry me, say?
Will nobody? nobody? No,
Will nobody? nobody? No
I once cut the beaus in a huff,
I thought it a sin and a shame,
That no one had spirit enough,
To ask me to alter my name!
So I turn'd up my nose at the short,
And roll'd up my eyes at the tall;
But then I just did it in sport,
And now I've no lover at all!
Heigh ho! for a husband! heigh ho! &c.
These men are the plague of my life!
+
'Tis hard from so many to choose!
Should any one wish for a wife,
Could I have the heart to refuse ?
I don't know, for none have proposed ;
Oh dear me, I'm frighten'd, I vow
Good gracious! who ever supposed,
That I should be single till now
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
153
AMUSEMENTS OF THE CITY.
As rhyming's the rage, a song I will try,
All the world's telling something and why should not I?
In my daily walks through the various streets,
I've taken note of the things that I meet.
I read all the bills as I pass through the throng,
And I think I can work them up into a song.
To ev'ry one, whether foolish or witty,
There's a fund of amusement to be met in the city.
This house and lot to be let upon lease,
Daguerreotypes taken at one fifty a piece,
The whole of this stock selling under cost,
A child three years old was yesterday lost!
Stock for sale in the Wild Cat Bank,
A volume of poems by a lady of rank.
To ev'ry one, &c.
Dr. Bond, Physician, ring the bell,
Leghorns hot-pressed, straw bonnets cleaned well,
Swaim's panacea, for the cure of all ills:
Also Dr. Brandreth's vegetable pills,
And if you're sick and naught else will heal you,
Just take a steam bath, and a dose of lobelia.
1
To ev'ry one, &c.
Five hundred dollars by way of a fine,
To produce a blacking equal to mine;
And if you want rain for your wheat and corn,
Dr. Espy's the man to raise a storm.
Important news by the last night's mail,
Bologna sausages and fine Scotch ale.
To ev'ry one, &c.
Double X ale and fine new beer,
The piano forte and guitar taught here,
Mineral water and fine ice cream,
A frigate is building to go by steam.
Clams and oysters dished up well,
Stewed, fried, roasted, or in the shell.
And I think you'll agree, whether foolish or witty,
There's a fund of amusement to be met in the city.
154
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
O'ER THE WATERS BY MOONLIGHT.
O'er the waters by moonlight, our bark gaily rides,
For soft are the breezes, and smooth are the tides,
Whilst the murmuring billows glide lightly along,
And mingle their sounds with the mariner's song:
Whilst murmuring billows glide lightly along,
And mingle their notes with the mariner's song.
Roll onward, ye waters, ye breezes awake,
I love not, in ocean, the calm of the lake;
The wild tempest lashing the spray of the sea,
O'er the mast of my vessel, is dearer to me :
Oh! rather than linger where light breezes roam,
Come the roar of the tempest, the dash of the foar^.
WIDOW MACHREE,
Widow Machree 'tis no wonder you frown,
Och hone! Widow Machree!
Faith it ruins your looks, that same dirty black gown.
Och hone: Widow Machree.
How alter'd your air,
With that close cap you wear,
'Tis destroying your hair,
That should be flowing free;
Be no longer a churl,
Of its black silken curl,
Och hone! Widow Machree.
Widow Machree, now the summer is come,
Och hone! Widow Machree,
When ev'ry thing smiles, should a beauty look glum?
Och hone! Widow Machree.
See the birds go in pairs,
And the rabbits and hares,
Why even the bears
Now in couples agree;
And the mute little fish,
Tho' they can't spake, they wish,
Och hone! Widow Machree.
SINGER'S SOUVENIK.
155
Widow Machree, and when winter comes in,
Och hone! Widow Machree,
To be poking the fire all alone, is a sin,
Och hone! Widow Machree.
Why the shovel and tongs,
To each other belongs,
And the kittle sings songs
Full of family glee;
While alone with your cup,
Like a hermit you sup,
Och hone! Widow Machree.
And how do you know, with the comforts I've towld,
Och hone! Widow Machree.
But you're keeping some poor fellow out in the cowld,
Och hone! Widow Machree.
With such sins on your head,
Sure your peace would be fled,
Could you sleep in your bed,
Without thinking to see,
Some ghost or some sprite,
That would wake you each night,
Crying Och hone! Widow Machree!"
Then take my advice, darling Widow Machree,
Och hone! Widow Machree,
And with my advice, faith, I wish you'd take me,
Och hone! Widow Machree.
You'd have me then to desire,
To stir up the fire;
And sure Hope is no liar,
In whispering to me,
That the ghosts would depart,
When you'd me near your heart,
Och hone! Widow Machree.
WALK ALONG JOHN.
All de way from ole Car’lina,
For to see my ole Aunt Dinah,
Says I ole lady how's de goose,
De jay bird jump on de martin's roost.
Walk along John, de fifer's son,
Aint you glad your day's work's done.
16
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
Went behind her house on my knees,
I tink I hear de gobbler sneeze,
De gobbler jump on de pumkin vine,
De goose chaw backer, de duck drink wine.
Walk along John, etc.
Milk in de dairy nine days old,
De rats an skippers gettin mitey bold,
Long tail rat in a pail of souse,
Just come down from white man's house.
Get along John, etc.
Ginny nigger raised a hog,
He make his canoe of de log,
He put his canoe in de water,
Go your death, I see your dauter.
Go along John, etc.
I hadn't seen her haf a day,
Till my distresses I did pay,
Shy at fust but soon got larkin,
De Ginny gals am deth on sparkin.
Get along John, etc.
Massa sent me out a singin,
Dat was de fust ob my beginnin;
I shake de dubble simonquivers,
And bust de banjo all to slivers.
Walk along John, etc.
'ALAS! THE DAYS ARE GONE.
Alas! the days are gone
When my bosom's dreams were glad,
I've lost my only love,
And my stricken heart is sad.
I've lost my only love,
My own adored true love,
The stars of night were not more bright,
Than the eyes of my true love.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
157
When mildly set the sun,
Behind the orange grove,
And my daily work was done,
I sought my own true love.
My own adored true love,
My purest, best true love,
An angel's voice could not rejoice
My soul like my true love.
She was constant as the sun,
Her heart could never rove;
Death's glance was fixed upon
The face of my true love.
My own adored true love,
My purest, best true love,
My heart will break for thy dear sake,
And join thee, my true love.
Above the lowly bier,
The blooming flowrets wave,
And many a burning tear,
I've shed upon the grave,
Which holds my own true love,
My purest, best true love,
Oh! how I sigh to calmly lie,
By thee, my own true love.
!
'TIS LONE ON THE WATERS.
'Tis lone on the waters, when eve's mournful bell,
Sends forth to the sunset a note of farewell,
When, borne with the shadows and winds as they sweep,
There comes a fond memory of home o'er the deep!
Of home o'er the deep, of home o'er the deep,
There comes a fond memory of home o'er the deep.
When the wing of the seabird is turn'd to her nest,
And the heart of the sailor to all he love's best.
'Tis lone on the waters, that hour hath a spell,
To bring back sweet voices, and words of farewell!
And words of farewell, and words of farewell,
To bring sweet voices, and words of farewell,
158
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THE MISSLETOE BOUGH.
The missletoe hung in the castle hall,
The holy branch shone on the old oak wall,
And the baron's retainers were blithe and gay,
And keeping their Christmas holiday:
The baron beheld with a father's pride,
His beautiful child young Lovell's bride;
While she with her bright eyes, seem'd to be,
The star of the goodly company.
Oh! the missletoe bough! oh! the missletoe bough!
"I'm weary of dancing, now," she cried,
"Here tarry a moment, I'll hide, I'll hide!
"And Lovell be sure thou'rt the first to trace,
"The clue to my secret lurking place:"
Away she ran, and her friends began,
Each tower to search, each nook to scan;
And young Lovell cried, "oh! where dost thou hide
"I'm lonesome without thee, my own dear bride."
Oh! the missletoe bough! oh! the missletoe bough!
They sought her that night, and they sought her next day,
And they sought her in vain when a week pass'd away;
In the highest, the lowest, the loneliest spot,
Young Lovell sought wildly, but found her not!
And years flew by, and their grief at last,
Was told as a sorrowful tale long past:
And when Lovell appear'd, the children cried,
"See! the old man weeps for his fairy bride!”
Oh! the missletoe bough! oh! the missletoe bough!
At length an oak chest that had long lain hid,
Was found in the castle,-they rais'd the lid,
And a skeleton form lay mould'ring there,
In the bridal wreath of the lady fair!
Oh! sad was her fate! in sportive jest,
She hid from her lord in the old oak chest ;
It clos'd with a spring! and her bridal bloom,
Lay withering there in a living tomb!
Oh! the missletoe bough! oh! the missletoe bough!
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
159
THE LADIES' MAN.
Now ladies, don't get angry,
Because I am so candid,
If I were once to marry,
A fool I would be branded.
I'm mod'rate in my wishes,
I ask not wealth nor beauty,
But to a splendid fortune,
I think I'd do my duty.
Then ladies don't get angry,
Because I am so candid,
If I were once to marry,
A fool I would be branded,
There's Miss Cornelia Languish,
She thinks my coolness vicious;
And then the Widow Flimsy,
Says I'm quite delicious.
The tradesman's lovely daughters,
Are edging round me, I know,
But then their labor's useless,
For they've not got the rhino.
Then ladies don't get angry, &c.
My station at the opera,
Is just where all can see me ;
And sometimes in the lobby,
I lounge about quite dreamy.
I'm all perfume and languish,
Cologne, lavande and roses,
If ladies' eyes don't greet me,
I'm sure to please their noses..
Then ladies don't get angry, &c.
My mostache and imperial,
Are always smooth and comely;
I cannot bear those soap-locks,
They're vulgar, uncouth, homely.
My form's a perfect model,
The Belvidere Appollo's;
You'll find me in the market,
I'm worth my weight in dollaas.
Then ladies don't get angry, &c.
160
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
DANDY JIM OF CAROLINE.
I've often heard it said of late,
Dat South Car'lina was de state,
Where handsome niggas are bound to shine,
Like Dandy Jim from Caroline.
My old master told me O
I'se de best lookin nigger in de county, O,
I look'd in de glass and found it so,
Just what master tell me 0.
I dress'd myself from top to toe,
And down to Dinah I did go,
Whid my pantaloon strapp'd down behind,
Like Dandy Jim from Caroline.
My old massa, etc.
De bulldog chas'd me out de yard,
So I tought I'd better leave my card,
I tied it fast to a piece of twine,
Signed Dandy Jim of Caroline.
She got my card and wrote me a letter,
And ebery word she spelt de better,
For chery word and ebery line,
Was Dandy Jim from Caroline.
Beauty it is but skin deep,
But wid Miss Dinah more complete,
She changed her name from lubly Dine,
To Miss Dandy Jim from Caroline.
And ebery little nig she had,
Was de berry picture of his dad,
Dere heels stuck out three feet behind,
Like Dandy Jim from Caroline.
I took dem all to church one day,
And had dem christen'd without delay;
De preacher christen'd eight or nine,
Young Dandy Jims from Caroline.
Now when de preacher gave his text,
IIis mind seem somewhat sore perplex,
For nothing else came in his mind,
But Dandy Jim from Caroline.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
161
O FLY, LOVE, WITH ME.
O fly, love with me, o'er the still moonlit sea,
To a land where no tempests swell;
O tarry not here, on this earth chill and drear,
A world where the cold hearts dwell
O fly, love, with me,
O fly, O fly, O fly, love, with me
O fly, love, with me, I've a bower for thee,
Far, far from this home of care,
Where the only wail, is the sigh of the gale,
That melts in the balmy air
O fly, love, with me, &c.
Then come to my car, 'neath yon twinkling star,
A zephyr shall bear us away,
Haste, haste, love, and see, what joys wait for thee,
Why linger? ah! why delay?
O fly, love, with me, &c.
OH! CAST THAT SHADOW FROM THY BROW.
Oh! cast that shadow from thy brow,
My dark eyed love be glad awhile,
Has Leila's song no music now?
Is there no spell in Leila's smile?
There are wild roses in my hair,
And spring and morn are in their bloom,
But you have breathed their fragrant air,
As some cold vapor from the tomb!
I took my lute for one sad song,
I sang it though my heart was wrung,
The wild sad notes we've lov'd so long,
You never smil'd though Leila sung.
Nay, speak not now, it mocks my heart,
Ah! how can hope live when love is o'er?
I only know that we must part,
I only feel we meet no more.
La
I only know that we must part,
I only feel we meet no more.
162
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THE MINSTREL'S TEAR.
I've torn away the silver strings,
That grac'd my fav'rite lute;
No more to bliss my mem'ry clings,
The song of love is mute.
I gaze upon the gilded wreck,
Of what I strove to rear,
And feel a trickling on my cheek,
It is the minstrel's tear.
It is the minstrel's tear,
It is the minstrel's tear.
I scarcely dare to look upon,
That lute which told of love,
The eye that kindled ev'ry tone,
No longer bids it move.
It roves afar in wand'ring mood,
Unheeding of the sear,
That preys upon the breaking heart,
And forms the minstrel's tear.
Adieu, adieu my fav'rite lute,
Go seek some other lord,
But when he'd sing of bliss, be mute,
Ne'er sound the thrilling chord;
But would he sing a heart to move,
Thy master's fate revere,
Then hallow that sad tone of love,
Which caused the minstrel's tear.
MY COUSIN MARY BELL.
Her eyes are bright as morning beams,
First sparkling o'er the mountain streams,
The living image of my dreams,
Is Cousin Mary Bell.
The pretty Mary Bell,
The merry mountain belle;
A "lovely thing," the stranger deems,
My Cousin Mary Bell.

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
163
White as yon white cloud floating by,
Is Mary's brow, and nobly high,
Thy cheeks are like the evening sky,
My Cousin Mary Bell.
My blushing Mary Bell,
My laughing Mary Bell;
Thy ruddy lip allures the eye,
My Cousin Mary Bell.
Her form is tall, she moves along,
The queen among the maiden throng;
The text of many a suitor's song,
Is Cousin Mary Bell.
The pretty Mary Bell,
The witty Mary Bell;
Love grant that I may not be long,
From Cousin Mary Bell.
Her heart is pure as chrystal tide,
That gurgles from the mountain's side;
Her father's hope, her mother's pride,
Is Cousin Mary Bell.
The prudent Mary Bell,
The careful Mary Bell;
My love, and my affianced bride,
Is Cousin Mary Bell.
DERMOT ASTORE.
Oh! Dermot Astore! between waking and sleeping,
I heard thy dear voice, and I wept to its lay;
Ev'ry pulse of my heart the sweet measure was keeping,
'Till Killarney's wild echoes had borne it away.
Oh! tell me, my own love, is this our last meeting?
Shall we wander no more in Killarney's green bow'rs,
To watch the bright sun o'er the dim hills retreating,
And the wild stag at rest in his bed of spring flow'rs?
Oh! Dermot Astore! between waking and sleeping,
I heard thy dear voice, and I wept to its lay;
Ev'ry pulse of my heart, the sweet measure was keeping,
"Till Killarney's wild echoes had borne it away.
164
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
Oh! Dermot Astore! how this fond heart would flutter,
When I met thee by night in the shady boreen,
And heard thine own voice in a soft whisper utter,
Those words of endearment, "Mavourneen Colleen,"
I know we must part, but oh say not forever,
That it may be for years adds enough to my pain;
But I'll cling to the hope that tho' now we must sever,
In some blessed hour I shall meet thee again.
Oh Dermot Astore! between, &c.
THE INDIAN HUNTER.
Let me go to my home in the far distant West,
To the scenes of my childhood, that I love the best,
Where the tall cedars flourish, and bright waters flow,
Where my parents will greet me, white man let me go.
Where my parents will greet me, white man let me go.
Let me go to the hills and the valleys so fair,
Where I first breathed life in my own mountain air,
Where through the rough forest with quiver and bow,
I have follow'd the wild deer-oh! there let me go.
Let me go to the land where the cataract plays,
Where oft I have sported in earlier days,
Where dwells my poor mother, whose heart will o'erflow
At the sight of her lost one-oh! there let me go.
Let me go to my father, by whose valiant side,
I have sported so oft in the height of my pride,
And exulted to conquer the insolent foe,
To my father, the chieftain-oh! there let me go,
And oh! let me go to my dear dark-eyed maid,
Who first taught me to love neath the willow's cool shade,
Who bounds like a fawn, and is pure as the snow,
And who loves her dear Indian-to her let me go.
Oh! then, let me go to my fair forest home,
And never again will I venture to roam;
There, there let my body in ashes lie low,
To the land of my fathers-white man let me go,
I
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
165
MY PRETTY GAZELLE.
Come hither, my pretty gazelle,
With thy footsteps light and free;
There's a dimness in thine eye,
Since last I gaz’d on thee.
The airy bound of thy step is gone,
And hush'd is thy silver bell;
There's a silent sorrow in thy look,
Come hither, my pretty gazelle.
Then come hither, come hither, &c.
I love thee, my pretty gazelle,
For the hand that loved to deck,
And weave the cinnamon wreath,
Around thy tender neck.
She passed away like a summer cloud,
And, whither, the grave can tell;
And left the light of thine eye to glad
My sorrow, my pretty gazelle.
Then come hither, come hither, &c.
MY DARK EYED MAID.
My dark eyed maid within thy bower,
Alone thou'lt sit by moonlight hour;
Thy hand of snow will strew the ground,
With balmy leaves and blossoms round:
And oft two lips of flame will sigh,
"
Forgetful lover art thou nigh?”
Alas! for hopes by fate betray'd,
No lover, lover, seeks his dark eyed maid!
No lover, lover, seeks his dark eyed maid!
My dark eyed maid, then wilt thou weep,
And sigh and sob 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 by fate betray'd,
No lover seeks his dark eyed maid!
166
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
MY OWN ONE.
My own one! my own one!
Whom I have lov'd so well;
With thy raven hair and gentle smile,
And thy bright eyes' silent spell.
Oh! what is this cold world to us,
'Mid such a fate as ours?
A shadow o'er love's sunny path,
A blight on fancy's flow'rs
My own one! my own one!
When I woo'd with song and vow,
Though thy beauty woke my spirit's pride,
Thou wert not so dear as now.
I lov'd thee then, that others prais'd
The charms which I had won;
But now, when they forget to gaze,
'Tis for thyself alone!
My own one! my own one!
Though thy beauty may decay,
Still the flow'ry fetters round my heart,
Can ne'er be torn away;
Thine eye may lose its look of light,
Less lure the world may see,
But thou wilt still be fair and dear,
My own one! unto me.
OH, I COME NOT TO UPBRAID THEE.
Oh, I come not to upbraid thee,
Nor to woo thee am I here;
Tho' in peril I would aid thee,
Tho' in sorrow I would cheer;
Tho' 'tis thou I'd snatch from danger,
On its banks were thousands thrown,
Yet the vow of some mere stranger,
I would trust before thine own!
It will be a source of wonder,
When we part, I know it well,.
Why our hearts were torn asunder
Let thine own false accents tell;
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
167
Thou may'st say I did deceive thee,
Unprovoked I did renounce;
There are many will believe thee
E'en as I believed thee once!
I would peril life to save thee,
For no other do I live,
No, the love I freely gave thee
To no other can I give :
And with me all love was over,
When my first love proved a dream;
I have ceased to be thy lover;
Love could not survive esteem.
OH! LADY, SING AGAIN THAT SONG.
Oh! lady sing again that song,
Thou sang'st in earlier days;
Awake in men'ry all the past,
With thy enchanting lays.
Sing of fond moments that have fled,
Like sunshine o'er life's gloom;
Sing of the joys we both have seen
Aye, felt, alas! too soon.
Then wake that long neglected lav,
The cherish'd of an early day.
I would not now recal the past,.
Nor ask of thee the boon;
I would not so oppress the heart,
Could memory fade so soon.
In other lands I've wander'd far,
On me bright eyes have. shone ;
But distance never added aught
But lustre to thine own.
The farther from my native land,
And thy bright smiles, I've strayed,
The farther from all that was dear,
I've laid my weary head,
Nor distance, nor the busy world,
With all its 'luring ways,
Could chase fond memory from my sight
Of those and other days.
168
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
DE WILD GOOSE NATION.
Away down south in de wild goose nation,
I fust cum to life mong de rest ob creation;
Dar's where I used to hab de old times ober,
I'd go to bed dead drunk an get up sober;
I first begin to peep,
. An den I gin to creep,
In de year ob our Lord eighteen hundred fast asleep.
}
I trabble ober de groun till I got to Mississippi,
I set down upon a log an foun it rather slippy,
By de jumpin jingo, it was de sea sarpent
Come to scrape quaintance wid de fresh water varmint
His tuf begin to chattle,
An his tail gin to rattle,
An dat's a sure sign he was gwin to make battle.
I spose you all know for spunk I isn't lackin,
But when I'm gwine to fight den I wants good backin;
I jump on his back fore he know what I'se arter,
Guess de ole snake gin to tink he cotch a tartar.
Den I cotch im by de tail,
An we down de ribber sail,
An we leff a streak behind like a crooked fence rail.
He turn roun his head an swore he'd go no fudder,
Sez he I can swim well nuff widdout a rudder;
He gib a long dive down to Davy Jones' locker,
An leff me all alone out dar in de water;
An to end all de strife,
Now de way I saved my life,
I scull myseff ashore wid a big jack knife.
EVERY DAY BRINGS SOMETHING NEW.
A song I'll sing now, made for you,
And 'pon my life its all of it new,
But that there fack's no way surprisin'
When you see what new things always is a risin.'
Oh dear! oh! dear! what shall we do
Ev'ry day brings something new.
1
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
165
The new things all on the old encroaches,
The cars have driv off all the coaches,
The cabs is all round us, and what much wus is,
They're actilly hurtin' the omnibusses,
Oh! dear! oh! dear! &c.
Some folks now at Christmas wont eat the gobblers,
And you daresent now a long time drink brandy cobblers,
And the temperance folks goes werry much furder,
And to taste a glass of wine is downright murder.
In fact, some is so werry wise, sir,
They puts no brandy in their mince pies, sir,
And stead of tasting like they oughter,
Them pies is like rye meal and water,
Its a sin now to walk out of town on a Sunday,
And a werry great sin to laugh until Monday,
Girls dont go to church now, to see the young men, sir,
And the young men 'll never look at the girls again sir.
Oh dear! oh! dear! there's so many changes,
The world to me now so werry strange is,
That if these things dont pretty soon alter,
I'll beg a shillin' and buy a halter.
Oh! dear! oh! dear! that's what I'll do,
For every day brings something new.
THE ROSE OF TYRONE.
Oh! Norah, dear Norah, my own mountain maid,
I think of the time when in Erin's green isle,
We roamed through the valley and travers'd the glade,
And the light of my heart was thy own sunny smile.
Still, still I dream of former bliss,
And while fond thoughts around thee twine,
I take again the parting kiss,
And press the darling hand in mine.
Oh! Norah, dear, my own mountain maid,
Oh! Norah, dear, my own mountain maid.
170
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
*
But Norah, dear Norah, oh! why do you tell,
Your Regan to tarry thus year after year?
Tho' thinking and dreaming are all very well,
They can't last forever, my own Norah dear.
Then why should we be parted still,
And I be wand'ring far away,
When sure enough, your own sweet will,
Might fix at once the wedding day?
Oh! Norah, dear, my own, etc.
Oh! Norah, dear Norah, remember how soon,
The spring time of youth and of pleasure is past,
Oh! cease thus to trifle, and tell me aroon,
You'll marry your own faithful Regan at last.
Then soon I'll be at thy dear side,
Sweet Norah, darling of my heart,
And claim thee as my plighted bride,
No more from love and thee to part.
Oh! Norah dear, my own, etc.
I'M O'ER YOUNG TO MARRY YET.
I'm o'er young, I'm o'er young, I'm o'er young to marry
yet,
I'm o'er young, 'twould be a sin, to take me from my
mammy yet;
I am my maminy's ain bairn, nor of my hame am weary
yet,
And I would have ye learn lads, that ye for me must tarry
yet.
For I'm o'er young, I'm o'er young, I'm o'er young to
marry yet,
I'm o'er young, 'twould be a sin, to take me from my
mammy.yet.
I'm o'er young, I'm o'er young, I'm o'er young to marry
yet,
I'm o'er young, 'twould be a sin, to take me me from my
mammy yet;
I hae had my ain way, none dare to contradict me yet,
So soon to say I wad obey, in truth I dare not venture yet.
For I'm o'er young, &c.

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
171
THE MOUNTAIN BUGLE.
Cheerily thy bugle sounds,
When home returning o'er the lake;
Merrily my bosom bounds,
As each clear swell bids echo wake.
Joyousy I wing the note,
To tell thee that thy hunter's near;
Merrily I speed my boat,
Towards the home by thee made dear.
Dearest! for thee, thee only,
These mountain wilds are dear to me;
Each crag and valley lonely,
Is blest because 'tis lov'd by thee,
Sound, sound, sound, sound the merry, merry mountain
horn,
At evening's close and morning's rosy dawn.
Fearlessly thy footsteps roam,
Where snows hang on the dizzy steep;
Driving from its rocky home,
The echo of the hollow deep.
Merrily the wild stag bounds,
Until he feels the hunter's spear,
Cheerily the glen resounds,
With chorus and the hunter's cheer.
Dearest for thee, &c.
HARK! TO THE SONG OF THE MOUNTAINEER.
Hark! to the song of the mountaineer,
As homeward he wends his way,
The cloud-wooing crags give back the cheer,
That welcomes the close of day:
As he merrily shouts his mountain cry,
His heart leaps to its home,
'Mid the towering peaks that kiss the sky,
Proud nature's broad blue dome.
With his ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho,
Ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho, he sings his mountain cry
172
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
For now the toil of the day is done,
All danger he doth defy;
Till the quiv'ring rays of the morning sun,
With bright hues the snow caps dye.
Within yon lowly cabin now,
See that light-hearted throng;
And though the winds may rudely blow.
They sing their mountain song.
With their ho ho, &c.
Oh! the life, the life of the mountain child,
Is as free, as free as his ice robed hills,
The chase of the dark eyed chamois wild,
With joy his bosom fills.
At break of day, far, far away,
We track the snow-fields white,
And the spotless sheet our steps doth greet,
Till we hail the mists of night.
With our ho ho, &c.
"TWERE VAIN TO TELL THEE ALL I FEEL.
"Twere vain to tell thee all I feel,
Or say for thee I'd die,
Or say for thee I'd die ;
I find that words will but conceal,
What my soul would wish to sigh.
Ah! well-a day,
The sweetest melody,
Could never, never say,
One half my love for thee.
Then let me silently reveal
What my soul would wish to sigh
Thou'st often call'd my voice a bird's,
Whose music like a spell,
Whose music like a spell,
Could change to rapture e'en the words,
Of our slow and sad farewell!
But ah! well-a-day, &c.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
173
MARY OF ARGYLE.
I have heard the marvis singing
Ilis love song to the morn,
I have seen the dew-drop clinging
To the rose just newly born;
But a sweeter song has cheer'd me
At the evening's gentle close,
And I've seen an eye still brighter
Than the dew-drop on the rose:
'Twas thy voice, my gentle Mary,
And thine artless winning smile
That made this world an Eden,
Bonny Mary of Argyle.
Tho' thy voice may lose its sweetness,
And thine eye its brightness too,
Tho' thy step may lack its fleetness,
And thy hair its sunny hue ;
Still to me wilt thou be dearer
Than all the world shall own,
I have lov'd thee for thy beauty,
But not for that alone :
I have watch'd thy heart, dear Mary,
And its goodness was the wile,
That has made thee mine forever,
Bonny Mary of Argyle.
HOWEVER BRIGHT THE SEA TO NIGHT.
However bright
The sea to-night,
The treach'rous wave
Ingulphs the brave,
Ingulphs the brave,
Fathomless deep,
Where myriads sleep,
Where myriads sleep.
Trust not then that sea, though her wave of blue,
Be calm as the seamen could hope to view.
However bright
The sea to-night,
Trust not that sea, tho', her wave of blue,
Be calm as seamen e'er could hope to view
174
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
WE HAVE LIVED AND LOVED TOGETHER.
We have liv'd and lov'd together,
Thro' many changing years,
•
We have shared each other's gladness,
And wept each other's tears.
I have never known a sorrow,
That was long unsooth'd by thee,
That was long unsooth'd by thee,
For thy smile can make a summer,
Where winter else would be,
For thy smile can make a summer,
Where winter else would be.
Like the leaves that fall around us,
In autumn's fading hours,
Are the traitor smiles that darken,
When the cloud of sorrow low'rs.
And tho' many such we've known, love,
Too prone, alas! to range,
We both can speak of one, love,
Whom time could never change.
We have liv'd and lov'd together,
Thro' many changing years,
We have shared each other's gladness,
And wept each other's tears.
And let us hope, the future,
As the past has been will be,
I will share with thee thy sorrows
And thou thy joys with me.
THE YOUNG CORSAIR'S SONG.
A broad free track o'er the ocean waves,
And a home, and a home in a southern isle;
Where summer her delicate foot ever laves,
In the sea, in the sea made glad by her smile.
Blue eyes to look from a rock built bower,
Through, through the storm and the cloud for me
And a proud heart to beat in the tempest's roar,
As it throbs, as it throbs, with wild terrors for me.
As it throbs as it throbs with wild terrors for me.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
175
Stout hearts to follow in storm or calm,
The wanderer, the wanderer o'er the deep,
Whether we sail 'mid isles of palm,
Or where, or where the ice spirits sleep.
And a bosom of beauty o'erflowing with joy,
Like a foun o'er its bubbling spring,
·
To welcome it; own wild ocean boy,
With affection's with affection's with affection's
pure welcoming.
With affection's, etc.
Thine, thine is the empire where I would reign,
And these the blessings I covet,
With such heaven on earth who would care to gain,
Another below or above it?
Why toil through life till time's palsying touch,
Our weary hearts enslave,
To purchase at best, a golden crutch,
To hobble, to hobble to our graves.
To hobble, etc.
WE MAY NOT MEET AGAIN.
We may not meet again, for earth hath many ways,
And lips in other lands are ringing in thy praise;
But memory o'er me lies, as a mantle in my sleep,
And olden hopes will rise, like spirits from the deep.
We may not meet again, as once we fondly met,
All hope of that were vain, but vainer to forget;
For not a flow'r that flings its fragrance on the lea,
Or not a bird that sings, but breathes lost one, for thee.
We may not meet again, but from around my heart,
The light of other days, alas! will not depart ;
But like some lonely star, that lights the deep blue sea,
Thy beauty shines upon the wave of memory
176
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THE DEER STEALER.
When all is still on moor and hill
And stars shine o'er the deep,
To kill the deer 'tis there we steer,
While the keeper's fast asleep.
From cot and house our band we rouse,
The signal soon they hear,
Then one and all from barn and hall,
We meet to shoot the deer.
+
We meet to shoot the deer.
Then one and all from barn and hall
We meet to shoot the deer,
We meet to shoot the deer.
The village green is first the scene,
Where our chain of plans we link,
'Tis then within the public inn,
To their success we drink ;
Now up lads, up, and take a cup,
Of strong October beer,
Lets quench our thirst to him who first,
Shall kill a fine fat deer.
Shall kill a fine fat deer. etc.
With lanthorn dark towards the park,
With cautious steps we go ;
No sound is heard, not e'en a word,
To scare the buck and doe;
With ladder tall the high park wall,
We scale without a fear,
Our guns we load, then take the road,
To find the timid deer.
Be silent, hush, I hear the rush,
Of a gallant herd quite nigh,
Now plainly seen o'er the level green,
Is the deer that's doom'd to die ;
The herd in amaze their antlers raise,
As cautiously we steer,
We're in good luck, I mark a buck,
Down falls the noble deer.
A

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
177
At the rifle's sound away they bound,
And dash to the woody glen,
O'er plain and steep like wind they sweep,
But one ne'er moves again;
Now hurry boys, and make no noise,
Upon your shoulders rear,
The noble beast, for kings may feast,
On the haunch of a good fat deer.
The lord of the park may fume and bark,
The rangers may storm and swear,
We roar and laugh and our ale we quaff,
Whilst we feast on their fatted deer;
Now deer-stealers stand, link'd hand in hand,
Let's drink without a fear,
Success and good will to who next shall kill,
A noble, fine fat deer.
IT IS ALL FOR THE LOVE OF THE WIDOW.
Oh! why is thy visage so thoughtful and cold,
Quite abstracted thy mien, I consider,
Forgive me dear friend, but if truth must be told,
It is all for the love of the widow.
Forgive me dear friend, but if truth must be told,
It is all for the love of the widow,
It is all for the love of the widow,
It is all for the love of the widow.
That brow which so lately was sunshine all o'er,
Is now cold as the snows on Mount Skiddow,
If love casts such gloom I would never love more,
No, not e'en the beautiful widow.
Dear friend, it is easy for you that are free,
From love's potent spell to forbid her,
A home in your heart,-but too plainly you see,
That I'm chain'd to the car of the widow.
Long time have I striven, but always in vain,
Of my presence forever to rid her,
Then, if I ne'er seem what I have been again,
It is all for the love of the widow.
M
178
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THE SPOTTED FAWN.
On Mah-ke-tew-a's flow'ry marge,
The red chief's wigwam stood;
When first the white man's rifle rang,
Loud through the echoing wood:
The tomahawk and scalping knife,
Together lay at rest;
For peace was in the forest shades,
And in the red man's breast.
Oh! the Spotted Fawn!
Oh the Spotted Fawn!
The light and life of the forest shades
With the red chief's child is gone.
By Mah-ke-tew-a's flow'ry marge,
The Spotted Fawn had birth;
And grew as fair an Indian gir
As ever blest the earth.
She was the red chief's only child,
And sought by many a brave;
But to the gallant young White Cloud,
Her plighted troth she gave.
Oh! the Spotted Fawn, etc.
From Mah-ke-tew-a's flow'ry marge,
Her bridal song arose ;
None dreaming in that festal night,
Of near encircling foes;
But through the forest stealthily,
The white men came in wrath;
And fiery deaths before them sped,
And blood was in their path.
On Mah-ke-tew-a's flow'ry marge,
Next morn no strife was seen;
But a wail went up where the young
Fawn's blood,
And White Cloud's dyed the green.
And burial in their own rude way,
The Indians gave them there ;
While a low and sweet-ton'd requiem,
The brooks sang, and the air.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
179
WHERE AWAY SAID THE STRANGER.
Where away? said a stranger to a lad of eighteen,
As he went on his way with a wagon and team;
I'm going, said the youth, to the land of the West,
Seeking shelter and shade, sweet freedom and rest.
Where away cried the stranger, where away do you roam,
I go, spake a father, to build a new home,
Where my children in peace not unworthy may grow,
And gather sweet harvest "by the sweat of their brow."
Where away, ask'd another, as the grey-beard drew near,
Where away? thou art weak, and needful of cheer!
I thank thee, sir, kindly, the old man replies;
My journey is "Westward!" the tear in his eyes.
Where away, said another, where away do ye rove?
I go to teach mortals their duty above!
Pass along, was the answer, (man's type is a clod,)
Success to thy mission, thou pilgrim of God!
Thus away, thus away, flee our moments on earth,
To-day yielding sorrow, to-morow all mirth,
In life's "varied gift," we have little of rest.
But long may hope's star shed light o'er the West!
MY FATHER LAND.
I hear, I hear them speak of my father land!
And feel like a mountain child,
When they tell of the gallant, gallant jager band,
And the chamois, the chamois bounding wild!
Of the snow-capp'd hills to heaven that soar,
Where the avalanches fall,
And the chalet's joys when chase is o'er,
And the ranzdesvache they call.
And when the tear would dim my eyes,
I raise the Alpine lay,
In the rapid's roar I drown my sighs,
And dance sad thoughts away!
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la,
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la.
180
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
O'er the mighty Hudson's banks I roam,
Through our giant forests stray,
And breathe a sigh for that mountain home,
And the joys so far away.
In thought at eve, I join each sport,
And the pastor's blessings share,
With the maidens in their kirtles short,
And their golden bodkin'd hair.
And when the tear, &c.
COME BROTHERS AROUSE.
Come brothers arouse, let the owl go to rest,
Oh! the summer sun's in the sky,
The bee's on its wing, and the hawk's in his nest,
And the river runs merrily by,
And the river runs merrily by.
Our mother, the world, a good mother is she,
Says to toil is to welcome her fare,
Some bounty she hangs us on every tree,
And blesses us in the sweet air.
Oh! come brothers arouse, let the owl go to rest,
Oh! the summer sun's in the sky,
The bee's on its wing, and the hawk's in his nest,
And the river runs merrily by,
And the river runs merrily by.
Come dance lads, come dance lads, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
Come dance lads, come dance lads, come dance, come
dance away, away, away, away, away, àway, oh, oh,
And this is the life for a man, a man,
And this is the life for me,
The prince may boast if he can, he can,
But he never was half so free.
Our mother the world, a good mother's she,
Says to toil is to welcome her fare,
Some bounty she hangs us on every tree,
And blesses us in the sweet air.
Come brothers arouse, &c.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR
181
OUR NATIVE SONG.
Our native song! our native song!
Oh! where is he who loves it not?
The spell it holds is deep and strong,
Where'er we go, whate'er our lot.
Let other music greet our ear,
With thrilling fire or dulcet tone,
We speak to praise, we pause to hear,
But yet, oh! yet, 'tis not our own!
The anthem chant, the ballad wild,
The notes that we remember long,
The theme we sing with lisping tongue,
'Tis this we love, our native song!
Our native song! our native song!
The theme we sing with lisping tongue,
'Tis this we love, our native song!
The one who bears the felon's brand,
With moody brow and darken'd name,
Thrust meanly from his father-land,
To languish out a life of shame ;
Oh let him hear some simple strain,
Some lay his mother taught her boy,
He'll feel the charm, and dream again,
Of home, of innocence and joy!
The sigh will burst, the drops will start,
And all of virtue buried long,
The best, the purest in his heart,
Is waken'd by his native song.
Our native song! &c.
Self-exil'd from our place of birth,
To climes more fragrant, bright and gay,
The memory of our own fair earth,
May chance awhile to fade away:
But should some minstrel echo fall,
Of chords that breathe Columbia's fame,
Our souls will burn, our spirits yearn,
True to the land we love and claim.
The high, the low, in weal or woe,
Be sure there's something coldly wrong,
About the heart that does not glow,
To hear its own, its native song.
182
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THE WOMEN ARE A PLAGUE
Oh! my life it is so miserable, and my wife so bad,
If I stay here any longer 1 am sure I shall go mad;
Every thing it does so vex me, all my people run away,
I will burn de house and break de dish and vill no longer
stay.
Den women are a plague, and de more you try to please
dem,
De worse your patience vill be tried, de better is to teaze
dem.
She vill scratch me and vill beat me, and vill break my
dish and plate,
And ven I speak a vord to her she crack my poor old pate.
And ven I speak a vord to her she crack my poor old pate.
I ask you vat you tink of dis, now speak for me I pray,
One miserable Frenchman, why he ask you vat you say;
She have run away all from me, and would take my mo-
ney too,
But I break her little man his nose, and beat him black
and blue.
But I break her little man his nose, and beat him black
and blue.
Den de gentlemen he bawl, call me dog and blackguard all
Here and dere, every where,
Dis and dat 'tis too fat,
'Tis too much, 'tis too little, bring here sir, some more
pickle;
In de garret in de cellar, in de bar and in de stable,
Monsieur Gauts, Monsieur Gauts, make haste and fix dis
table;
Poulee, truffles, oyster, fish, alamode and roasted dish,
Roasted beef for Johnny Bull, eat one ox before he full.
Oh! my life it is so miserable, and my wife so bad,
If I stay here any longer I am sure I shall go mad;
Every ting it does so vex me, all my people run away,
I will burn de house and break de dish and vill no longer
stay.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
188
But now my story's ended, I have tell you all my woe,
But I must tell you someting else before I make my bow,
You have come dis night to my hotel to take your little
snack,
I have do my best to please you and I hope you all come
back.
I have do my best to please, and I hope you all come
back.
But my life it is so miserable, and my wife so bad,
If I stay here any longer I am sure I shall go mad;
Every ting it does so vex me, all my people run away,
I will burn de house and break de dish, and vill no longer
stay.
Adieu, Monsieurs, adieu, Monsieurs,
Adieu, Monsieurs, adieu, Monsieurs,
Adieu, adieu, adieu, adieu,
Adieu, adieu, adieu, adieu.
THE PIDGEON SELLER'S DITTY.
Behold them how they bill and coo,
And they can fly and flutter too;
See this one's wings are painted blue;
Oh, wont you buy my pidgeons, sir?
Oh, wont you buy, wont you buy,
Oh, wont you buy my pidgeons, sirv
Now, kindly, gentles, you must know,
On both their necks a bright rainbow,
Is often seen to come and go.
Oh? wont you buy my pidgeons, sir
This one, they say is prettiest,
But that one loves his mistress best;
See how it nestles on my breast.
Oh, wont you buy my pidgeons, sir 1
184
SINGER'S SOUVENIR,
WIDOW MALONE.
Did you hear of the Widow Malone? Ohone!
Who liv'd in the town of Athlone? Alone!
Oh she melted the hearts
Of the swains in them parts,
So lovely the Widow Malone, Ohone!
So lovely the Widow Malone.
Of lovers she had a full score, Or more!
And fortunes they all had galore, In store!
From the minister down,
To the clerk of the town,
All were courting the Widow Malone, Ohone!
All were courting the Widow Malone.
But so modest was Mrs. Malone, 'Twas known!
No one ever could see her alone, Ohone!
Let them ogle and sigh,
They could ne'er catch her eye,
So bashful the Widow Malone, Ohone!
So bashful the Widow Malone.
Till one Mister O'Brien from Clare, How quare!
Its little for blushin' they care, Down there!
Put his arm round her waist,
Gave ten kisses at laste,
Oh! says he, you're my Molly Malone, My own!
Oh! says he, you're my Molly Malone.
The widow they all thought so shy, My eye!
Ne'er thought of a simper or sigh, For why?
But Lucius, says she,
Since you've made now so free,
You may marry your Mary Malone, Ohone!
You may marry your Mary Malone.
There's a moral contain'd in my song, Not wrong!
And one comfort, its not very long, But strong!
If for widows you die,
Larn to KISS, not to SIGH,
For they're all like sweet Mistress Malone, Ohone!
For they're all like sweet Mistress Malone.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
185
WE NEVER FORGET OUR CHILDHOOD'S HOME.
We ne'er forget our childhood's home, its closely woven
ties,
The sunlit spots that first in life attracted our young eyes,
The flow'ry haunts we used to tread with little falt'ring
feet,
Chasing the painted butterfly sipping the dewdrops sweet.
We ne'er forget the early prayer breath'd at a mother's
knee,
The gentle accents, soft and low, of lisping infancy.
We ne'er forget our childhood's home, though we per-
chance have rov'd,
Through a bleak wilderness of woes, unloving and un-
lov'd,-unloving and unlov'd.
We ne'er forget the sweet "good night" breath'd o'er
our cradle bed,
The calling of a blessing down upon our baby head;
The kiss, the fond, the earnest kiss, it seems to linger now,
In all its gentleness and truth upon my time-worn brow.
We ne'r forget the voices sweet that fill'd our happy home
The welcome sounds that morn and eve in music used to
come;
The gath'ring at the household hearth, at twilight's stilly
time,
The chaunting of a vesper song in many a silv'ry chime.
Yet when the earth hath cover'd those that made our
childhood dear,
And we have wept o'er kindred graves the sad and bitter
tear,
How many old remembrances awake those long departed
hours,
When we have chased the butterflies o'er beds of bloom-
ing flowers.
We ne'er forget our childhood's home, our mother's
gentle tone,
The joys that seem'd in after years like meteors to have
flown;
:
They come to us like sunny gleams, to glad our lonely
way,
And age's night is happy when it thinks on childhood's
day.
186
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
WE'LL GO TO SEA NO MORE.
Oh brightly shines the bonnie sun, upon the Isle of May;
And blithely comes the morning tide into St. Andrews bay.
Then up, gudeman, the breeze is fair, and up, my braw
bairns three ;
There's gode in yonder bonny boat that sails so well the
sea.
When tempests leave the stormy coast, when billows
leave the shore,
When torrents climb up Berwick Law, we'll go to sea no
more.
We'll go to sea no more, no more, no more.
When torrents climb up Berwick Law, we'll go to
sea no more.
I never lik'd the landsman's life, the earth is aye the same,
Give me the ocean for my dow'r, my vessel for my hame ;
Give me the field that no man ploughs, the farm that pays
no fee,
Give me the bonny life we lead, sae gladly o'er the sea.
When sails hang flapping on the mast, as thro' the waves
we roar,
When in a calm we're tempest-toss'd, we'll go to sea no
more.
We'll go to sea no more, no more, no more.
When in a calm we're tempest-toss'd, we'll go to sea
no more.
The sun is up, and round Inch Keith, the breezes softly
blaw;
The gudeman has the lines on board, awa, my bairns awa.
And ye'll be back at gloaming grey, and bright the fire
will glow;
And in our songs and tales we'll tell how weel the boat
ve row.
When life's last sun gangs feebly down, when death
comes at our door,
When a' the world's a dream to us, we'll go to sea no
more.
We'll go to sea no more, no more, no more.
When a' the world's a dream to us, we'll go to sea
no more.

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
187
WHEN I WAS A WEE LITTLE SLIP OF A GIRL.
When I was a wee little slip of a girl,
Too artless and young for a prude,
The men, as I pass'd, would exclaim "pretty dear!"
Which I must say. I thought rather rude,
Rather rude, so I did,
Which I must say, I thought rather rude.
However, said I, when I'm once in my teens,
They'll sure cease to worry me then,
But as I grew the older, so they grew the bolder,
Such impudent things are the men,
Are the men, are the men,
Such impudent things are the men.
But of all the bold things I could ever suppose,
(Yet how could I take it amiss?)
Was that of my impudent cousin, last night,
When he actually gave me a kiss,
Aye, a kiss, so he did, '
When he actually gave me a kiss.
I quickly reproved him, but ah! in such tones,
That ere we were half through the glen,
My anger to smother, he gave me another,
Such coaxing things are the men,
Are the men, are the men,
Such coaxing things are the men.
TO GREECE WE GIVE OUR SHINING BLADER.
The sky is bright, the breeze is fair,
And the mainsail flowing full and free, full and f
Our parting word is woman's pray'r,
And the hope before us, liberty! liberty!
Farewell! farewell!
To Greece we give our shining blades,
And our hearts to you, young Zian maids! your
maids! and our hearts to you, young Zian
The moon is in the heavens above,
And the wind is on the foaming sea, foaming sea;
Thus shines the star of woman's love,
On the glorious strife of liberty! liberty!-Farewell, &c.

188
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THE ROSE THAT ALL ARE PRAISING.
The rose that all are praising,
Is not the rose for me;
Too many eyes are gazing,
Upon the costly tree:
But there's a rose in yonder glen,
That shuns the gaze of other men,
For me its blossom raising;
Oh! that's the rose for me.
The gem a king might covet,
Is not the gem for me;
From darkness who would move it,
Save that the world may see?
But I've a gem that shuns display,
And next my heart worn ev'ry day,
So dearly do I love it;
Oh! that's the gem for me.
Gay birds in cages pining,
Are not the birds for me;
Those plumes so brightly shining,
Would fain fly off from thee:
But I've a bird that gaily sings;
Tho' free to rove, she folds her wings,
For me her flight resigning;
Oh! that's the bird for me.
TELL HIM I LOVE HIM YET.
Tell him I love him yet, as in that joyous time!
Tell him I ne'er forget, though mem'ry now be crime!
Tell him when fades the light upon the earth and sea,
I dream of him by night-he must not dream of me!
Tell him to smile again, in pleasure's dazzling throng;
To wear another's chain, to praise another's song!
Before the loveliest there, I'd have him bend the knee,
And breathe to her the prayer he used to breathe to me
Tell him that day by day, life looks to me more dim;
I falter when I pray, although I pray for him.
And bid him when I die, come to my fav'rite tree;
I shall not hear him sigh, THEN let him sigh for me!

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
189
I'LL HANG MY HARP ON A WILLOW TREE.
I'll hang my harp on a willow tree,
I'll off to the wars again,
My peaceful home has no charms for me,
The battle-field no pain;
The lady I love will soon be a bride,
With a diadem on her brow,
Oh! why did she flatter my boyish pride?
She's going to leave me now.
Oh! why did she flatter my boyish pride,?
She's going to leave me now.
She took me away from my warlike lord,
And gave me a silken suit,
I thought no more of my master's sword,
When I play'd on my lady's lute;
She seem'd to think me a boy above
Her pages of low degree,
Oh! had I but lov'd with a boyish love,
It would have been better for me.
Oh! had I but lov'd with a boyish love,
It would have been better for me
Then I'll hide in my breast ev'ry selfish care,
I'll flush my pale cheek with wine;
When smiles awake the bridal pair,
I'll hasten to give them mine.
I'll laugh and I'll sing tho' my heart may bleed,
And I'll walk in the festive train,
And if I survive it I'll mount my steed,
And I'll off to the wars again.
And if I survive it I'll mount my steed, &c.
But one golden tress of her hair I'll twine,
In my helmet's sable plume,
And then on the field of Palestine,
I'll seek an early doom;
And if by the Saracen's hand I fall,
'Mid the noble and the brave,
A tear from my lady-love is all,
I ask for the warrior's grave.
A tear from my lady-love is all, &c.

190
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THE IVY GREEN.
A dainty plant is the Ivy green,
That creepeth o'er ruins old;
Of right choice food are his meals I ween,
In his cell so lone and cold.
The walls must be crumbled, the stones decay'd.
To pleasure his dainty whim,
And the mouldering dust that years have made,
Is a merry meal for him.
Creeping where no life is seen,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
Creeping where no life is seen,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
Creeping, creeping, creeping where no life is seen,
Creeping, creeping, a rare old plant is the Ivy green.
Fast he stealeth, though he wears no wings,
And a staunch old heart has he;
How closely he twineth, how closely he clings,
To his friend, the huge oak tree!
And slyly he traileth along the ground,
And his leaves he gently waves.
As he joyously hugs and crawleth round
The mould of dead men's graves.
Creeping where grim death has been,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
Creeping where no life is seen,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
Creeping, creeping, creeping where no life is seen,
Creeping, creeping, a rare old plant is the Ivy green.
Whole ages have fled, and their works decay'd,
And nations have scatter'd been;
But the stout old Ivy shall never fade,
From its hale and hearty green:
The brave old plant in its lonely days,
Shall fatten upon the past;
For the stateliest building man can raise,
Is the Ivy's food at last.
Creeping where, &c.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
191
THE WOODBINE BOWER.
Oh! come to me at this soft hour,
When flowers inhale the balmy dew,
Oh! meet in the woodbine bow'r,
That I have fondly wreath'd for you.
The moon that with her silver light,
Now brightly beams on tower and tree,
But O! those eyes are far more bright,
Which fondly, fondly gaze on me!
Oh! come to me at this soft hour,
When flowers inhale the balmy dew
Oh! meet me in the woodbine bow'r,
That I have fondly wreath'd for you.
Dear maid, the breezes murmur soft,
Around the grove and hawthorn tree,
Whose wide and leafy branches oft,
Have safely shaded thee and me.
And now reclined beneath its boughs,
By yonder vault of azure hue,
And its bright orb, I swear my vows,
Shall never, never prove untrue.
WE STOOD BESIDE THE WINDOW.
We stood beside the window, it was the very same,
Where years ago together, we wrote each other's name;
I listen'd for the dear words, I used to hear from thee,
I listen'd, but there came not one loving word for me!
I listen'd, but there came not one loving word for me!
I look'd into the blue depths of those beloved eyes,
I long'd to see them glisten with thoughts of former ties;
I look'd, but oh! they spoke not the tenderness of old!
I thought my very heart strings, would break, they were
so cold!
My hand, I laid it gently, how gently! on to thine;
I thought its pulse beat quicker, I thought it answer'd
mine!
But no, there was no pressure, my dream of bliss was o'er,
I knew the spell was broken, that I was lov'd no more!
192
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
OLD TOWLER.
Bright chanticleer proclaims the dawn,
And spangles deck the thorn,
The lowing herds now quit the lawn,
The lark springs from the corn, corn.
Dogs, huntsmen, round the window throng,
Fleet Towler leads the cry,
Arise the burthen of my song,
This day a stag must die.
With a hey ho chivey hark forward hark forward tantivy.
With a hey ho chivey hark forward hark forward tantivy.
Hark forward hark forward hark forward hark forward
Tantivy tantivy hark hark forward hark forward tantivy.
Arise the burthen of my song, this day a stag must die.
This day a stag must die. This day a stag must die.
The cordial takes its merry round,
The laugh and joke prevail.
The huntsinan blows a jovial sound,
The dogs snuff up the gale.
The upland winds they sweep along,
O'er fields, through brakes they fly,
The game is rous'd, too true the song,
This day a stag must die.
With a hey ho chivey, &c.
THE TRUMPET'S VOICE HAS ROUSED THE LAND.
The trumpet's voice hath roused the land,
Light up the beacon pyre!
A hundred hills have seen the brand,
And wav'd the sign of fire.
A hundred banners to the breeze,
Their gorgeous folds have cast,
And hark! was that the sound of seas?
A king to war, to war went past.
The chief is arming in his hall,
The peasant by his hearth;
The mourner hears the thrilling call,
And rises from the earth.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR,
193
The mother on her first-born son,
Looks with a boding eye,
They come not back, though all be won,
Whose young hearts leap so high.
The bard hath ceased his song, and bound
The falchion to his side;
E'en for the marriage altar crown'd,
The lover quits his bride..
And all this haste, and change, and fear,
By earthly clarions spread;
How will it be when kingdoms hear,
The blast that wakes the dead.
1
THE SAILOR'S GRAVE.
Our bark was out, far, far from land,
When the fairest of our gallånt band,,
Grew sadly pale, and waned away,
Like the twilight of an autumn day.
We watch'd him through long hours of pain,
But our cares were lost, our hopes were vain;
Death struck, he gave no coward alarm,
For he smil'd as he died on a messmate's arm.
For he smil'd as he died on a messmate's arm
He had no costly winding sheet,
But we placed a round shot at his feet;
And he slept in his hammock as safe and sound,.
As a king in his lawn-shroud, marble bound.
We proudly deck'd his funeral vest,
With the stars and stripes above his breast;
We gave him that as the badge of the brave,
And then he was fit for his sailor's grave.
;
Our voices broke, our hearts turn'd weak
Hot tears were seen on the brownest cheek
And a quiver play'd on the lips of pride,
As we lower'd him down the ship's dark side...
A plunge-a splash-and our task was o'er,
The billows roll'd as they roll'd before;
But many a rude prayer hallowed the wave,..
That closed above the sailor's grave.
N
: 194
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
WE SHALL NEVER SEE THE LIKE AGAIN.
Now ancient English melody,
Is banished out of doors,
And naught is heard in our day,
But Signoras and Signors;
Such airs I hate, like a-pig in a gate,
Give me the good old strain,
When I was merry in the hall, and the beards wagged a:1,
We shall never see the like again.
We shall never see the like again.
. On beds of down our dandies lay,
And waste the cheerful morn;
While the squires of old would rouse the day,
To the sound of the bugle horn;
;
And their wives took care to provide good cheer,
For when they left the plain,
It was merry in the hall, and their beards wagged all,
We shall never see the like again.
'Twas then the Christmas tale went round,
On goblin, ghost, or fairy,
And the squires would cheer their tenants old,
With a cup of good canary.
"Or they each took a smack of the coal black jack,
Till the fire burnt in their brain;
It was merry in the hall, and their beards wagged all,
We shall never see the like again.
LET ME REST IN THE LAND OF MY BIRTH
Farewell to the home of my childhood,
Farewell to my cottage and vine,
I go to the land of the stranger,
Where pleasure alone will be mine.
When life's fleeting journey is over,
And earth again mingles with earth,
I can rest in the land of the stranger,
As well as in that of my birth.
Yes these were my feelings at parting,
But absence soon alter'd their tone,
The cold hand of sickness came o'er me,
And I wept o'er my sorrows alone.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
.198
No friends came around me to cheer me,
No parent to soften my grief,
Nor brother nor sister were near me,
And strangers could give no relief.
'Tis true, it matters but little,
(Tho' living, the thought makes one pine,)
Whatever befals the poor relic,
When the spirit has flown from its shrine.
But, oh when life's journey is o'er,
And earth again mingles with earth,
Lamented or not, still my wish is,
To rest in the land of my birth.
TRUE LOVE CAN NE'ER FORGET.
True love can ne'er forget,
Fondly as when we met,
Dearest, I love thee yet,
My darling one!
Thus sung a minstrel grey,
His sweet impassion'd lay,
Down by the ocean's spray,
At rise of sun;
But wither'd was the minstrel's sight,
Morn to him was dark as night,
Yet his heart was full of light,
As he this lay begun :
True love can ne'er forget,
Fondly as when we met,
Dearest, I love thee yet,
My darling one!
Long years are past and o'er,
Since from this fatal shore,
Cold hearts and cold winds bore
My love from me.
Scarcely the minstrel spoke,
When, quick with flashing stroke,
A boat's light oar the silence broke,
Over the sea.
1.96
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
Soon upon her native strand,
Doth a lovely lady land,
While the minstrel's love-taught hand,
Did o'er his sweet harp run:
True love can ne'er forget,
Fondly as when we met,
Dearest, I love thee yet
My darling one!
Where the minstrel sat alone,
There that lady fair hath gone;
Within his hand she plac'd her own;
The bard dropt on his knee:
From his lips soft blessings came,
He kiss'd her hand with truest flame,
In trembling tones he breath'd her name
Though her he could not see;
But oh the touch the bard could tell,
Of that dear hand remember'd well;
Ah! by many a secret spell,
Can true love trace its own;
For true love can ne'er forget,
Fondly as when they met,
He lov'd his lady yet
His darling one.
I LOVE, I LOVE THE FREE.
The wild streams leap with headlong sweep,
In their curbless course o'er the mountain steep,
All fresh and strong they foam along,
Waking the rocks with their cat'ract song.
My eye bears a glance like the beam on a lance,
While I watch the waters dash and dance,
I burn with glee, for I love to see,
The path of any thing that's free.
I love, I love, oh! I love the free,
I love, I love the free,
I love, I love, oh! I love the free,
I love, I love, I love the free.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
197
The sky-lark springs with dew on its wings,
And up in the arch heav'n he sings,
Trila, trila, oh! sweeter far,
Than the notes that come through a golden bar.
The joyous bay of a hound at play,
The caw of a rook on its homeward way,
Oh these shall be the music for me,
For I love, I love the path of the free.
The mariner brave in his bark on the wave,
May laugh at the walls round a kingly slave;
And the one whose lot is the desert spot,
Has no dread of an envious foe in his cot.
The thrall and state at the palace gate,
Are what my spirit hath learnt to hate;
I burn with glee, for I love to see,
The path of any thing that's free.
THE TRYSTING TREE.
Now the golden sun has set,
And I am at the trysting tree,
Dearest, thou wilt not forget,
That here to meet you promis'd me.
Now is ev'ry flower closing,
Falling is the ev'ning dew,
Birds are with their mates reposing,
Where, my true love, where are you?
Now the golden sun has set,
And I am at the trysting tree,
Dearest, thou wilt not forget,
That here to meet you pronis'd me.
Darkness is around descending,
See the lovely ev'ning star,
Like a brilliant page attending.
On the young moon's silver car!
While together thus they wander,
Through the silent summer sky,
So on earth, less bright, but fonder,
Dearest, so will you and I.
Now the golden, &c.
198
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THE SHIP WRECKED SEA BOY.
'Tis night all around me, the chill blast is howling,
The harsh screaming sea-bird now scar'd hovers nigh;
The voice of great heav'n, in loud thunder is rolling,
Alas! nor for shelter or rest can I fly.
mark by the lightning's blue gleam, the wreck floating
Of her that long triumph'd o'er each threat'ning wave,
alone, to this rock 'scap'd the merciless ocean,
While comrades more blest, found a watery grave:
More blest! 'tis not so, if unpitied I perish,
To me some few hours for reflection are given,
A hope for the grey dawn of morning I'll cherish,
We ne'er should arraign the decrees of just heav'n.
How hush'd seems the tempest, yon beauteous moon rising
I'll gaze on awhile, my sunk spirits to cheer,
That sound, was it human? again, hark! 'tis coming,
Ah! no, 'tis the half-famish'd wolf that I hear.
My father grown old, my affectionate mother,
You'll look for poor Henry, but long look in vain ;
My sister, how lovely, my helpless young brother,
Ne'er, ne'er will you share my caresses again.
With you the long day will be spent in deep mourning,
The bones of the sea-boy must bleach on the shore.
Now dim grows my sight, oh my fever'd brain's burning,
I come, welcome death, all my sorrows are o'er
THE TYROLESE FORTUNE TELLER.
To beau and belle I fortunes tell,
Come round the gypsey and I'll use you well,
Come maidens dear and never fear,
A little wholesome truth to hear.
The smile that plays a thousand ways,
That courts admirers by its wanton gaze,
Will ne'er obtain a faithful swain,
And then you know you sigh in vain ;
But on your cheek let blushes speak,
The heart's best virtue, which true lovers seek,
And smiling eyes secure the prize,
Girls list to me if you be wise.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
199
Young gentlemen, as ladies then,
In merit are increasing nine to ten,
'Tis fit that you should be so too,
I hope, at least, to mend a few.
The cruel stare and vulgar air,
Alarm the gentle and the modest fair,
'Twas heav'n's decree that man should be,
Companion, guardian, guide, all three.
And let me say, 'tis thus you may,
Obtain, and long maintain your lordly sway;
Make hearts, not eyes, your lawful prize,
Men list to me if you be wise.
WE SOON SHALL MEET AGAIN.
O! let not tears bedim thine eye,
Nor sighs escape thine heart,
One kindly look, one cheering word,
"Tis better thus to part.
Think 'tis but for a little while,
And when I'm o'er the main,
Together let us fondly hope,
We soon shall meet again.
Think tis but for a little while, and when I'm o'er the main
Together let us fondly hope we soon shall meet again.
Thou would'st not have thy soldier love,
Forget his country's call;
Thou would'st not have it said he fear'd
To triumph or to fall.
Thou hast relied on providence,
And found thy faith not vain,
And why not now? if't be His will,
We soon shall meet again.
I go to win a glorious name,
And in my country's right;
I go to save the good we have,
From stern oppression's might;
Now by that glance, this fond embrace,
New vigor fills each vein;
Farewell! remember me; we part,
Ere long, to meet again.
: 200
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
WANT A CAB?
Upon the stand, with whip in hand,
I wait the gemmen's call;
My nags are grey, and folks do say.
I please both great and small;
From morn till night 'tis my delight,
To crack my whip and sing;
I often think when I've the chink,
I'm happier than a king.
Spoken.-"Want a cab?"
I'm happier than a king.
Spoken.-"Want a cab?" (Cracks his phip.)
The other day, a lady gay,
Came smiling up to me ;-
"Is that your cab, that handsome drab ?
"'Tis beautiful," says she:
I smoothed my chin, and how'd her in,
I'll drive you home, said I;
Then closed the door, got up before,
O! how my nags did fly!
"Want a cab?”
(Whip.)
A quaker slim, with great broad brim,
And buckle on each knee ;-
My friend, he cried, to have a ride,
The spirit moveth me ;
So on the spot, as in he got,
The "peuter" handed o'er,
A quarter bright, my heart's delight,
I never haxes more.
"Want a cab ?"
(Whip.)
Now gals and lads, whene'er your dads,
Consent to let you ride,
Just give a call, I'll please you all,
And mamma will not chide;
If mum's the word, sweet lady bird;
I'm not the cove to blab;
Just tip the wink, or touch the chink,
I'll know you want a cab.
"Want a cab?"
(Whip.)
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
201
WAS IT NOT AT ONE?
SOLO.
Was it not at one?
Lisette.
Tell me, was it two?
Was it at one or two?
To another you vow'd homage true ?
Think what you have done!
Think what you have done!
arles. Well, love, I do.
Yet oh there's nothing, dear,
Nothing to tell or hear,
But that this heart of mine,
Dear, beats ever thine.
DUETT.
Lisette. - Is now your own conscience clear?
Have I no guile to fear?
And does that heart of thine,
Dear, beat truly mine?
Charies.-Oh no, there's nothing, dear,
Nothing to tell or hear,
But that this heart of mine,
Dear, beats ever thine.
SOLO.
Lisette. -Was it not at two?
Tell me, was it three?
Was it at two or three ?
How could you be so false to me?
Think on what you do!
Think on what you do!
Charles.-Stay, let me see';
Oh, no! there's nothing, dear,
Nothing to think or fear,
Freely, this heart of mine,
Dear, beats ever thine.
DUETT.
Lisette. Nay, tell me truly, dear,
Have I no harm to fear?
And does that heart of thine,
Dear, beat truly mine?
202
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
Charles.-Oh, no! there's nothing, dear,
Nothing to think or fear,
But that this heart of mine,
Dear, beats ever thine.
SOLO.
Lisette. Was it not at three ?
Tell me, was it four?
Was it at three or four ?
Ah, I am sure, nay, say no more,
Better silent be!
Better silent be!
Charles.-Spare, I implore!
Lisette.
Oh, no there's nothing, dear,
Nothing to say or hear,
But that this heart of mine,
Dear, beats ever thine!
DUETT.
Charles deem me not too severe,
Tho' I began to fear,
Trust me, this heart of mine,
Dear, beats ever thine!
Charles.-Oh, no! there's nothing, dear,
Nothing to say or hear,
But that this heart of mine,
Dear, beats ever thine!
WE'RE ALL CUTTING.
We are all cutting, cut, cut, cutting,
And we're all cutting our passage through the world.
Dame Nature cut out man to cut his way thro' life,
So being termed a cutter, we'll compare him to a knife;
The little baby blade has scarcely drawn his breath,
When cutting it begins to know, by cutting of its teeth.
So we're all cutting, cut, cut, cutting,
We are all cutting, our passage thro' the world.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
203
Childhood's a doll's knife, so delicate and pretty,
And their parents wish their little ones to be consider'd
sharp;
To teach them A, B, C, the first book the father puts,
In the hands of the youngsters, is a book full of cuts;
Then follows cutting capers, cutting hoops, and cutting
tops;
Then once began its cutting life, thro' life it never stops.
So we're all cutting, etc.
Boyhood's a case-knife, fit for many uses,
Requiring little management to win him to your wishes
Then follows running coaches, which shows the cutting
time,
If one cuts before he cries out cut behind;
Theh as youth gets bolder, the girls begin to bother,
Falling out with one girl, he cuts her for another.
So we're all cutting, etc.
A beau is a blade stuck in a buck-horn handle,
Who soon will cut his tailor, if he does not cut sharp;
Whose only endeavor is thro' life to cut a figure,
Behold him when on horseback, how he cuts away with
vigor;
And as along he's walking, he seems to ask each belle,
O hang it charming creature, don't you think I cut a swell.
So we're all cutting, etc.
The ladies, they are fruit-knives, set in pearl and ivory,
Cutting hearts of men according to desert;
At playhouse, or at opera, at ball, or at a route,
Their only endeavor is to cut each other out;
The coquette she cuts many a heart to the core,
The widow is for cutting one loving husband more.
So we're all cutting, etc.
So we're all cutting to find the best route,
Each one endeavoring to cut each other out;
Some cut their way through life by cutting a great dash,
While others cut out pieces for the sake of ready cash;
While some they cut out work for the bailiff and the dun,
And some are so well cut up they're obliged to cut and run.
So we're all cutting, etc.
204
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
WAS NA' HE A ROGUY?
The piper came to our town, to our town, to our towII,
The piper came to our town and he play'd bonnilie.
He play'd a spring the laird to please,
A spring brent new frae 'yont the seas;
And then he ga'e his pipes a wheeze,
And play'd anither key.
And was na' he a roguy, a roguy, roguy, roguy,
And was na' he a roguy, the piper o' Dundee.
99.
He play'd "The welcome owre the main,"
And "Ye'se be fou an I'se be fain,
And "Auld Steuart's back again,'
Wi' muckle mirth and glee.
>>
And was na' he a roguy, a roguy, roguy, roguy,
And was na' he a roguy, the piper o' Dundee.
He play'd "The Kirk," he play'd "The Queer,"
The "Mullin Duh" and "Chevalier,"
And "Lang away, but welcome here,"
Sae sweet, sae bonnilie.
And was na' he a roguy, a roguy, roguy, roguy,
And was na' he a roguy, the piper o' Dundee.
WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBURGH.
'Twas within a mile of Edinburgh town,
In the rosy time of the year,
Sweet flowers bloom'd, and the grass was down,
And each shepherd woo'd his dear.
Bonny Jockey blithe and gay,
Kiss'd sweet Jenny making hay,
The lassie blush'd and frowning cried, no no it will not do,
I cannot, cannot, wonnot, wonnot, mannot buckle to.
But when he vow'd he would make her his bride,
Tho' his flocks and herds were not few,
She gave him her hand and a kiss beside,
And yow'd she'd forever be true.
Bonny Jockey blithe and gay,
Won her heart right merrily,
At church she no more frowning cried, no no it will not do,
I cannot, cannot, wonnot wonnot, mannot buckle to.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
205
LOVE NOT.
Love not! love not! ye hapless sons of clay,
Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly flow'rs;
Things that are made to fade and fall away,
Ere they have blossom'd for a few short hours.
Love not!-Love not!
Love not! love not! the thing you love may die,
May perish from the gay and gladsome earth,
The silent stars, the blue and smiling sky,
Beams on its grave, as once upon its birth.
Love not!-Love not!
Love not! love not! the thing you love may change,
The rosy lip may cease to smile on you,
The kindly beaming eye grow cold and strange,
The heart still warmly beat, yet not be true.
Love not!-Love not!
Love not! love not! oh, warning vainly said,
In present hours, as in years gone by:
Love flings a halo round the dear one's head,
Faultless, immortal, till they change or die.
Love not-Love not!
LOVE NOW.
Oh! life is too short to be wasted,
In hoping, in sighing for nought,
We abandon our pleasures untasted,
If we love not, nor love as we ought;
To love not, becometh the mournful,
And sweet to the selfish may be,
Love not, I would say to the scornful,
Love now! I would whisper to thee.
Love now, e're the heart feel a sorrow,
Or the bright sunny moments are flown;
Love now, for the dawn of the morrow,
May find thee unlov'd and alone.
I proffer no memory token,
I plead not for promise or vow,
Only keep my injunction unbroken,
Love truly love well! but love now)
200
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
ELLA'S GRAVE.
On the banks of old Salt River, the roaring river wild,
Ah! often have I linger'd when I was but a child.
Upon its gushing waters I've gaz'd with deep delight,
Tn the sunny glow of morning and the solemn shade of
night.
In the sunny glow of morning and the solemn shade
of night.
On the banks of old Salt River, the roaring river wild,
In youth I met my Ella, who on my wishes smil'd.
There I woo'd and won her, with heart unhurt by grief,
When the dew-drop kiss of nature, o'erhung each trem-
bling leaf.
On the banks of old Salt River, the roaring river wild,
I gather'd to my bosom, my Ella, nature's child.
Ah! scarce had heav'n blest me with all her virgin charms,
When Death's destroying angel, snatch'd my Ella from
my arms.
On the banks of old Salt River, where pass'd her early
years,
,"
I gave to earth my Ella, "in silence and in tears;
With no hymn the forest waking, save ths redbird's o'er
her grave,
Whose wild notes seem'd to echo, sweet, oh sweet, oh
save, oh save!"
(6
On the banks of old Salt River, I linger near the dead,
And often wish the night-winds were murmuring o'er my
head.
Grey hairs, my brow o'erstealing, tell the chill upon this
heart;
What light can cheer the lone one, when all we love
depart ?
On the banks of old Salt River, where giant branches fling,
Their shadowy arms above me in the quiet hour of spring,
I go and deck with flowers, the turf o'er Ella's grave,
And listen to the redbird ! still singing "sweet oh save!"
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
207
SALLY IN OUR ALLEY.
Of all the girls that are so smart,
There's none like pretty Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
There's ne'er a lady in the land,
That's half so sweet as Sally
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
Her father, he makes cabbage nets,
And thro' the streets does cry them;
Her mother, she sells laces long,
To all who need to buy them.
But can such folks the parents be,
Of such a girl as Sally ?
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
Of all the days that's in the week,
I dearly love but one day,
And that's the day that comes between,
A Saturday and Monday:
For then I'm drest all in my best,
To walk abroad with Sally,
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
When Christmas comes about again,
O, then I shall have money,
I'll hoard it up, and box and all,
I'll give it to my honey.
<
And would it were ten thousand pounds,
I'd give it all to Sally,
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
My master and the neighbors all,
Make game of me and Sally,
And but for her I'd better be
A slave, and row a galley,
But when my seven long years are out,
O, then I'll marry Sally,
And when we're wed we'll blithesome be,
But not in our alley.
208
SINGER'S SOUVENIR
WITH YOUR LITTLE WIFE.
With your little wife, free from care and strife,
With your little wife, free from care and strife,
Oh! how blest will be now your life,
Oh! how blest will be now your life.
Flatt'rers say they see, many charms in me,
Flatt'rers say they see, many charms in me,
In your eyes fair let me be,
In your eyes, in your eyes fair let me be
In your eyes fair let me be.
All admirers disregarding,
Vainly others sue,
To my husband true,
With my faith his love rewarding.
I on none will smile,
None shall e'er beguile,
I will turn away,
From each word they say.
When such truth is known,
You will surely surely own,
With your little wife, free from care and strife,
With your little wife, free from care and strife,
Oh! how blest will be now your life,
Oh! how blest will be now your life.
Flatt'rers say they see, many charms in me,
In your eyes alone, fair let me be.
IN HAPPY MOMENTS.
In happy moments day by day,
The sands of life may pass,
In swift but tranquil tide away,
From time's unerring glass.
Yet hopes we used as bright to deem,
Remembrance will recal,
Whose pure and whose unfading beam,
ls dearer than them all.
Whose pure and whose unfading beam,
Is dearer than them all.

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
209
Tho' anxious eyes upon us gaze,
And hearts with fondness beat,
Whose smile upon each feature plays,
With truthfulness replete.
Some thoughts none other can replace,
Remembrance will recal,
Which in the flight of years we trace,
Is dearer than them all.
Which in the flight of years we trace
Is dearer than them all.
'
THEY SAY THOU ART NOT BEAUTIFUL.
They say thou art not beautiful,
But I have found thee so,
And cannot think that heav'n hath smiled
Upon a lovelier brow.
Thine eyes have not the specious light,
That glistens to betray,
But saintly as the stars of night,
As changeless, too, their ray.
They scoff'd me when I said my heart,
Was firmly knit to thine ;
Through all the scorn they could impart,
I vow'd to make thee mine!
They thought thy lowliness of birth,
Would turn me from thy will;
But one alone I know on earth,
The best and dearest still.
They say thou art not beautiful;
But sweet one, could they find,
A spirit dove-like as thine own,
Confiding, true, and kind?
An angel, who hath sooth'd to rest,
My youth's ungovern'd sea,
And how could one like thee be aught
Than beautiful to me.
210
SINGER'S SOUVENIR,
MY OLD AUNT SALLY.
A-gwine down to New-Orleans, I jump upon de landin,
I run agin a cotton bale, it fotch me up a standin;
Its alamode de duck soup, de corner ob de alley,
I'll tell you ob a scrape I had wid m, lubly Sally.
O, Sally, O, Sally, my old Aunt ally,
I'll tell you ob a scrape I had wid my lubly Sally.
Sally, Sally, my old Aunt Sally,
Ra, re, ri, ro, roun de corner Sally.
I ax her wont you take a ride wid me upon de lebby?
She jump up an crack her heels, and swow dat she was
ready;
I nebber spoke anudder word, nor shall I gib de reason,
Why I lite upon her 'fections for de balance ob de season.
Season, de season, de balance ob de season,
Why I lite upon her 'fections for de balance ob de season.
Sally, Sally, my old Aunt Sally,
Ra, rei, ro, roun de corner Sally.
I hitch de bull before de cart, jis like a clebber feller,
Den hit him a cut to make him go, de bull began to beller;
I turn aroun to look for Sal, I neber shall forgot 'um,
Dar I see her makin tracks across de sandy bottom.
Bottom, de bottom, &c.
Up de hill an down de dale, I didn't seem to mind her,
De bull's tail stick straight out as he kep up behind 'er;
He run slap agin a stump an found hesef mistaken,
Sal, she dodge on tudder side, an try to save her bacon.
I brace my back agin de fence, de bull he look so sabbage,
Sez he, old hoss I'll eat you up jis like I would a cabbage:
I softly creep up to him den, jist like a nigger stealin
An lites upon him like a pig upon a tater peelin.
I gib her a piece of my advice, to hunt some odder lodgin,
De bull keep gwine aroun de stump, and Sal, she keep a
dodgin,
She jump a rod or two aside, 'ye orter seen her bound it,
An if de bull aint broke de stump he's still a gwine round it
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
211
HO! FOR THE FAR DISTANT WEST.
We are wending our way thro' the rocky vale,
Cheerily ho! for the far distant West;
We are wending our way thro' the rocky vale,
And our song we'll give to the mountain gale.
Cheerily ho for the far distant west!
1
The eagle roosts above our heads,
Where Sol his parting radiance sheds;
And when we hail his morning glare,
Our weary teams shall forage there.
Cheerily, ho! cheerily, ho! ho ho ho ho ho ho ho!
Cheerily, ho! cheerily, ho! Ho! for the far distant West.,
We are wending our way up the mountain side,
Cheerily ho! for the far distant West;
We are wending our way up the mountain side,
While the moon rises up like a modest bride.
Cheerily, ho! for the far distant West!
And now we've gain'd the lofty peak,
Where wild deer leap and night birds shriek;
Our fire we light on the mossy crest,
And shout hurrah! for the distant West.
Cheerily, ho! &c.
We are wending our way down the rocky slope,
Cheerily, ho! for the far distant West;
We are wending our way down the rocky slope,
With lips full of smiles and hearts full of hope.
Cheerily, ho! for the far distant West!
With prairie fields before us spread,
And a mild blue sky above our head;
We'll build our cabin in the shade,
Beside the murmuring cascade.
Cheerily, ho! &c.
THE WANDERER.
From countries far away I come,
Where'er I go, where'er I go I find no home.
I wander on, devoid of peace,
My joys diminish, woes increase, woes increase.
་
2.2
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
The sun's warm rays to me feel cold,
My life's young days seem growing old ;
The blooming flowers dead and sere,
I feel a stranger ev'ry where.
Where art thou, where art thou my beloved home?
I turn to thee where'er I roam,
It makes my very heart expand, my heart expand,
To think of thee my native land.
Thy cliffs so white, thy hills so blue,
Where blooms the rose and lilly too,
And early friends with hearts so true
Oh! land where art thou?
A spirit's warning voice I hear,
It whispers softly in my ear, in my ear,
Soon shalt thou quit life's troubled wave,
And find thy home in the silent grave
L
ALL REMEMBER THEE.
All! all remember thee, amid the glitt'ring throng,
The peerless queen of beauty, and the fairy sylph of song;
When in the whirling maze, so joyous, gay and free,
You led the sprightly dance, all, all remember thee.
All, all remember thee, all, all remember thee.
All! all remember thee, with wit replete and kind,
Thy gen'rous spirit blending with the genius of thy mind.
Companions cold may pass thee by, but hearts that are
warm and free,
Reflecting on thy goodness, will all remember thee.
Will all remember thee, will all remember thee.
All! all remember thee, and when the time shall come,
That thou art call'd away from earth unto a better home,
The violet sweet shall o'er thee bloom, its fragrance still
will be;
And the waving cypress mournful sigh, all, all remember
thee.
All, all remember thee, all, all remember thee.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
213
WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE.
Woodman spare that tree! touch not a single bough;
In youth it shelter'd me, and I'll protect it now:
'Twas my forefather's hand, that placed it near his cot,
There, woodman, let it stand, thy axe shall harm it not.
That old familiar tree, whose glory and renown,
Are spread o'er land and sea, and would'st thou hack it
down?
Woodman forbear thy stroke, cut not its earth-bound ties
Oh! spare that aged oak, now towering to the skies!
When but an idle boy, I sought its grateful shade;
In all their gushing joy, here too, my sisters played:
My mother kiss'd me here, my father press'd my hand;
Forgive this foolish tear, but let that old oak stand!
;
My heart strings round thee cling, close as thy bark, old
friend!
Here shall the wild bird sing, and still thy branches bend.
Old tree the storm still brave, and woodman leave the spot
While I've a hand to save, thy axe shall harm it not.
SAY, WHAT SHALL MY SONG BE TO NIGHT?
Say, what shall my song be to-night?
And the strain at your bidding, shall flow;
Shall the measure be sportive and light,
Or its murmurs be mournful and low?
Shall the days that are gone flit before thee?
The freshness of childhood come o'er thee?
Shall the past yield its smiles and its tears ?
Or the future its hopes and its fears?
Say, what shall my song be to-night ?
And the strain at your bidding, shall flow ;
Shall the measure be sportive and light?
Or its murmurs be mournful and low?
Say, say, oh! say, what shall my song be to-night
214
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
There are times when the heart will refuse,
On the past and its pleasures to dwell;
There are moments which mem'ry imbues,
With a gloom which she cannot dispel :
But the charm that enthrals them, is broken,
With the first word of song that is spoken;
For there is not a feeling or tone,
In the heart, byt to music 'tis known.
Say, what shall my song be to-night?
And the strain, at your bidding, shall flow;
Shall the measure he sportive and light?
Or, its murmurs be mournful and low ?
Say, say, oh! say, what shall my song be to-night?
THE JOLLY BEGGAR.
There was a jolly beggar, and a begging he was boun,
And he took up his quarters into a land'art toun.
And we'll gang nae mair a roving sae late unto the night,
And we'll gang nae mair a roving, let the moon shine e'er
so hright. And we'll gang nae mair a roving.
He wad neither lay in barn, nor yet wad he in byre,
But in ahint the ha' door, or else afore the fire.
And we'll gang nae mair a roving, &c.
The beggars bed was made at e'en with guid clean straw
and hay;
And in ahint the ha' door, and there the beggar lay.
And we'll gang nae mair a roving, &c.
Up raise the guidman's dochter, and for to bar the doos,
And there she saw the beggar standin' i' the floor.
And we'll gang nae mair a roving, &c.
He took a horn frae his side and blew baith loud and shrill,
And four-and-twenty belted knights came skipping o'er
the hill.
And we'll gang nae mair a roving, &c.
Then out he took his wee bit knife, loot a' his duddies fa'
And he stood forth a gentleman, the brawest o' them a'
And we'll gang nae mair a roving, &c.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
215
PLL SPEAK OF THEE, I'LL LOVE THEE TOO.
I'll speak of thee, I'll love thee too,
Fondly, and with affection trae ;
Pure as yon sky's celestial blue,
My love shall be, my love shall be.
In sunshine, and tho' clouds shall low'r,
In mirth, and sorrow's sadd'ning hour;
While mem'ry lives, and life has power,
I'll speak of thee, I'll speak of thee.
I'll speak of thee, I'll love thee too,
Fondly, and with affection true;
Pure as yon sky's celestial blue,
My love shall be, my love shall be.
Thro' youth's gay scene, in riper age,
In later life's concluding stage,
Dying, shall thoughts of thee engage,
My memory, my memory.
Remember, then remember me,
Remember all I have said to thee,
And my responsive pledge shall be,
I'll speak of thee. I'll speak of thee.
I'll speak of thee, I'll love thee too,
Fondly, and with affection true;
Pure as yon sky's celestial blue,
My love shall be, my love shall be
JOYFUL I E'ER SHALL BE.
Joyful I e'er shall be,
Care from my path shall flee,
For what greater charm than this beside,
To be thine own, thine own true bride.
Then wherefore not be gay,
Whilst in this world we stay,
In one continued merry whirl,
Let our life pass away.
With dance and song we'll while our time,
Joy will be ever at our side,
Such happiness can be no crime,
Therefore, what ill can betide?
216
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
1
Then joyful I e'er shall be,
Care from my path shall flee,
For what greater charm than this beside,
To be thine own, thine own true bride.
Then wherefore not be gay,
Whilst in this world we stay,
In one continued merry whirl,
Let our life pass away.
Clouds may round us lower,
We still defy their power,
For our life shall be so free,
With bitter grief 'twill ne'er agree.
Then let us live for pleasure,
And all good feelings treasure,
As care and woe do plainly show,
For us they have no measure.
So down the vale of life we'll move,
Ever ready as we go,
Our enjoyment of it to prove,
The happiness we know.
Then joyful I e'er shall be, &c.
WE MAY BE HAPPY YET.
Oh! smile as thou wert wont to smile,
Before the weight of care,
Had crush'd thy heart, and for awhile,
Left only sorrow there.
Some thoughts, perchance, 'twere best to quell,
Some impulse to forget,
O'er which should mem'ry cease to dwell,
We may be happy yet.
We may be happy, we may be happy yet.
Oh! never name departed days,
Nor vows you whisper'd then,
Round which too sad a feeling plays;
To trust their tones again.
Regard their shadows round thee cast,
As if we ne'er had met,
And thus, unmindful of the past,
We may be happy yet.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
217
THE WIND AND THE BEAM LOV'D THE ROSE,
The Wind and the Beam lov'd the Rose
And the Rose lov'd one;
For who recks the wind where it blows?
Or loves, or loves not the Sun ?
None knew whence the humble Wind stole,
Poor sport of the skies;
None dream'd that the Wind had a soul,
In its mournful sighs!
The Wind and the Beam lov'd the Rose,
And the Rose lov'd one;
For who recks the Wind where it blows?
Or loves, or loves not the Sun?
Oh! happy Beam, how canst thou prove,
That bright love of thine ?
In thy light is the proof of thy love,
Thou hast, thou hast but to shine!
How its love can the Wind reveal?,
Unwelcome its sigh;
Mute, mute to its Rose let it steal,
Its proof is to die!
The Wind and the Beam &c.
FARE THEE WELL..
Fare thee-well, and oh! may heav'n protect thee
Wheresoe'er thy future path may be;
Happiness be thine wherever fate direct thee,
Tho' it never, never can be shar'd by me.
Thro' the world, tho' wide our paths may sever,
Thine 'mid crowds, and mine pursu'd alone,
Moments pass'd with thee can be forgotten never,
Tho' the dream is ever and forever flown.
Deep within my heart this recollection,
Must among its dearest thoughts remain,
Soothing ev'ry sorrow, banishing dejection,
With the hope in brighter worlds to meet again.
218
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
1
COME TO THE DANCE.
/
Come to the dance, come to the dance,
Cavaliers and ladies bright,
Mirth shall smile on all around,
Joy shall reign to-night.
Cavaliers and ladies bright,
Come to the dance, come to the dance,
Joy shall reign to-night.
Come to the dance, come to the dance,
Joy shall reign to-night.
Here let the warrior sheath his sword,
And heed no more the clarion's cry,
Here let the warrior sheathe liis sword,
And heed no more the clarion's cry,
His camp shall be the court of love,
His meed the light from beauty's eye.
His camp the court of love,
His meed the light from beauty's eye.
Come to the dance, come to the dance,
Cavaliers and ladies bright,
Come to the dance, come to the dance,
Joy shall reign to-night.
Come to the dance, come to the dance,
Joy shall reign, reign to-night.
Oh! for the dance, oh! for the dance,
Bounding light in beauty's train,
Youth forgets its gloom and grief,
Age its care and pain.
Bounding light in beauty's train,
Youth forgets,
Youth forgets its gloom and grief,
Age its care, age its care,.
Age its care and pain.
Fill the banquet high with wine,
Minstrels! wake the festive lay,
Fill the banquet high with wine,
Minstrels! wake the festive lay,
While with the sprightly saraband,
We gaily pass the hours away,
We pass the hours away,
We gaily pass the hours away.
Come to the dance, &c
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
219
THE OLD ARM CHAIR.
I love it, I love it, and who shall dare,
To chide me for loving that Old Arm Chair
I've treasured it long as a holy prize,
;
I've bedew'd it with tears and embalm'd it with sighs;
'Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart,
Not a tie will break, not a link will start.
Would ye learn the spell, a mother sat there,
And a sacred thing is that Old Arm Chair.
I sat and watch'd her many a day,
When her eyes grew dim, and her locks grew grey;
And I almost worshipp'd her when she smil'd,
And turn'd from her bible to bless her child.
Years roll'd on, but the last one sped,
My idol was shatter'd, my earth-star fled :
I learnt how much the heart can bear,
When I saw her die in that Old Arm Chair.
'Tis past, 'tis past, but I gaze on it now,
With quivering breath, and throbbing brow;
'Twas there she nurs'd me, 'twas there she died,
And mem'ry flows with lava tide.
Say it is folly, and deem me weak,
While the scalding drops start down my cheek;
But I love it, I love it, and cannot tear,
My soul from a mother's Old Arm Chair.
I LO'E NAE A LADDIE BUT ANE.
I lo’e nae a laddie but ane,
He lo'es nae a lassie but me;
He's willin' to make me his ain,
And his ain I am willin' to be.
He gave me á rockley o' blue,
A pair o' new mittens o' green,
The price was a bussie or two,
And the debt I did pay him yestreen.
O! I lo'e nae a laddie but ane,
He lo'es nae a lassie but me,
He's willin' to make me his ain,
And his ain I am willin' to be.
220
SINGER'S SOUVENIK.
Dear lassie, he cries, wi' a jeer,
Ne'er heed what the auld ones will say,
Tho' we've little to brag o' ne'er fear,
What's gowd to the heart that is wae.
Our Laird has both honor and wealth,
Yet see how he's dwining wi' care,
Now we, tho' we've naething but health,
Are cantie and liel ever mair.
O! I lo'e nae a laddie but ane, &c.
I'LL BE NO SUBMISSIVE WIFE.
I'll be no submissive wife, no, not I, no, not I,
I'll not be a slave for life, no, not I, no, not I,
I'll be no submissive wife, no, not I, no, not I,
I'll not be a slave for life, no, not I, no not I.
Think you on a wedding day,
That I said as others say,
Love and honor, and obey,
Love and honor, and obey,
No no no no no no no no no not I,
Love and honor, and obey,
Love and honor, and obey,
No no no no no no no no no not I,
No no no no no no no no no not I,
No no no no no no no no no no not I.
I to dullness don't incline, no, not I, no, not I,
Go to bed at half-past nine, no, not I, no, not I,
I to dullness don't incline, no, not I, no, not I,
Go to bed at half-past nine, no, not I, no not I.
Should a humdrum husband say,
That at home I ought to stay,
Do you think that I'll obey?
Do you think that I'll obey?
No no no no no no no no no not I,
Do you think that I'll obey?
Do you think that I'll obey?
No no no no no no no no no not I,
No no no no no no no no no not I,
No no no no no no no no no no not I

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
221
I'M AFLOAT! I'M AFLOAT!
I'm afloat! I'm afloat! on the fierce rolling tide,
The ocean's my home, and my bark is my bride!
Up! up! with my flag! let it wave o'er the sea,
I'm afloat! I'm afloat! and the rover is free!
I fear not the monarch, I heed not the law;
I've a compass to steer by, a dagger to draw:
And ne'er as a coward or slave will I kneel,
While my guns carry shot, or my belt bears a steel!
Quick! quick! trim her sails, let her sheets kiss the wind,
And I warrant we'll soon leave the sea-gulls behind.
Up! up with my flag! let it wave o'er the sea!
I'm afloat! I'm afloat! and the rover is free!
I'm afloat! I'm afloat! and the rover is free!
The night gathers o'er us, the thunder is heard;
What matter? our vessel skims on like a bird;
What to her is the dash of the storm-ridden main?
She has brav'd it before, and will brave it again!
The fire gleaming flashes around us may fall;
They may strike, they may cleave, but they cannot appal:
With lightnings above us, and darkness below,
Through the wild waste of waters right onward we go.
Hurrah! my brave boys, ye may drink, ye may sleep,
The storm-fiend is hush'd, we're alone on the deep.
Our flag of defiance still waves o'er the sea,
Hurrah! boys, hurrah! the rover is free!
Hurrah! boys, hurrah! the rover is free!
I'LL WATCH FOR THEE.
I'll watch for thee from my lonely bower,
Come o'er the sea at the twilight hour;
Come when the day,
Passes away,
When the nightingale sings on the tree,
Come and remove,
Doubts of my love;
But if thou lov'st me not, come not to me!
Come and remove, doubts of my love,
But if thou lov'st me not, come not to me!
922
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
Why didst thou say I was brighter far,
Than the bright ray of the evening star;
Why didst thou come,
Seeking my home,
Till I believ'd that thy vows were sincere ?
Oh! if thy vow,
Wearies thee now,
Tho' I may weep for thee, never come here!
Oh! if thy vow wearies thee now,
Tho' I may weep for thee, never come here!
THE MINISTERING ANGEL.
Since the heart owns thee of that angel choir,
Who live and love in yonder azure skies,
Why find it strange this bosom should adore,
And offer thee the incense of its sighs?
And would'st thou blame the feeling? nay, not so;
"Twere wrong the hallow'd impulse to reprove;
For whence thy mission to this vale of woe,
If not to have us love thee and to love?
For whence thy mission to this vale of woe,
If not to have us love thee, and to love?
When near to thee how quench the burning sigh,
Pour'd from the heart that owns thy pow'rful spell?
How, while soft rapture glistens in the eye,
་
Repress the fond hopes that unbidden swell?
Since then, alas ! so hard a task is mine,
To rule the heart and regulate its fires,
A soul all gentleness at least be thine,
Pity the weakness which thyself inspires.
A minist'ring angel then, in mercy deign,
To fill the mission giv'n thee here below,
To heal of human hearts the bitt'rest pain,
The pain which slighted love is doom'd to know.
Low at thy feet a prostrate spirit see,
Its weal or woe awaiting at thy hand;
Thine errand is of mercy, and from thee,
Heav'n of that charge will strict account demand.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
228
WHEN SLUMBER'S PINIONS O'ER ME PLAY.
I love her as that heav'n I love,
Whose shrine we are forbade to know,
Whose light and beauty, form'd above,
But rarely blends with aught below.
When slumber's pinions o'er me play,
In dreams her form appears to me,
And when those visions pass away,
Its image still I seem to see.
And when those visions pass away,
Its image still I seem to see.
In hour of joy, or of distress,
She is my heart's presiding star,
And by her unmatch'd loveliness,
I feel how worthless others are.
When slumber's pinions o'er me play,
In dreams her form appears to me,
And when those visions pass away,
Its image still I seem to see.
And when those, &c.
KATE O'SHANE.
The cold winds of autumn wail mournfully here,
The leaves round me falling, are faded and sere;
But chill tho' the breeze be, and threat'ning the storm,
My heart full of fondness beats kindly and warm;
Oh! Dennis, dear, come back to me,
I count the hours away from thee;
Return, O, never part again,
From thy own darling, Kate O'Shane.
'Twas here we last parted, 'twas here we first met,
And ne'er has he caus'd me one tear of regret;
Tho' season's may alter, their change I defy,
My heart's one glad summer, when Dennis is by.
Oh! Dennis, dear, come back to me,
:
I count the hours away from thee;
Return, O, never part again,
From thy own darling, Kate O'Shane
234
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THE LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT.
I'm sitting on the stile, Mary,
Where we sat side by side,
On a bright May morning, long ago,
When first you were my bride.
The corn was springing fresh and reen,
And the lark sang loud and high,
And the red was on thy lip, Mary,
And the lovelight in your eye.
And the red was on thy lip, Mary,
And the lovelight in your eye.
The place is little changed, Mary,
The day as bright as then;
The lark's loud song is in my ear,
And the corn is green again!
But I miss the soft clasp of your hand,
And your breath warm on my cheek,
And I still keep list'ning for the words,
You never more may speak.
'Tis but a step down yonder lane,
And the little church stands near,
The church where we were wed, Mary,
I see the spire from here;
But the grave-yard lays between, Mary,
And my step might break your rest,
For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep,
With your baby on your breast.
I'm very lonely now, Mary,
For the poor make no new friends,
But oh! they love the better far,
The few our father sends!
And you were all I had, Mary,
My blessing and my pride;
There's nothing left to care for now,
Since my poor Mary died.
Yours was the brave good heart, Mary,
That still kept hoping on,
When the trust in God had left my soul,
And my arm's young strength had gone ;
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
There was comfort ever on your lip,
- And the kind look on your brow;
I bless you for that same, Mary,
Though you can't hear me now.
I thank you for that patient smile,
When your heart was fit to break,
When the hunger pain was gnawing there,
And you hid it, for my sake;
I bless you for the pleasant word,
When your heart was sad and sore;
Oh! I'm thankful you are gone, Mary,
Where grief can't reach you more.
I'm bidding you a long farewell,
My Mary, kind and true,
But I'll not forget you, darling,
In the land I'm going to;
They say there's bread and work for all,
And the sun shines always there;
But I'll not forget old Ireland;
Were it fifty times as fair.
And often in those grand old woods.
I'll sit and shut my eyes,
And my heart will travel back again,
To the place where Mary lies;
And I'll think I see the little stile,
Where we sat side by side,
And the springing corn, and the bright May mora
When first you were my bride.
GOOD BYE.
Farewell, farewell is a lonely sound,
And always brings a sigh!
But give to me when lov'd ones part,
That sweet old word, "good-bye."
That sweet old word, "good-bye,"
That sweet old word, "good-bye,"
But give to me when lov'd ones part,
That sweet old word, "good-bye."
120
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
Farewell, farewell may do for the gay,
When pleasure's throng is nigh,
But give to me that better word,
That comes from the heart, 66
good-bye."
That comes, etc.
Adieu, adieu, we hear it oft,
With a tear, perhaps with a sigh,
But the heart feels most when the lips move not,
And the eye speaks the gentle "good-bye."
And the eye, etc.
Farewell, farewell is never heard,
When the tear 's in the mother's eye,
Adieu, adieu, she speaks it not,
But my love, "good bye," good bye."
But my love, etc.
COME AT THE HOUR.
Come at the hour when nature closing,
O'er wearied crowds the wing or rest,
Bids man, from worldly cares reposing,
In the calm lap of peace be blest:
When the bat sails the air in sadness,
When the bee's hum of lightsome, lightsome glee,
And the bird's song of grateful gladness,
Is hushed, then dearest, come to me.
Then dearest, come to me, to me,
Then dearest, come to me.
Come at the hour when spirits hover,
In shadowy forms earth's paths around;
When stealthy step of wand'ring lover,
Seeks her whose spells his heart have bound
Then when her mantle silence flingeth,
And twilight's mists veil land and sea,
And rest to man and nature bringeth,
That hour, oh! come to me!
That hour, oh! come to me, to me,
That hour, oh! come to me.

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
227
THE POSTILLION.
Friends, come draw near and hear the story,
Of a Postillion bold and gay,
'Tis true indeed, 'tis no vain glory,
Take, take my word for all I say.
When far his horses tramp was sounding,
The village maids came forth to greet,
Many a heart from them was bounding,
Galloping with his horses feet.
(The French version
to be used at option
of
singer.)
Oh! oh! oh! oh! how gay and free,
The happy Postillion must be.
Oh! oh! oh! oh! how gay and free,
How gay and free,
The happy Postillion must be,
The happy Postillion must be.
How gay and free, gay and free, gay and free,
The happy Postillion e'er must be.
How gay and free, gay and free, gay and free,
The happy Postillion e'er must be.
Oh oh oh ob qu'il etait beau, le Postillon de Lonjumeau,
Oh oh oh oh qu'il etait beau, qu'il etait beau,
Le Postillon de Lonjumeau, le Postillon de Lonjumeau.
Ah! qu'il est beau, qu'il est beau, qu'il est beau,
Le Postillon de Lonjumeau.-Ah! qu'il est beau, qu'il est
beau, qu'il est beau,-Le Postillon de Lonjumeau.
Many a lady high in station,
Whose absent lord his wife had told,
If you do ride for recreation,
None drives but this Postillion bold.
His horses promptly obey his will,
When the trusty reins he's seizing,
There's perfect safety in his skill,
His overturns are not unpleasing.
Late in the night the village leaving,
To take some trav'llers on their way,
Home he quitted, many grieving,
Vainly at his lengthen'd stay.
No more he roves to ev'ry flower,
His days of gallantry are done,
He that o'er many hearts had power,
Now has become the slave of one.
928
SINGER'S SOUVENIR
I CANNA LO'E HIM LESS.
My cheek is unco pale, mither,
My heart is unco chill ;
For sorrow, wi' its icy breath,
Checks ilka happy thrill :
And tho' in grief and wae, mither,
His name I ever bless,
For tho' he's broken plight and vow,
I canna lo'e him less.
For tho' he's broken plight and vow,
I canna lo'e him less.
The trysting tree is green, mither,
Where we sae aften met,
It should hae wither'd lang ago,
When he could first forget;
The bonnie dell is bright, mither,
Wi' summer's gaudy dress,
While ilka blossom speaks o' him,
I canna lo'e him less.
While ilka blossom, etc.
The ha'thorn scents the breeze, mither,
Along the river side,
And far across the waters bright,
I see his swift boat glide;
But it comes not now to me, mither,
His whisper and caress,
Is gi'en unto anither,
Yet I canna lo’e him less.
Is gi'en unto, etc.
Then tell him when I die, mither,
That wi' my latest breath,
I prayed for the fause cruel heart,
That gave my ain to death:
Tell him the lips then cold, mither,
Ne'er murmured but to bless,
And tho' he's wrought me wae and ill,
I canna lo'e him less.
And tho' he's wrought, etc.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
229
TO THE MOUNTAIN AWAY.
To the mountain, to the mountain, to the mountain away,
The sunbeam is gilding the haunts of our prey,
Living echo, living echo, now answers our cry,
And bids us begone, or the chamois will fly.
Now gird on each rifle, each wallet prepare,
And away to the hilltop, for the eagle is there,
Now mark we each staff points the storm hurries on,
The snow must our beds be till rises the sun, till rises the
sun.
Ne'er heed we the ice-cleft, the torrent may roll,
But naught brings dismay to the brave hunter's soul.
To the mountain, to the mountain, to the mountain away,
The sunbeam is gilding the haunts of our prey,
Living echo, living echo, now answers our cry,
And bids us begone, or the chamois will fly.
To the mountain, to the mountain, to the mountain away,
To the mountain, to the mountain, to the mountain away,
To the mountain away, away, away, away, away, away,
away, away.
The av❜lanche may fall, and bring death in its course,
We heed not, but boldly evade its dread force,
As down in the valley it thunders below,
We gather again with a brave a-i-o.
Now mark, we each staff points the storm hurries on,
The snow must our bed be till rises the sun, till rises the
sun.
Ne'er heed we the ice-cleft, the torrent may roll,
But naught brings dismay to the brave hunter's soul.
To the mountain, to the mountain away,
To the mountain, to the mountain, to the mountain away,
The sunbeam is gilding the haunts of our prey,
Living echo, living echo, now answers our cry,
And bids us begone, or the chamois will fly.
To the mountain, to the mountain, to the mountain away,
To the mountain, to the mountain, to the mountain away,
To the mountain away, away, away, away, away, away,
away, away.
930
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THE GYPSY'S BRIDE.
In the gipsies' life you may read,
The life that all would like to lead;
In the gipsies' life you may read,
The life that all would like to lead.
Come with the gypsy bride,
And repair
To the fair,
Where the mazy dance,
Will the hours entrance.
Love is the first thing to clasp,
But if he escape your grasp,
Friendship will then be at hand,
In the young rogue's place to stand
Hope then will be nothing loth,
To point out the way to both.
Hope then will be nothing loth,
To point out the way to both.
Come with the gypsy bride,
And repair
To the fair,
Where the mazy dance,
Will the hours entrance.
THO' MY SHIP ON THE DARK BLUE WAVE
Tho' my ship on the dark blue wave,
Be borne up mountain high,
It will ride on its crested foam,
Nor sink tho' a rock were nigh.
Brave are the souls we seamen wear,
Pure is our wine as our hearts are free
Shipwreck and danger may be our fare,
Yet merrily drink, drink merrily we.
On danger's brink,
We merrily drink, we drink.
Brave are the souls we seamen wear,
Pure is our wine as our hearts are free,
Shipwreck and danger may be our fare.
Yet merrily drink, drink merrily we
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
231
SEE AT YOUR FEET A SUPPLIANT.
See at your feet, a suppliant one,
Whose place should be your heart,
Behold the only living thing,
To which she had to cling;
Who sav'd her life, watch'd o'er her years
With all the fondness faith endears,
And her affection won;
Rend not such ties apart.
Oh, spurn him not, my only friend,
Thro' good and ill he's been,
And was the only living thing,
To which I had to cling;
He sav'd my life, watch'd o'er my years,
With all the fondness faith endears,
And my affection won;
Rend not such ties apart.
THO' 'TIS ALL BUT A DREAM.
Tho' 'tis all but a dream at the best,
And still when happiest soonest o'er;
Yet c'en in a dream to be blest.
Is so sweet that I ask for no more :
The bosom that opes with earliest hopes,
The soonest finds those hopes untrue,
As flowers that first in spring time burst,
The earliest wither too!
Aye, 'tis all but a dream at the best,
And still when happiest soonest o'er,
Yet e'en in a dream to be blest,
Is so sweet that I ask for no more.
By friendship we oft are deceiv'd,
And find the love we clung to, past;
Yet friendship will still be believ'd,
And love trusted on to the last :
The web in the leaves the spider weaves,
Is like the charm hope hangs o'er men,
Tho' often she sees it broke by the breeze,
She spins the bright tissue again.
Aye, 'tis all but a dream, etc.
232
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THOU HAST LEFT ME TO MY SORROW.
Thou hast left me to my sorrow,
And withdrawn thy love from me;
But my mem'ry still must borrow,
All its dearest thoughts from thee:
Tho' I know that I am fading,
'Neath a cold world's bitter blast,
And they tell me 'tis degrading,
Yet I'll love thee to the last.
Where thy false vows first were plighted,
It were needless now to tell ;
How my constant heart was slighted,
Thou canst yet remember well:
But I mean not to upbraid thee;
May'st thou never know the smart,
When some false one has betray'd thee,
Of a fond and doting heart.
On thy path of pleasure hieing,
Whilst it brightens in thine eye;
May no thought of her now dying,
Wake thy bosom's faintest sigh:
But should sorrow overtake thee,
And thy dreams of pleasure flee;
When at night thy griefs awake thee,
Think of those thou gav'st to me.
THOU WILT GO AND FORGET ME.
Thou wilt go and forget me, as others have done,
Who have lov'd with an ardour like thine;
I shall weep in thine absence, like many a one,
Who has lov'd, who has lov'd with devotion like mine.
Yet I love thee, oh! dearly I love thee, in spite
Of the warning I take from the past;
As the sweet rose of summer, the sweet rose of summer
we love, we love with delight,
Though we know that its bloom cannot last,
Though we know that its bloom cannot last.
Thou wilt go and forget me! thou'lt go and forget me!
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
233
Thou wilt go and forget me, I know it full well!
And alas! 'tis the way of the world;
For when friends muster strongest we always can tell,
'Tis then, 'tis then pleasure's flag is unfurl'd!
Yet I love thee, oh! dearly I love thee, in spite
Of the warning I take from the past;
As the sweet rose of summer, the sweet rose of summer
we love, we love with delight,
Though we know that its bloom cannot last,
Though we know that its bloom cannot last.
Thou wilt go and forget me! thou'lt go and forget me !
THERE WAS A TIME.
There was a time when in a trance,
My very soul seem'd bound;
When love, caught from thy star light glance,
Turn'd earth to fairy ground.
When hours flew by on rosy wings,
We did not woo their stay,
Nor weep their loss, for brighter things,
Came ev'ry new-born day.
There was a time, the timid blush,
The low, sweet faltering tone,
Thy gentle eyes, the tears' soft gush,
That flowed for me alone;
The smile of welcome when I came,
The sigh to see me part,
All outward tokens told my name
Was written on thy heart.
There was a time, thou wert to me,
As dew is to the flower;
As moonlight to the summer sea,
As fragrance to the bower;
Those dreamy times are over now,
So cold, so changed thou art!
And clouds have gathered on my brow,
And shadows on my heart!
234
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THOU ART LOVELIER.
Thou art lovelier than the coming,
Of the fairest flow'rs of spring;
When the wild bee wanders, humming,
Like a blessed fairy thing.
Thou art lovelier than the breaking,
Of the orient crimson morn;
When the gentlest winds are shaking,
The dew-drops from the thorn.
Thou art lovelier than the coming,
Of the fairest flow'r of spring;
When the wild bee wanders humming,
Like a blessed fairy thing.
I have seen the wild flow'rs springing,
In field and wood and glen ;
Where a thousand birds are singing,
And my thoughts were of thee then.
For there's nothing gladsome round me,
Nothing beautiful to see,
Since thy beauty's spell has bound me,
But is eloquent of thee.
Thou art lovelier than the coming, &c
THERE IS NO HOME LIKE MY OWN.
In the wild Chamois track, at the breaking of morn
With a hunter's pride,
O'er the mountain side,
We are led by the sound of the Alpine horn;
Tra la la la la la la la la la,
O that voice to me,
Is a voice of glee,
Wherever my footsteps roam;
And I long to bound,
When I hear that sound,
Again to my mountain home.
In the wild Chamois track, at the breaking of morn,
With a hunter's pride,
O'er the mountain side,
We are led by the sound of the Alpine horn;
Tra la la la la la la la la la,
Tra la la la la la la la la la

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
235
I have cross'd the proud Alps I have sail'd down the Rhone
And there is no spot,
Like the simple cot,
And the hill and the valley I call my own;
Tra la la la la la la la la la,
There the skies are bright,
And our hearts are light,
Our bosoms without a fear,
For our toil is play,
And our sport the fray,
With the mountain roe or the forest deer.
in the wild Chamois track, at the breaking of morn,
With a hunter's pride,
O'er the mountain side,
We are led by the sound of the Alpine horn;
Tra la la la la la la la la la,
Tra la la la la la la la la la.
THE LITTLE PIGS.
Our little pigs lie on very good straw,
Straw, (grunt) aw, (whistle) aw shin dan diddle daw,
Our little pigs lie on very good straw,
Lillibullero, lillibullero, lillibullero, lillibullero,
My dad was a bonny wee man.
Man, (grunt) an, (whistle) an shin dan diddle dan,
My dad was a bonny wee man.
Our little pigs eat the best of prates,
Prates, (grunt) ates, (whistle) ates shin dan diddle dates,
Our little pigs eat the best of prates,
Lillibullero, &c.
Our little pigs make the best of bacon,
Bacon, (grunt) acon (whistle) acon shin dan diddle dacon
Our little pigs make the best of bacon,
Lillibullero, &c.
And there's an end to our little song,
Song, (grunt) ong, (whistle) ong shin dan diddle dong,
And there's an end to our little song,
Lillibullero, &c.

236
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
TO THE VINE FEAST.
To the vine feast to the vine feast come come pretty maids,
The vales of the Tyrol are stripp'd of the berry,
The green of the leaf in the Autumn sun fades,
So come to the vine feast, come maidens be merry.
So come to the vine feast, come maidens he merry.
Ruby lips smiling,-Love tales beguiling,
Ruby lips smiling,-Love tales beguiling,
Bold are the hearts of the youths of our hills,
For truth and good faith ev'ry Tyrol heart fills.
For truth and good faith ev'ry Tyrol breast fills.
So come to the vine feast, come pretty maids,
To the vine feast, the vine feast, come, come pretty maids,
Tra lal la, tra lal la,
To the vine feast to the vine feast come come pretty maids
Tra lal la tra la la la la la la la la,
To the vine feast to the vine feast come come pretty maids
Come, come, come to the vine feast,
Come, come, come to the vine feast, come, come.
Leave the sheep in the fold, leave the kye in the field,
E'en the milking pail now to the vine feast must yield,
For merry, merry, aye merry,
The grape's purple berry,
And sprightly, yes, sprightly,
Each foot dances lightly,
And sprightly, yes, sprightly,
Each foot dances lightly,
Ere the Autumn sun fades, ere the Autumn sun fades,
Come away pretty maids, ere the Autumn sun fades,
Come away, come away pretty maids,
Come, come, come away, come away, come away,
Come pretty maids, come, come, come away,
Come, come away, come away, come away,
To the vine feast, the vine feast come, come pretty maids,
The vales of the Tyrol are stripp'd of the berry,
The green of the leaf in the Autumn sun fades,
So come to the vine feast, come, come pretty maids;
Tra lal la, tra la la,
To the vine feast to the vine feast come come pretty maids,
Tra lal la tra lal la la la la la la la,
To the vine feast to the vine feast come come pretty maids,
Come, come, come to the vine feast,
Come, come, come to the vine feast, come, come.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
237
THE SUNSET TREE.
Come, come, come, come to the sunset tre
The day is past and gone,
The woodman's axe lies free,
And the reaper's work is done:
The twilight star to heav'n,
And the summer dew to flowers,
And rest to us is giv'n,
By the cool soft evening hours
Come, come, come, come to the sunset
The day is past and gone,
The woodman's axe lies free,
And the reaper's work is done.
Sweet is the hour of rest,
Pleasant the wood's low sigh,
And the gleaming of the west,
And the turf whereon we lie:
When the burthen and the heat,
Of labor's task are o'er,
And kindly voices greet,
The tired one at his door.
Come, come, come, etc.
Yes, tuneful is the sound,
That dwells in whispering boughs,
Welcome the freshness round,
And the gale that fans our brows :
But rest more sweet and still,
Than even nightfall gave,
Our yearning hearts shall fill,
In the world beyond the grave.
Come, come, come, etc.
There shall no tempests blow,
No scorching noontide beat;
There shall be no more snow,
No weary, wandering feet:
So we lift our trusting eyes,
From the hills our fathers trod,
To the quiet of the skies,
To the sabbath of our God.
Come, come, come, etc.
$38
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
THE MAIN TRUCK.
Old Ironsides at anchor lay,
In the harbor of Mahon,
A dead calm rested on the bay,
The waves to sleep had gone ;
When little Hal, the captain's son,
A lad both brave and good,
In sport, up shroud and rigging run,
And on the main truck stood!

A shudder shot through ev'ry vein,
All eyes were turn'd on high,
There stood the boy with dizzy brain,
Between the sea and sky!
No hold had he above-below!
Alone he stood in air!
At that far height none dar'd to go,
At that far height none dar'd to go,
No aid could reach him there.
We gaz'd, but not a man could speak!
With horror all aghast,
In groups, with pallid brow and cheek,
We watch'd the quiv'ring mast.
The atmosphere grew thick and hot,
And of a lurid hue,
As riveted unto the spot,
Stood officers and crew.
We gaz'd, but not a man could speak!
We gaz'd, but not a man could speak!
Not a man could speak.
The father came on deck-he gasp'd,
"Oh God! thy will be done!"
Then suddenly a rifle grasp'd,
46
And aim'd it at his son!
Jump, far out, boy, into the wave,
"Jump, or I fire" he said:
"That only chance your life can save!
"Jump, jump boy!"-he obey'd,
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
239
He sunk-he rose-he liv'd-he mov'd;
He for the ship struck out!
On board we hail'd the lad belov'd,
On board we hail'd the lad belov'd,
On board we hail'd the lad belov'd,
On board we hail'd the lad belov'd,
On board we hail'd the lad belov'd,
With many, with many a manly shout.
His father drew, in silent joy,
Those wet arms round his neck,
Then folded to his heart the boy,
And fainted on the deck.
YOUNG AGNES, BEAUTEOUS FLOWER
Young Agnes, beauteous flower,
Sweet as blooming May,
One ev'ning from her tower,
Thus pour'd her tender lay: -
The night now hath spread its shade,
And 'twill hide thee from all,
Then haste to thy faithful maid,
Darkness veils bow'r and hall;
Oh! haste beneath her tower,
Dost thou not hear love's call?
Dost thou not hear love's call?
Dost thou not hear love's call?
The silent hour invites thee,
No star sheds its ray;
No danger, love, affrights thee;
Wherefore then dost thou stay?
When sunbeams illume the sky,
Guardians then may appal,
But now clos'd is ev'ry eye,
Let thy steps gently fall!
The silent hour invites thee,
Dost thou not hear love's call?
Dost thou not hear love's call?
Dost thou not hear love's call?
F
940
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
脊
​IF THE DEEP VOICE OF SORROW.
If the deep voice of sorrow assail us,
Ne'er list to its mournful song;
Of these short happy moments avail us,
They will not remain with us long.
Let's be happy, nor dream of the morrow,
And with song, jest, and glee, banish strife;
Let each gay, reckless heart know no sorrow,
But in sweet joyous hours pass through life.
Let each gay, reckless heart know no sorrow,
But in sweet joyous hours pass through life.
Let each gay, reckless heart know no sorrow,
But in sweet joyous hours pass through life.
Crippled age will ere long sure o'erwhelm us,
And misery's shaft banish rest;
But sweet pleasure from sorrow will shield us,
And happiness still be our guest.
Let's be happy, nor dream of the morrow,
And with song,.jest, and glee, banish strife,
Let each gay, reckless heart know no sorrow,
But in sweet joyous hours pass through life.
Let each gay, reckless heart, etc
MY PRESENCE STILL, IN CALM OR STORM.
4
My presence still, in calm or storm,
Shall aid to thee impart ;
And learn, that if I change my form,
I never change my heart.
My presence still, in calm or storm,
Shall aid to thee impart ;
And learn, that if I change my form,
I never change my heart.
When fortune round thee wore a smile,
Or dark and cold became,
Affection guarded thee the while,
My heart was still the same.
My presence still etc.
SINGER'S SOUVENIR,
241-
UNDER THE WALNUT TREE.
Under the walnut tree, dance with me, dance with me,
Gay as fairy elves we'll be, in some sylvan shade.
Under the walnut tree, dance with me, dance with me,
Gay as fairy elves we'll be, in some sylvan shade.
Tripping, tripping lightly, o'er the verdant meadows,
Tripping, tripping lightly, o'er the verdant meadows,
Here no worldly sorrow, here no worldly sorrow, shall
our hearts invade,
Here no worldly sorrow shall our hearts invade.
Under the walnut tree, dance with me, dance with me,
Gay as fairy elves we'll be, in some sylvan shade.
Oft by the glowworm light,
Elfins gay and spirits bright,
Meet beneath their branches height,
And dance at peep of morn.
Oft by the glowworm light,
Elfins gay and spirits bright,
Meet beneath their branches height,
And dance at peep of morn.
Tripping, tripping lightly, o'er the verdant meadows,
Tripping, tripping lightly, o'er the verdant meadows,
Night's pale nectar quaffing, night's pale nectar quaffing,
in some sylvan shade.
Night's pale nectar quaffing, in some sylvan shade.
Under the walnut tree, dance with me, dance with me,
Gay as fairy elves we'll be, in some sylvan shade.
WHEN STARS ARE IN THE QUIET SKIES
When stars are in the quiet skies,
Then most I pine for thee;
Bend on me, then, thy tender eyes,
As stars look on the sea!
For thoughts, like waves that glide by night,
Are stillest when they shine;
Mine earthly love lies hush'd in light,
Beneath the heav'n of thine.
Q
Mine earthly love lies hush'd in light,
Beneath the heav'n of thine.

242
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
There is an hour when angels keep,
Familiar watch on men;
When coarser souls are wrapt in sleep,
Sweet spirit, meet me then.
There is an hour when holy dreams,
Through slumber fairest glide,
And in that mystic hour it seems,
Thou should'st be by my side.
The thoughts of thee too sacred are,
For daylight's common beam;
I can but know thee as my star,
My angel, and my dream!
When stars are in the quiet skies,
Then most I pine for thee;
Bend on me, then, thy tender eyes.
As stars look on the sea!
THE CHAMOIS.
Where lightly 'mid the mountain dew,
Roam the Chamois free,
Oh! there with choral horns and rifle true,
There's the path for me!
Wild kids bounding,
Sweet horns sounding,
Friends surrounding,
These, oh! these for me!
Where some sweet shepherd maiden sings,
Merry as the bee,
Oh! there where echo's playful music rings,
There's the charn: for me!
Wild kids bounding, etc.
Where welcome waits the hunter's call,
Sport and native glee.
Oh! there, where love and friendship circle all,
There's the home for me!
Wild kids bounding, etc.

SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
243
LOST ROSABEL.
They have giv'n thee to another,
They have broken ev'ry vow,
They have giv'n thee to another.
And my heart is lonely now;
They remember not our parting,
They remember not our tears,
They have sever'd in an hour,
The tenderness of years.
Oh! was it well to leave me ?
Thou could'st not so deceive me,
Long and sorely I shall grieve thee,
Lost, lost Rosabel!
They have giv'n thee to another,
Thou art now his gentle bride,
Had I lov'd thee as a brother,
I could see thee by his side;
But I know with gold they've won thee,
And thy trusting heart beguil'd,
Thy mother, too, doth shun me,
For she knew I lov'd her child.
Oh! was it well to sever,
Two fond hearts forever?
I can only answer, never,
Lost, lost Rosabel!
They have giv'n her to another,
She will love him too, they say;
If her mem'ry do not chide her,
Oh! perhaps, perhaps she may.
But I know that she hath spoken
What she never can forget,
And tho' my heart be broken,
It will love her, love her yet.
Oh! 'twas not well to sever
Two fond hearts forever
I can only say forever-
Dear, dear Rosabel'
244
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
FLOWER OF ELLERSLIE.
She's sportive as the zephyr, that sips of ev'ry sweet,
She's fairer than the fairest lily, in nature's soft retreat,
Her eyes are like the chrystal brook, its bright and clear
to see,
Her lips outvie the scarlet flow'r of bonny Ellerslie.
Her lips outvie the scarlet flow'r of bonny Ellerslie
O, were my love a blossom, when summer skies depart,
I'd plant her in my bosom, and wear her near my heart,
And oft I'd kiss her balmy lips, so beautiful to see,
Which far outwie the scarlet flow'r of bonny Ellerslie.
Which far outvie the scarlet flow'r of bonny Ellerslie.
O were I king of Scotland's throne and a' the world beside
Right glad I'd gie thema' to hae that lovely maid my bride,
And oft I'd kiss her balmy lips, so beautiful to see,
Which far outvie the scarlet flow'r of bonny Ellerslie.
Which far outvie the scarlet flow'r of bonny Ellerslie
THE SWEET BIRDS ARE SINGING.
•
The sweet birds are winging,
From arbour to spray, from arbour to spray;
And cheerily singing,
Of Spring time and May, merry May, merry May
Sing, shepherds, sing with me, cheerily, cheerily,
Sing, shepherds, sing with me, merry, merry May
Our dear girls to meet us,
Are now on their way, are now on their way;
With garlands to greet us,
And songs of the May, merry May, merry May!
Sing, shepherds, sing, etc.
The cattle are lowing,
Come, up from your hay, come, up from your hay;
Lads, let us be going,
The morning is May, merry May, merry May!
Sing, shepherds, sing, etc.
•

SINGER'S SOUVENIR
245
ROME, THOU ART NO MORE!
Rome, Rome, thou art no more, as thou hast been!
On thy seven hills of yore, thou sat'st a queen;
"Thou had'st thy triumphs then, purpling the street,
Princes and scepter'd men, bow'd at thy feet.
Rome, Rome, thou art no more, as thou hast been.
No, no, no more as thou hast been!
Rome, thine imperial brow, never shall rise;
What hast thou left thee now? Thou hast thy skies!
Blue. deeply blue they are-gloriously bright!
Veiling thy wastes afar, with colored light.
Many a solemn hymn, by starlight sung,
Sweeps through the arches dim, thy wrecks among;
Many a flute's low swell, on thy soft air,
Lingers, and loves to dwell, with summer there.
Thou hast fair forms that move with queenly tread;
Thou hast proud fanes above thy mighty dead:
Yet wears thy Tiber's shore a mournful mien,
Rome, Rome! thou art no more as thou hast been!
O: DOUBT NOT.
O! doubt not, nor deem that my heart's like a glass,
Can reflect other features when yours are remov'd.
You have 'reft it of all but your image, alas!
If this be not loving, thou hast not been lov'd.
If this be not loving, thou hast not been lov'd.
I never deceived you, and yet you condemn,
Is this the reward my fond truth has achieved?
I turn'd from my friends, and prefer'd you to them;
If this be deceiving, you have been deceived.
Nor deem I forget, tho' between roll the deep,
Oh! 'twere for my peace could that lesson be taught;
From the dream which recals you, I wake but to weep;
If this be forgetting, you have been forgot.

246
SINGER'S SOUVENIR.
OH! TAKE ME BACK TO SWITZERLAND.
By the dark waves of the rolling sea,
Where the white sail'd ships are tossing free
Came a youthful maiden,
Pale and sorrow-laden,
With a mournful voice sang she:
Oh! take me back to Switzerland,
My own, my dear, my native land,
I'll brave all dangers of the main,
To see my own dear land again.
I see its hills, I see its streams,
Its blue lakes haunt my restless dreams:
When the day declineth,
Or the bright sun shineth,
Present still its beauty seems!
Oh! take me back to Switzerland,
Upon the mountains let me stand,
Where flowers are bright, and skies are clear,
For oh! I pine, I perish here!
For months along that gloomy shore,
'Mid seabird's cry, and ocean's roar,
Save that mournful maiden,
Pale and sorrow-laden,
Then her voice was heard no more!
Far, far away from Switzerland.
From home, from friends, from native land,
Where foreign wild flowers coldly lave,
The broken hearted found a grave!
TELL HER I'LL LOVE HER.
Tell her I'll love her while the clouds drop rain,
Or while there's water in the pathless main:
Tell her I'll love her till this life is o'er,
And then my spirit shall haunt this sweet shore :
Tell her I only ask she'll think of me
I'll love her while there's salt within the sea.
Tell her all this, tell it o'er and o'er,
I'll love her while there's salt within the sea.
Tell her all this, tell it o'er and o'er-
The anchor's weigh'd, or I would tell her more
GENERAL
INDEX.
Accepted Lover,
·
Adieu, sweet maid, 'tis honor's call,
Ah! do not forget, love,
277
29
A health to the outward bound,
A home that I love,
15
35
A lady heard a minstrel sing,
All the blue bonnets are over the border,
Alpine flower girl,
31
62
62
Alice Gray,
Angel's whisper,
All's well,
35
34
58
Anne Brown,
Annot Lyle, .
•
American boy,
Amusements of the city,
37
36
American national song of liberty,
8
153
A soldier's the lad I adore,
42
Away, my gallant page, away,
A wet sheet and a flowing sea,
45
41
Away I go o'er the treacherous deep,
Alabama Joe,
A soldier's life,
All the world is scheming,
43:
115
137
137
Alas! the days are gone,
156
A life in the west,
All remember thee,
148
212
Batt e of Bunker Hill,
Bay of Biscay,
+
Behold in his soft expressive face,
Beautiful Rhine,
*9*8
48
44
50
312
INDEX.
Beats there a heart on earth sincere,
Beautiful Venice,
Be mine dear maid,
Bachelor's hall,
Boyhood,
Bird at sea,
Billy Barlow,
By gone hours,
Bring flowers,
Bunker Hill song,
Buy a broom,
By the margin of fair Zurich's waters,
But is there not a bliss,
Buy my roses,
Byron's farewell,
Believe me,
Bells of St. Petersburg,
Beautiful day,
Blind flower girl,
Brave old oak,
Cora dear,
•
Columbia the gem of the ocean,
Columbia, freedom's home is thine.
Columbia forever,
Columbia, land of liberty,
Come sing me that sweet air again,
Crambambuli, bright source of pleasure,
Come brave the sea with me, love,
Come chace that starting tear away,
Come, come away,
Come wreathe the bower,
Come sons of freedom,
Come love to me,
Come and wander with me,
Come, oh! come with me,
Come, love, dance the polka,
Come listen to my song, my love,
Come, dearest, come,
Cape Ann,
•
49
47
47
46
51.
52
40
56
54
19
61
130
•
មិនទម្ល
52
55
69 :
67
44
45
53
11
$33=
JGAZ
60
4
3
:9
20
33
23
15
16
4
68
68
71
70
71
72
78
INDEX.
313
Dinna forget,
Child of the West,
Cudjo's wild hunt,
Come rest in this bosom,
•
Come brothers arouse,
Come to the dance,
76
89
125
180
218
Come at the hour,
226
Cot where we were born,
18
Cottager's song,
Cork leg,
Carrier dove,
Castilian maid,
133
Dame Durden,
Dearest I am thine,
Day departs this upper air,
Dark eyed one,
•
Dearest maid I adore thee,
•
sorrows cast,
Dispel those clouds that sorrows cast,
Dear native home,
•
Dumbarton's bonny dell,
Drink to me only,
JJEOPA INNO
59
21
74
141
72
79
80
81
81
Down in the valley my father dwells,
77
Dermot Astore,
163
Dandy Jim of Caroline,
De wild goose nation,
160
109
·
Dark blue eye,
57
•
Ellen of Lindale,
Early love can never die,
8-1
80
Every day brings something new,
168
Exile of Erin,
82
Ella's grave,
206
Egyptian girl's song,
86
Flag of the free,
13
Fanny Gray,
24
Farewell in life is often heard,
29
Farewell, by thee forsaken,
17
•
Farewell to the scenes of my childhood,
17
Flow gently sweet Afton,
20
Fare thee well,
217
Flower of Ellerslie,
244
Fairy tempter,
28
"
314
INDEX.
Good bye,
Gipsies' chorus,.
However bright the sea to-night, .
Hark to the song ot the mountaineer,
Ho, for the far distant west,
I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls,
I'm gwine ober de mountains,
I'll shed no tear for thee,
I'll ever think of thee,
I'll think of thee,
I'm o'er young to marry yet,
I wonder if she loves me,
I turn to thee in time of need,
225
138
173
171
211
12
75
100
•
114
118
170
116
114
I'll love thee as long as I live,
98
I don't think I'm ugly,
97.
I dream of all things free,
98
If I speak to thee in friendship's name,
86
I'd marry him to-morrow,
96
I cannot dance to-night,
102
In the days when we went gipsying,
147
I'll be no submissive wife,
220
I'll hang my harp on a willow tree,.
189
I'll watch for thee,
221
"
I'm afloat,
I lo'e nae a laddie but ane,
I love, I love the free,
219
221
·
196
I'll speak of thee, I'll love thee too,
215
I cannot lo'e him less,
In happy moments,
If the deep voice of sorrow,
.
208
240
228
It is all for the love of the widow,
177
Indian hunter,
164
Ivy green,
190
Jim along Josey,
-108
Jess Macfarlane,
112
Joyful I e'er shall be,
215

INDEX.
315
King Death,.
Kate O'Shane, .
Lucy Neal,
Lucy Long,
Ledder breeches,
Lady I have loved thee long,
Let me sing, love,
Little Eddie,.
List to the convent bells,
Light may the boat row,
Lilla's a lady,
Love is the theme of the minstrel,
Love's ritornella,
Look out upon the stars, my love,
Long, long ago,
Let me rest in the land of my birth,
Love not.
Love now,
111
223
83
112
150
110
110
109
. 113
108
. 107
106
. 103
99
. 104
194
205
205
243
Lost Rosabe.,
Miss Myrt.e.
73
Maid of my love,
126
Meet me in the willow glen,
124
Meet me by moonlight,
121
Mary of Argyle,
173
My father land,.
179
My bark is upon the deep, love,
My dark eyed maid,
My Cousin Mary Bell,
My heart is with its early dream,
165
120
162
135
My native home,
My mountain home,
My own one,
Mary Morison,
Mary Hay,
Mary Mavourneen,
120
122
166
101
Mary, when late you blessed my views,
My boyhood's home,
My old Aunt Sally,
My presence still in calm or storm,
102
100
88
149
210
240
16
INDEX.
Musical wife.
Merry sleigh bells,
Minstrel's tear,
My pretty gazelle,
No more,
Nothing else to do,
Norah McShane,
Ne'er let the heart for sorrows grieve,
Near the lake where droop'd the willow,
Oh! ask me not to love again,
Out,
•
Our flag is there,
Oh! were I now the mountain boy, .
Our Yankee girls,
•
Oh! say not farewell,
Oh! sail with me,
•
·
Oh! sing me again that little song,
One day while working at my plough,
Oh no, I never shall forget,
One kiss before we part, love,
O no, we never mention her,.
•
Oh! cast that shadow from thy brow,
Oh, for shame, little Cupid,
O'er the waters by moonlight,
O'er the water to Charlie,
(), fly, love, with me,
O, lady, sing again that song,
Oh, I come not to upbraid thee,
Oh, hither plume thy wing,
O! love is like the sunny ray,
Old Towler,
Our native song,
O! doubt not,
•
131
132
162
165
•
92
95
93
138
150
87
91
139
140
135
139
134
127
132
127
•
128
129
161
147
•
154
119
161
167
166
118
117
192
181
245
Oh! take me back to Switzerland,
246
Rockaway,
Rome, thou art no more,
145
•
245
INDEX.
317
So dearly I love Johnny, 0,
Still float spangled banner,
Strike the harp, Columbia,
Some love to roam,
•
66
90
· 140
146.
Shipwrecked sea boy,.
198
Say, what shall my song be to-night,
213
Sally in our alley,
207
See at your feet a suppliant,
231
Saw ye the lass wi' the bonny blue e'en,
133
Sailor s "rave,
193
Then you'll remember me,
'Tis sad to leave our father land,
13.
12
Tho' I smile amid my sorrow,
The heart bow'd down,
The flower girl,
33
32
27
The fair land of Poland,
The wither'd rose bud,
31
28
The auld Scottish gentleman,
The attache,
The bee gum,
The blooming rose for me,
The broken heart,
The broken vow,
38
39
144
48
The blooming flowers of varied hue,
50
54
•
56
The dream is past,
78
The deer stealer,
The dying soldier,
The evening gun,
176
•
84
85
The fine old coloured gentleman,
"Twill nebber do to gib it up so,
64
63
The struggle is o'er,
The young highland girl,
The maid of Llangollen,
"Tis lone on the waters,
95
94
131
157
The wound upon thy arm,
To sigh, yet feel no pain,
The knight errant,
The meeting,
The missletoe bough,
138
125
Though love is warm awhile,
126
129
123
159
318
INDEX.
The mountain bugle,
The moon o'er the hills is beaming,
he night's soft wind is breathing,
e ingle side,
•
e last sad time we met and parted,
e ladies' man,
light of other days,
1
lords of creation,
tear upon my cheek,
rose of Tyrone,
ere vain to tell thee all I feel,
him I love him yet,
rose that all are praising,
*.
he women are a plague,
The spotted fawn,
•
Greece we give our shining blades,
The pidgeon seller's ditty,
Tea in the arbour,
· The jolly beggar,
They say thou art not beautiful,
The ministering angel,
The wind and the beam loved the rose,
The wanderer,
·
True love can ne'er forget,
Tyrolese fortune teller,
The trysting tree,
The trumpet's voice hath roused the land,
17
171
10
8"
11.
111
156
100
10
8:
161
188
188
187
182
183
178
143
1
214
209
223
217
211
195
•
198
197
192
The woodbine bower,
191
•
The gipsy's bride,
230
To the mountain away,
229
The Postillion,
227
To the vine feast,
236
Tho' my ship on the dark blue wave,
230
Thou art lovelier,
234
Tho' 'tis all but a dream,
231
Thou wilt go and forget me,
232
Thou hast left me to my sorrow,
232
There is no home like my own,
234
The main truck,
238
The lament of the Irish emigrant,
224
The old arm chair,
219
·
The little pigs,
235
There was a time,
233
The sweet birds are singing,
244
INDEX.
319
237
242
34:
241
The sunset tree,
The chamois,
The king and countryman,
The pilot,
Tell her I'll love her
Underneath thy lattice, love, .
Under the walnut tree,
G
24,
Walk along John,
155
When you and I were girls,
97
We have lived and loved together,'
174
We may not meet again,
175
We stood beside the window,
191
We'll go to sea no more,
Where away said the stranger,
We ne'er forget our childhood's home,
Will nobody marry me,
When I was a wee little slip of a girli,
Widow Malone,
Widow Machree,
Woodman spare that tree,
186
179
| 185.
152
187
181
154
213
When slumber's pinions o'er me play,
223
We may be happy yet,
216
With your little wife,
208
Within a mile of Edinburgh,
204
We're all cutting,
202
•
We shall never see the like again,
194
We soon shall meet again,
199
Want a cab,
200
•
Was it not at one,
Was na he a roguy,
201
204
•
When stars are in the quiet skies,
White squall,
241
142
Young Agnes, beauteous flower,
Young corsair's song,
•
239
174

1.
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UNIVERSITY OF MINNESOTA
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ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
10 PT ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
4 PT
6 PT
News Gothic Bold Reversed
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:'',/?$0123456789
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:',./?$0123456789
8 PT ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
10 PT ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
4 PT
6 PT
8 PT
Bodoni Italic
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?80123456789
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
10 PT ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz;:",./?$0123456789
ΑΒΓΔΕΞΘΗΙΚΛΜΝΟΠΡΣΤΥΩΝΨΖαβγδεξθηικλμνοπορστνωχ ζ=7",/St=#°><ΕΞ
Greek and Math Symbols
4 PT
6 PT
8 PT
ΑΒΓΔΕΞΘΗΙΚΛΜΝΟΠΦΡΣΤΥΩΧΨΖαβγδεξθηικλμνοπφροτυωχψί=7",/S+=#°><><><=
ΑΒΓΔΕΞΘΗΙΚΛΜΝΟΠΦΡΣΤΥΩΧ Ζαβγδεξθηικλμνοπόρστυωχψίπτ",./St##°><><><Ξ
10 ΡΤ ΑΒΓΔΕΞΘΗΙΚΛΜΝΟΠΦΡΣΤΥΩΧΨΖαβγδεξθηικλμνοπορστνωχ ίΞτ",/St=#°><><=
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MESH HALFTONE WEDGES
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A4 Page 6543210
A4 Page 6543210
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MEMORIAL DRIVE, ROCHESTER, NEW YORK 14623
RIT ALPHANUMERIC RESOLUTION TEST OBJECT, RT-1-71
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ROCHESTER INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, ONE LOMB
PRODUCED BY GRAPHIC ARTS RESEARCH CENTER