Gs™
SON! ENO ILE

Copyrighted 1878, by BEADLE & ADAMS.

WSS

E

Price, 5 Cents.

 

CONTENTS OF

PAGE,

Tl Strike You With a Feather... 1
Haunting Eyes .............-. «+. 2
The Star that Leads to Thee...... 2

THIS NUMBER.

PAGE

The Belle of the Ball....... .. i9
The Sweet, Sunny Smile of My

Darling .....: : 9

Flow Gently, Sweet Afton........ ge See sas Cie kad
The Household Clock. ... 2| My Dear Old Mother. ............ 9
Come to the Ole Gum Tree....... 2) Be Sure You’re Right, Then Go
Sleeping, I Dreamed, Love....... MN Sr es os at Fete 1
“Our Laddie’s Dead, Jem.”...... 8 | Woodman, Spare that Tree...... 10
Oh! I Shall Call Dada. ba Ten O'clock; or, Remember,Love
Buttercups and Daisies. ... 8} Remember...... ‘ 10
Fair Rosabelle........ ... 8) My Eye and Betty Martin ....... 10
Annie Laurie.............- . 8| The Sword of Bunker Hill....... il
Call Her Back and Kiss Her . 4| Kate Kearney ..... ......-. ses. 11
TS BOP ii.5 Fi 3S SG | Answer to Kate Kearney . (ae
‘Twas Like a Spirit's Sigh... The Sea King’s Burial .... ;
Bessy Was a Sailor’s Bride... | Good News From Home.
My Heart’s in the Highlands. Since Terry First Joi
Jockey Hat and Feather.. .
Say, Bird of Summer. ... i
Jeannette and Jeannot ........ .
*Twas Rank and Fame that Tempt-
ed Thee..... ‘

Gan it, <n28
Bit of My Min:
I Never Refuse.....
The Old Man’s Got to =
—_ Bateman and the Fair So-
Peis Gh os e056 cate
To the Love of My Youth I'll be
Shi Slee ee Re
ee ea eee ee
Don’t Marry Your Mother-in-law 14
True Blue, and Seventy-two,.... 14
A Thousand a Year......... .. 4
Twenty Years Ago..... ........ 14
Isle of Beauty iss... 0) aves caedad Rather Too “ Heavy ’’ for Me... 15
“ Sparkling Piper Heidsieck.’’... Be Kind to Thy Father and
No One to Loveiis 5.52005 isi. 05 8 15
He Led Her to the Altar.......... 8) - aaa <a
Come Where the Moonbeams | Gentle Annie.................... 15
8 | Strike the Iron While it’s Hot.”’ 15

4b

A Sailor’s
i Kimo ra

e Way to Be Ha: j
Uncle Ned be Leas
The Pirate’s Serenade......
Battle of the Kegs
Silver Moonlight Sea.... ........

NIAAMWOAN ATAPA RS

 

 

T’ll Strike You With A Feather.

Copied by permission of Freprrick Biome, 861 Broadway, New York,
owner of the copyright. Music and words, 35 cents.

As a walkist I’m a great success,
When I go out a-shopping,
O’er the muddy way I elevate
My skirts and go a-hopping.
The boys all put their glasses on,
Oh, how their buzzums rankle,
They push and nudge, stand on their toes,
For one glance at my ankle,

CHuorus—Dear boys, don’t gaze on me so rude,
As my skirts I gently gather,
Don’t laugh at me, you naughty rogues,
Or T’ll strike you with a feather.

One windy day I took a stroll, '
These dainty gaiters wearing,
Every little puff of wind that blew,
I found the fellows staring.
And as by chance my skirt was raised,
Says one, ‘‘I’d give a quarter,
To have a breeze blow strong enough,
“ To show her pretty garter.”

AND SIXTY OTHER SONGS IN

Sold b;
of six cen

HIS ISSUE!

all newsdealers, five cents each; or sent, post-paid, to any address, on receipt
Mi sh ’ “W. Xe .

Caorvus—Dear boys, don’t gaze on me so rude,
As my skirts I gently gather,
Don’t laugh at me, you naughty rogues,
Or I'll strike you: with a feather.

 

per copy. BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William St.,

 
‘ oe ‘ a Ad

 
 

   
 

se
ns 5 ey

 

. = 7 " .
of oe ee eee
Fe - x

BA oe

2

 

THE SINGER'S LIBRARY.

 

 

 

 

HAUNTING EYES.

Copied by permission of O. Drrson & Co., 451 Washington street, Boston,
owners of the copyright. Music and words, 40 cerits.
In the hour I first beheld thee,
_ . Soft thy kindly glances fell,
And my heart bowed down before thee,
As beneath a magic spell.
Since that time, like some sweet phantom,
In my home thy form doth rise,
And where’er my sad gaze wanders,
There I meet thy haunting eyes!
And where’er my sad gaze wanders,
There I meet thy haunting eyes!
Thy haunting eyes!
Thy haunting eyes!

Oh, those eyes! their lovely shadow
Stole the light of life away,

And my heart in languid dreaming,
Idly pines from day to day.

Vain the evening’s dewy coolness,
Vain the calm of midnight skies,
E’en with darkness closing round me,

Still Isee those haunting eyes!
E’en with darkness closing round me,
Still I see those haunting eyes!
Those haunting eyes!
Those haunting eyes!

 

The Star that Leads to Thee.

Copied by permission of Wm. A. Ponp & Co., 547 Broadway, New York,
owners of the copyright. Music and words, 35 cents.
Ever that star is shining
Sweetly at day’s declining!
Never my heart is pining
When that bright star I see.
Tt tells of love that fondly beams;
Of life’s enraptur’d dreams:
Fondly it seems to say, love,
Shadows will fly away, love,
Oh, rapture and joy it whispers,
That star that leads to thee!
Still brigbter when life is darkest
The star that leads to thee,

Ever I watch its light, love,
Fair in the dullest night, love,
Blessing my wearied sight, love, :
Far o’er life’s stormy sea.
Though cares may come, it still is there,
Tis then most sweet and fair.
Beauty may not beguile, love,
Dreaming of thee the while, love.
For ob, ’tis thy smile so loving
The star that leads to thee!
Yes, sweeter when life is darkest,
The star that Jeads to thee,

 

Flow Gently, Sweet..Afton.

Copied by permission of OrrveR Drrson & @o., 451 Washington street,

Boston, owners of the copyright. :

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes;

low 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.

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 shimbéring? fair.

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,

_ And winds by the cot where my: Mary resides;
There oft, as mild evening weeps ovér:the lea,
‘Thy sweet-scented groves shade my Mary and me;
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes;
Flow gently, sweet river; the theme of my lays;
My Mary’s asleep by thy murmuring stream;

Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her:dream., | Saat

LN NNN NN NS Eo
: a —

hi

 

THE HOUSEHOLD CLOCK.

Copied by ee of 8. BrArmvarp & Brotuers, Music Publishers,

uisville, Ky., owners of the copyright.

Oh! the old clock of the household stock,
Was the brightest thing and neatest;

Its hands, though old, had a touch of gold,
And its chimes still rung the sweetest.

*T was a monitor, too, though its sounds were few;
It lived through nations altered,

Its voice, though strong, warned old and young,
When the voice of friendship faltered.

CxoruS—Tick, tick, it said; quick, quick to bed;
For ten I’ve given warning.
Up, up, and go, or else, you know,
You'll never rise soon in the morning,

Oh! a friendly voice had that old clock,
Asit stood in the corner smiling;

And bless thé time when its merry, merry chime,
The winter’s hours beguiling;

But a cross old voice had that tiresome old clock,
As it called at daybreak boldly ;

While the morning’gray o’er the misty way,
And the misty air blew coldly.

 

Come to.the Ole Gum Tree.

Come to de ole Gum tree,
Whar de coon an’ de possum prance;
Oh! come, you darks, with me,
An’ join in de jovial dance.
SoLo—De coon he is above us, |
His meai is in de tree,
We know dat he don’t lub us,
But fond ob him are we.

Cxuorus—Den come=to de ole Gum tree,
Whar de coon an’ de possum prance;

Oh! come, you darks, wid me,

An’ join in de jovial dance.

Oh! de wood an’ its yaller leaves,
Oh! de cotton plants and flowers,
Den come, you darkey, wid us,
ws For a merry life is ours.
*  ‘§o0Lo—Around and above us,
De banjo’s sweet notes,
An’ de voice ob de darktés,
Come rolling from dar throats. (CHorRUvs.)

Come to de ole oak tree,
So softly, boys, as you can,
An’ we’ll go to de ole .Gum tree,
And catch dat coon if}-we can.
SoLto—Dat darkey plays de fiddle,
An’ I de tambourine;
‘We am de happiest set ob darkies,
Dat eber ’fore was seen. (CHORUS.)

 

Sleeping, I Dreamed, Love.

Copied by permission of Wm. Haun & Son, Music Publishers, New York,

owners of the copyright.

Sleeping, I dreamed, love, dreamed, love, of thee;
O’er the bright waves, love, floating were we;
Light in thy fair hair played the soft wind,
Gently thy white arms round me were twined;
And as thy song, love, swelled o’er the sea,
Fondly thy blue eyes beamed, love, on me.

Soon, o’er the bright waves, howled forth the gale;
Fiercely the lightning flashed on our sail;

Yet, while our frail bark dr@ve o’er the sea,

Thine eyes, like loadstars, beamed, love, on me;

Oh, heart, awaken! wrecked on lone shore, ; ;

Thou art forsaken! dream, heart, no more! of

  

 

 

 

 

 

ete

 

Si

 

 

 
     
 

 

 

Sit

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE SINGER’S LIBRARY.

 

 

 

“Our Laddie’s Dead, Jem,”

» Copied by permission of Wm. Hatt & Soy, Music Publishers, New York,
owners of the copyright.

Sae braw we marched a‘ong,
By our laddie Captain led,

Sae drear we sit and moura,
For, aweel, our laddie’s. dead.

We loved his winsome, face,

And his bonnie hair o’ brown;
We need na blush for shame,

That our tears are rinning down,

Sic pride we felt to say

That he battled at our head;
For bravest among a’

Was our laddie wha is dead,

Oh! Jem, his father’ll groan,

And his mither sair will greet,
When at the ould door-stone

Their murdered bairn theyll meet,

And there’s anither ane,

Oh, the young, young bride afar;
Lang, lang she’ll wait to hail

Her lover frae the war.

We will na only dool
For our laddie wha has died;
We maun ha’ bluid for bluid,
Ere we cast our swords aside.

The truest o’ the true

Ye ha’ slaughtered on this day;
We follow on your track

As the ban-dogs after prey.

And by the God aboon,
When to battle we are led,
Revenge we ilk shall seek,
For our laddie wha is dead.

 

OH! ISHALL CALL DADA.
Published by E. H. Harprne, 229 Bowery, N. Y. Music and words, 10 cents,

I am going to tell of a charming belle,

Such a nice young gal and sweet as muscatelle;

She’d a fair, fair skin,

And ber father was in the City Militia.

I called on her dada one day, something important I’d to say,
His daughter said he was away,

So I couldn’t see her dada, dada.

Dada, dada, dada, dada, dada, dada, dada, dada.

I blush’d to my nose when I saw sweet Rose,

. Oh, how often I’d lacked the courage to propose;

Not knowing what to say, I invited her to play :

A toon from some opera.

I put my arm around her waist, her lovely lips I long’d to taste,
Said she, ‘‘ You’d best retire in haste,

Or I shall call dada.”

Dada, dada, dada, dada, dada, dada, dada, dada.

“Oh,” said I, ‘‘my dear, your dada’s not here,
But believe what I say, my darling, is sincere;
I consider you divine, say, will you be mine,

. Or Pll jump into the aqua.”

She answer’d in @ voice so bland, ‘‘ Your haste, sir, I must repri-
mand,

You’ve got my heart, but for my hand

You must ask my dada.”

Dada, dada, dada, dada, dada, dada, dada, dada.

_ Next morning I went for pa’s consent,

When he gave me a look of great astonishment;
Said he, ‘‘I never knew that the girl loved you,
You can have her,” said I “ Huzza!”
Now nothing cau ever annoy our wedded ay and oh, what joy,
We've lately got a little boy,

I’m teaching to say dada,

~— a dada, dada, = dada, dada, dada.

*

   

 

BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES.

Published by FrepErick Biume, 861 Orne New York. Music and
words, 30 cents.

Pretty little flow’rs in plonty grow,
Buttercups and daisies,
Buttercups and daisies,

All among the grass so gayly, oh!

Buttercups and daisies grow.

Thorns and weeds our lives surround,
Naught for that care T;

Brightest blossoms still abound,
And content am I.

Cuorvus—Pretty little flow’rs in plenty grow,
Buttercups and daisies,
Buttercups and daisies,
All among the grass so gayly, oh!
Buttercups and daisies grow.

Pretty little children love to play,
All among the daisies,

All among the daisies,
With their happy faces bright and gay,
Pretty little flow’rs are they.
Though this life is full of care,
Naught for that care I;
Joy and grief alike we share,
And content am I.

merge OAL Gan

(CHORUS.)

FAIR ROSABELLE.

Copied by permission of E. H. Harprne, 229 Bowery, New York, owner
of the copyright. Music and words, 35 cents.
Fair as a cloudless summer sky,
Bright as a sweet May morning,
Sweet as the perfume where roses lie,
The bright green sod adorning,
With hair as golden as the yellow corn,
And a voice of magic swell,
With eyes as blue as a bright May morn,
Is my fair Rosabelle.
{

CHorus—Laughing, loving, speaking eyes
That fill my longing heart with sighs,
No fairy’s step is lighter,
No poet's dream can teil
Of loveliness thats brighter,
Than my fair Rosabelle.

Oh! dark my pathway was in life,
With no one bright ray gleaming,
Till like a star with beauty rife,
She came, in splendor beaming.
Rose-colored now seems every hour,
Beneath her magic spell,
I seem to live in Cupid’s bow’r
With my fair Rosabelle. (CHORUS.)

 

ANNIE LAURIE. t

Maxwelton Braes are bonnie,
Where early fa’s the dew,

And it’s there that Annie Laurie
Gie’d me her promise true;
Gie’d me her promise true,
Which ne’er forgot will be;

And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doune and dee.

Her brow is like the snaw-drift,
Her throat is like the swan,
Her face it is the fairest
That e’er the sun shone on:
That e’er the sun shone on,
And dark blue is her e’e;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doune and dee.

Like dew on the gowan lying,
Is the fa’ o’ her fairy feet;
And like the winds in summer sighing
Her voice is low and sweet;
Her voice is low and sweet,
And she’s a’ the world to me;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I’d lay me doune and dee.

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

  
  
  

 

 

EEA AIT SEIT

ee eee

Call Her Back and Kiss Her.

Publishediby EB. H. Harprve, 229 Bowery, N.Y. Music and words, 10 cents.

There’s nothing half so charming
As a happy married life.
And nothing so alarming
As a vixen for a wife.
But as you make your bed, you know,
So on it you must lie,
Tis useless then to make a fuss,
Take my advice, don’t try.

Cxorus—A woman’s sure to go her way,
But when she’s gone we miss her;
So when you’ve had an angry word,
Why, call her back and kiss her.

A wife will surely rule the roost;
Of course that’s very. proper;
And if she means to, rule you too,
I don’t think you can stop her.
Be never cruel, always kind,
Do nothing that will tease her,
And if you wish to happy live,
You'll do your best to please her. (CHORUS.)

A woman’s sure to have her way,
For that we cannot blame her;
The remedy, ah, then I say,
‘Tis kindness that, will tame her.”
Be always gentle, never harsh,
And mind you do not flout her;
Remember you’re but helpless men,
And cannot do without her. (CHORUS.)

That woman is our greatest joy,
Let every man reflect.

Don’t treat her like a worthless toy,
Nor slight her by neglect.

If you possess a woman’s love,
What more does any need?

In sickness or in health she’ll be
A comforter indeed. (CHORUS,)

So

*"TILDA HORN.

Copied by permission of’ Wat. Hatt & Son, New York, owners of the
copyright.

I was raised in Mississippi, where the sugar-cane grows fall,

And I loved a pretty yellow girl, much sweeter than them all.

She left the place one moonlight night—we sorrow’d much to

part;
No token did she leave me, but her picture on my heart.
And I moan, and I groan, all alone, all.alone.

Cxorus—But fretting won't do for a darkey. of this figure—
Time énough for that when he gits a little bigger;
Dancing, with the yellow girls, and shucking out
the corn,
Will make him forget "Tilda Horn.

While ago I got a letter from her, thinking, as Isat,

_ If I met her, how she’d like me, in my stylish Kossuth hat.
Twas the last I heard about her, and since then I’m much in

dread
That she’s married. to another man, or else she must ‘gone
dead.”
In despair, I declare, I is crack’d, that’s a fact. (CHORUS. )

Now I go about, down in the mouth, and stockings down at heel;
Like Massa Shakspeare’s Hamlet, too, I’m touch’d-up here I feel.
His uncle gave him good advice—mine took my clothes in pawn;
And all to raise the cash to dress—deceitful,’Tilda Horn.

Ob! this wool I could pull, this poor heart is so full. (CHo.)

Since the Shakspeare’s coming in my head, I’m like Othello, too,
The victim of my jealous fears, I don’t know what to do;
Desdemona lost his handkerchief—that wasn’t much to lose;

But ’lilda took my "bacco-box, my shirts, and Sunday shoes,
Now I stray all the day, from the gay far away. (CHO.)

/
a ne
\

 

THE SINGER’S LIBRARY.

 

nl poi iii iit,

 

*Twas Like a Spirit’s Sigh.

Published by E. H. Harprna, 229 Bowery, N.Y. Music and words, 10 cents,
SUNG BY D. S, WAMBOLD.

I wander’d forth one summer eve,
My thoughts with gloom o’ercast,

I sat me down beneath the trees,
And thought of days long past;

When suddenly a gentle sound,
Seem’d floating in the leaves,

So soft, ’twas like a spirit’s sigh,
Borne on the ev’ning breeze.

So soft, so low,
It came among the leaves,

’Twas like a spirit’s sigh
Borne on the ey’ning breeze.

And ever on my memory,
Doth dwell that gentle sound,
It cheers me to my onward task,
When all is dark around;
For oh that sweet Avolian sound,
That seem’d among the leaves,
Was like the voice of her that’s gone,
Borne on the ev’ning breeze.
So soft, so low,
It came among the leaves,
’Twas like a spirit’s sigh
Borne on the ey’ning breeze.

Bessy Was a Sailor’s Bride.

Poor Bessy was a sailor’s bride,
And he was off to sea;
Their only child was by her side,
And who so sad as she!
“Forget me not, forget me not,
When you are far from me,
And whatsoe’r poor Bessy’s lot,
She will remember thee.” |

A twelvemonth scarce had pass’d away,
As it was told to me,

When Willie-with a gladsome heart,
Came home again from ‘sea

He bounded up the craggy path,
And sought his cottage door,

But his poor wife and lovely child
Poor Willie saw no more.

“Forget me not, forget me not,”
The words rung in his ear;

He ask’d the neighbors one by one,
Each answered with a tear.

They pointed to the old churchyard;
And there his youthful bride,

With the pretty child he loved so well,
Were resting side by side,

 

My Heart’s in the Highlands.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart’s in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer.
A-chasing the wild deer and following the roe;
My heart’s in the Highlands, wherever I go.
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birthplace of valor, the country of worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,

The hills and the highlands forever V’ll love.

My heart’s in the Highlands, my. heart is not here;
My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer—
A-chasing the wild deer and following the roe
My heart’s in the Highlands wherever 1 go.
Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow!
Farewell to the strath, and green valleys below!
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods!
Farewell to the waters and wild-pouring floods!

 

an eee

 

 

 

psec

 

 

 

 
   

 

 

 

 

 

Before I’d time to say ‘‘ good-by,”
}
|
\
]
\
|

 

THE SINGER’S LIBRARY. ee

 

 

 

JOCKEY HAT AND FEATHER.

Copied by permission of Oxtver Drrson & Co., 451 Washington street,
: ‘Boston, owners of the copyright.
As I was walking out one day,
Thinking of the weather,
I saw a pair of roguish eyes
‘Neath a hat and feather:
She looked at me, I looked at her,
It made my heart pit-pat,
Then, turning round, she said to me,
“How do you like my hat?”

CHorus—Oh! I said it’s gay and pretty too—
They look well together,
Those glossy curls and jockey hat,
With a rooster’s feather.

She wore a handsome broadcloth basque,
Cut in the latest fashion,

And flounces all around her dress
Made her look quiteglashing;

Her high-heeled boots, as she walked on
The pavement, went pit-pat,

Pll ne’er forget the smile I saw,
Beneath that jockey hat. (CHORUS.)

She kissed her hand, said ‘‘ Au revoir,”
Then I was a goner;

She was round the corner;

I tried that night, but could not sleep,
So up in bed I sat,

And right before my face I thought
I saw that jockey hat. (CHoRUS.)

 

SAY, BIRD OF SUMMER.

Published by E. H. Harpina, 229 Bowery, N. Y. Music and words, 10 cents

Say, bird of summer, oh! whither art thou gone,
With all the sunshine that thou lov’st so well?
Ah! why hast thou left me joyless and alone,
And where is thy home now? oh, wand’rer, tell!
Thus musing at the qlase of day I stroll along,
Dreaming still I hear the twitter of thy ev’ning song.

They say thou seekest.some more genial sky,
Where thou, all joy, art ever on the wing,
Till there, too, summers fail and flow’rets die;
And ever thus the changes thou dost ring!
Thus musing at the close of day, I stroll along,
Dreaming still I hear the twitter of thy ev’ning song.

Thou wilt return when I am far away,

And other eyes will watch thy circling flight,
And, haply woo thee all in vain to stay,

Sweet type of inconstancy, good-night! good-night!
Thus musing at the close of day, I stroll along,
Dreaming still I hear the twitter of thy ev’ning song.

 

JEANNETTE AND JEANNOT.

You are going far away, far away from poor Jeannette,

There is no one left to love me now, and you, too, may forget,

But my heart will be with you, wherever you may go,

Can you look me in the face and say the same, Jeannot?

When you wear the jacket red and the beautiful cockade,

Oh! I fear that you'll forget all the promises you made;

With a gun upon your shoulder and your bayonet by your side,

You'll be taking some fair lady and be making her your bride.
Yow'll be taking, etc.

Or, when glory leads the way, you'll be madly. rushing on,

Never thinking if they kill you that my happiness is gone;

If you win the day, perhaps a general you’ll be,

‘Though I’m proud to think of that, what will become of me?

Oh! if I were queen of France, or still better pope of Rome,

I'd have no fighting men abroad, no weeping maids at home;

All the world should be at peace, orif kings must show their might,

Why let them who make the quarrels be the only men to fight.
Yes, let them, ete.

Bg a nn npg tenet

~ And have no tales of valor left for history to tell;

 

"Twas Rank and Fame that Tempted
Thee.

Published by E. H. Harprna, aaa New York. Music and word,
cents.

*Twas rank and fame that tempted thee,
"Twas empire charm’d thy heart;

But love was wealth, the world to me,
Then, false one, let us part

The prize I fondly deem’d my own,
Another’s now may be;

For ah! with love, life’s gladness flown,
Leaves grief alone, alone to me,
Leaves grief alone to me,

With love life’s gladness flown,

Leaves grief alone to me.

Lowly bred and humbly born,
No loftier heart than mine;

Unlov’d by thee my pride would scorn
To share the crown that’s thine.

I sought no empire save the heart,
Which mine can never be;

Then, false one, we forever part,
Since love lives not, lives not in thee,
Since love lives not in thee.

Yes! false one, better part,
Since love lives not in thee.

 

THE ANSWER.

Cheer up! cheer up! my own Jeannette, though far away I go,
In all the changes I may see, I’ll be the same Jeaninot;
And if I win both fame and gold, ah! be not so unkind,
To think I could forget you in the home I leave behind.
There’s not a lady in the land, and if she were a queen,
Could win my heart from you, Jeannette, so true as you have been;
They must have gallant warriors, chance has cast the lot on me,
But mind you, that the soldier, love, must no deserter be.

But, mind, etc.

Why, since the world began, the surest road to fame,

Has been the field where men unknown might win themselves a
name.

And well I know the brightest eyes have all the brighter shone,

When looking at some warrior bold return’d from battle won.

And you’d put an end to deeds which ladies love so well,

The soldier’s is a noble trade, Jeannette, then rail no more;
Were only kings themselves to fight, there’d be an end to war.
i Were only kings, ete.

 

A SAILOR’S LIFE FOR ME.

A home on the rolling deep—
A life on the boundless sea!
Where the waters never sleep—
A sailor's life for me!
Some dwell upon the land,
And say they love its hills,
Its grassy vales, its woods and dales,
And its gently murmuring rills.

But give me the ocean s roar—
The restless, rolling sea;
I love not the listless shore-—
A sailor’s life for me!
My foot on a firm-set plank;
Then let the wild wind shout—
I love to sweep o’er the foaming deep,
When the tempest-king is out.

Some love to list while the ladies sing,
Amid the festive crowd—
I love the music of the wind,
As it whistles through the shroud.
Some love to urge the courser’s speed,
Swift as the wind to flee—
Hurrah! for a ride o’er the rushing tidet
A race with the angrv sea!
Oh! this is the life of the brave;
And this is the place of the free—
A life on the, ocean wave— ,
A grave in the dark blue seal

 

  

   

 

 
we

       

 

 

 

 

THE SINGER’S LIBRARY.

 

 

 

KITTY KIMO.

Copied by permission of Wm. Haut & Son, N. Y., owners of the copyright.

Dar was a frog lived in a spring,
Sing song, Polly, won’t you ki’ me, oh?
He had such a cold dat he could not sing,
Sing song, Polly, won’t you ki’ me, oh?
I pull’d him out and frow’d him on de ground,}
Sing song, Polly, won’t you ki’ me, oh?
Old frog he bounced and run around,
Sing song, Polly, won’t you ki’ me, oh?

Cuorus—Camo kimo, daro, war, my high, my ho, my rumsti-
pumstididdle,

Soot bag, pidly-winckem, linck ’em, nip cat,
Sing song, Polly, won’t you ki’ me, oh?

Milk in de dairy, nine days old,
Sing song, etc.

Rats and skippers are getting bold,
Sing song, etc.

A long-tail’d rat in a bucket of souse,
Sing song, etc.

Just come from de white folks’ house,
Sing song, etc.

In South Carolina the niggers grow,
Sing song, etc.

If de white man only plant his toe,
Sing song, etc.

Water de ground with ’bacca smoke,
Sing song, etc.

And up de nigger’s head will poke,
Sing song, etc.

Way down South—in Cedar-street,
Sing song, etc.

Dar’s where de niggers grow ten feet,
Sing song, etc.

Dey go to bed, but ’tain’t no use,
Sing song, etc.

Dar feet hang out for a chicken’s roost,
Sing song, etc.

 

THE WAY TO BE HAPPY.

Published by E. H. Harding, 229 Bowery, N.Y. Music and words, 10 cents.

A simple song I sing to you,
The subject any thing but new,
And yet I trust ’twill please a few,
Perhaps nine out of ten.
"Tis meant to suit the grave and gay,
A healthy moral to convey,
And if you follow all I say,
You’ll be a happy man.
To those who feel dispirited
I merely wish to show,
The future will be brighter
If they try to make it so.
So if a moment you'll allow,
And pay attention to me now,
I fancy I can tell you how
You may be happy men.

If you are anxious to get wed,
By “beauty” only don’t be led,
But seek for “sterling” worth instead,
And find one, if you can,
Whose trusting faith and constancy,
Will cheer you on life’s stormy sea,
Then even in adversity
You'll be a happy man,
Be gentle to each other,
Whatever intervenes,
Remember if you mean to live,
To live within your means.
The truth of this you can’t deny,
If on yourself you will rely,
Success will greet you bytand-by,
And you'll be a happy man.

 

Never joke or sneer a friend,

A jest it may perchance offend,

And wound him when you don’t intend,
So let this be your plan:

If faults in others you detect,

Look to yourself, and then reflect

Perhaps you have the same defect,
Remove it if you can.

Civility costs nothing,
Of this you may be sure;

Respectful be to all around,
And kindly treat the poor.

Your business done don’t stay out late;

To help a friend ne’er hesitate;

Live well, but still live temperate,
And you'll be a happy man.

What e’er your grade in life may be,
The mainspring of prosperity,
You'll find is strict integrity;
So let it be your plan;
To act with great propriety,
Avoiding low society,
And studying sobriety,
And do the best you can,
When troubles are approaching,
Do not meet them on the way,
But bear up bravely—nobly,
They soon will pass away.
And if at last by diligence,
You find the way to opulence,
Then practice true benevolence,
And you must be happy men,

 

UNCLE NED.

I once new a darkey, and his name was Uncle Ned,
Oh, he died long ago—long ago;

He had no hair on the top of his head,
The place where the wool ought to grow.

Crorus—Lay down the shovel and the hoe,
Hang up the fiddle and the bow;
For no more work for poor old Ned,
He’s gone where the#®od darkeys go.

His fingers were long, like the cane in the brake,
And he had no eyes for to see;

He had no teeth for to eat de hoe-cake,
So he had to let the hoe-cake be. (CHORUS.)

One cold frosty morning old Ned died,
Oh, the tears down massa’s face run like rain,
For he knew when Ned was laid in the ground,
He’d nebber see his like again. (CHORUS.)

o

 

THE PIRATE’S SERENADE,

Come, love, come, away with me,

My bark is on the glassy sea;

The moon is bright, on ocean’s breast,
All, save the Pirate, are now at rest.

See how she rides the crested foam,

To bear thee, love, to the Pirate’s home;

Then fly, love, fly, do not delay,

‘We must be gone before to-morrow’s day.
Come, love, come, ete.

TI dare not stay on this hallow’d land,

I must away to my pirate band;

They restless sit, all side by side,

To hail thee, love, as the Pirate’s Bride,
Come, love, come, etc,

Though my voice is rough—oh! do not start,

For true and soft is the Pirate’s heart.

Thy home shall be on some fairy land, .

And thou wilt be Queen of the Pirate’s band.
Come, love, come, etc.

Come, love, come—ah! why that stern brow—
She smiles, who so happy as the pirate now%

My arms will bear thee to “that thing of life,”
And this night thou must be the Pirate’s Wife.

1 ‘ ale t

/

 

 

 

 

 
 

7
|

st
|

 
  

bie Bei

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE SINGER’S LIBRARY.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gallants, attend, and hear a friend
Trill forth harmonious ditty—
Strange things ll tell which late befell
In Philadelphia city.
*T was early day, as poets say,
Just when the sun was rising,
A soldier stood on log of wood,
And saw a sight surprising.

As, in amaze, he stood to gaze,
The truth can’t be denied, sirs,
He spied a score—of kegs, or more,
Come floating down the tide, sirs.
A sailor, too, in jerkin blue,
The strange appearance viewing,
First damn’d his eyes, in great surprise,
Then said, ‘‘Some mischief’s brewing.

“These kegs now hold the rebels bold
Packed up like pickled herring;

In this new way of ferrying.”’
The soldier flew, the sailor, too,
And, scared almost to death, sirs,
Wore out their shoes to spread the news,
And ran till out of breath, sirs,

Now up and down, throughout the town,
Most frantic scenes were acted;

And some ran here, and some ran there,
Like men almost distracted.

Some fire cried, which some denied,
But said the earth had quaked;

And girls and boys, with hideous noise,
Ran through the town half-naked.

Sir William,* he, snug as a flea,
Lay all this time a-snoring,

Nor dream’d of harm, as he lay warm
Old Morpheus imploring.

Now, in a fright, he starts upright,
Awaked by such a clatter;

He rubs both eyes, and boldly cries,

“ For God’s sake, what’s the matter?’

“~
At his bedside he then espied
Sir Erskine+ at command, sirs;
4 Upon one foot he had one boot,
And t’other in his hands, sirs.
“ Arise! arise!” Sir Erskine cries;
“The rebels—more’s the pity—
Without a boat, are all on float,
And ranged before the city.

“The motley crew, in vessels new,

With Satan for their guide, sir,

Pack’d up in bags, or wooden kegs,
Come driving down the tide, sir.

Therefore, prepare for bloody war!
These kegs must all be routed,

Or surely we despised shall be,
And British courage doubted.”

The royal band now ready stand,
All ranged in dread array, sirs,

With stomach stout to see it out,
And make a bloody day, sirs.

Pe j The cannons roar from shore to shore,

The small arms make a rattle;
. Since wars began, I’m sure no man
E’er saw so strange a battle.

The rebel} vales, the rebel dales,
With rebel trees surrounded,

The distant woods, the hills and floods,
With rebel echoes sounded. j

The fish below swam to and fro,
Attack’d from every quarter—

*Mongst folks above the water.”

* Sir William Howe.
+ Sir William Erskine.

p it most absurdly,
zi is ~ * rm }

 

BATTLE OF THE KEGS.

And they’re come down to attack the town,

,

“Why, sure,” thought they, ‘the devil’s to pay

SEA British officers were so fond of the word rebel that they often ap-

 

The kegs, ’tis said, though strangely made
Of rebel staves and hoops, sirs,

Could not oppose their powerful foes,
The conquering British troops, sirs,

From morn to night these men of might
Displayed amazing courage,

And when the sun was fairly down,
Retired to sup their porridge.

A hundred men, with each a pen,
Or. more—upon my word, sirs,

It is most true—would be too few
Their valor to record, sirs.

Such feats did they perform that day
Upon these wicked kegs, sirs,

That years to come, if they get home,
They'll make their boasts and brags, sirs.

 

SILVER MOONLIGHT SEA.

Copied by permission of Ot1ver Dirson & Co., 451 Washington street,

Boston, owners of the copyright.
Silver moonlight winds are blowing,
Softly o’er the summer sea, ~
Lovely stars in beauty shining,
Gently watching o’er my love and me,
Now we'll wander, since the sunlight
Has to sleep his mantle thrown,
Love’s bewitching in the moonlight,
Care and trouble now be gone.

CHorvus—Silver moonlight winds are blowing,
Softly o’er the summer sea;
Lovely stars in beauty shining,
Gently watching o’er my love and me.

Gentle breezes, love, are calling,
Golden light of happy hours;
Smiling rays of starlight gleaming,
Welcome, darling one, to placid bowers;_
Flowers are sleeping till the daylight
Kisses dew-drops from their bed;
List to music winds of moonlight,
Sweetest sounds to love are wed., (CHORUS.)

Twilight shades in sleep reposing,
Warbling birds are nestling now;
Queen of beauty, high though soaring,
Listen, charmer, to our moonlight vow,
Bark of love float nearer to us,
Rippling waves on starlit sea;
Silver moonlight bright above us,
Watching o’er my love and me. (CHORUS.)

 

ISLE OF BEAUTY.

Shades of evening close not o’er us,
Leave our lonely bark awhile,
Morn, alas! will not restore us,
Yonder dim and distant isle;
Still my fancy can discover,
Sunny spots where friends may dwell,
Darker shadows round us hover,
Isle of beauty, fare thee well.

Tis the hour when happy faces
Smile around the taper’s light,
Who will fill our vacant places?
Who will sing our songs to-night?
Through the mists that float above us
Faintly sounds the vesper bell;
Like a voice from those who loye us,
Breathing fondly, fare thee well.

When the waves are round me breaking,
As I pace the deck alone,

And my eye in vain is seeking
Some green leaf to rest upon;

What would I not give to wander,
Where my old companions dwell;

Absence makes the heart grow fonder,
Isle of ‘beauty, fare thee well.

ee

 

 

  
 

 

   

 

 

ae

 

 

eee

 
  

A
er ne

 

 

 

THE SINGER’S LIBRARY.

 

 

 

 

“Sparkling Piper Heidsieck.”
SUNG BY TONY PASTOR.

Copied by permission of Otiver Drtson & Co., 451 Washington street,
Boston, owners of the copyright. Music and words, 30 cents.
Oh, some may sing of sweet Moselle—
Of Topaz, Sherry ruby, Port;
For common wines they’il do quite well,
But as for me, they’re not the sort. -
Fill me a bumper to the brim,
Of Piper Heidsieck, sparkling gay,
And ev’ry care and shadow dim
Will take the hint and fly away.

Cuorus—Heidsieck, yes, Piper Heidsieck!
That is the wine, boys, bumper divine, boys,
Heidsieck, yes, Piper Heidsieck!
That is the wine, boys, the wine for me!

For Rhine wine some may have a taste,
And some may fancy other brands;
But as for me, when on the spree,
The wine I drink unrivaled stands.
It softly climbs up to my brain,
And sings for me the sweetest songs;
While all the joys of life again
Come flocking ’round in fairy throngs! (CHoRUS.)

Oh, ’tis the wine I love to drink,
It keeps me merry all the year!
What joys to see its bubbles wink
Like diamond eyes we love so dear,
Take whisky, brandy, if you choose,
No pleasure in the draught I see;
But, oh, to drive away the blues
It’s Piper Heidsieck, boys, for me! (CHORUS.)

It makes you every pain forget,
It makes the darkest day so bright;
The only draught I’ve seen as yet
To tempt a fellow’s appetite.
Tho’ “ cocktails,” are the style at morn
. When heads are dizzy, very queer,
The drink to take when you feel gone,
Is Piper Heidsieck, sparkling clear! (CHoRUS.)

 

NO ONE TO LOVE.

Copied by permission of Ler & Waker, Music Publishers, Philadelphia,
owners of the copyright.

No one to love, none to caress,

‘Roaming alone through this world’s wilderness;
Sad is my heart, joy is unknown,

For in my sorrow I’m weeping alone;

No gentile voice, no tender smile,

Makes me rejoice, or cares beguile;

No one to love, none to caress,

Roaming alone through this world’s wilderness;
Sad is my heart, joy is unknown,

For in my sorrow I’m weeping alone,

In dreams alone, loved ones I see,

And well-known voices then whisper to me;
Sighing I wake, waking I weep,

Soon with the loved and the lost I shall sleep,
Oh, blissful rest, what heart would stay,
Unloved, unblessed, from heaven away?

No one to love, none to caress,

Roaming alone through this world’s wilderness;
Sad is my heart, joy is unknown,

For in my sorrow I’m weeping alone.

No one to love, none to caress,
None to respond to this heart’s tenderness;
Trusting I wait, God, in his love,
Promises rest in his mansions above;
Oh, bliss in store, oh, joy mine own,
There nevermore to weep alone;
No one to love, none to ca
Roaming alone through this world’s wilderness;
Sad is my heart, joy is unknown,
For in my sorrow I’m weeping alone.

 

HE LED HER TO THE ALTAR.

Copied by permission of Firtu, Ponp & Co., 547 Broadway, New York,

owners of the copyright.

He led her to the altar,
But the bride was not his chosen;
He led her with a hand as cold
As though its pulse had frozen.
Flowers were crush’d beneath his tread,
A gilded dome was o’er him;
But his brow was damp, and his lips were pale,
As the marble steps before him.

Cxorvus—He led her to the altar,

But the bride was not his chosen;
He led her with a hand as cold
As though its pulse had frozen.

His soul was sadly dreaming,
Of one he had hoped to cherish;
Of a name and form that the sacred rites,
Beginning, told must perish.
He gazed not on the stars and gems
Of those who circled round him;
But trembled as his lips gave forth
The words that falsely bound him. (CHORUS.)

Many a heart was praising,
Many a hand was proffer’d;

But mournfully he turn’d him
From the greeting that was offer’d.

Despair had fix’d upon his brow

Its deepest, saddest token,

And the bloodless chesk and stifled sigh

Betray’d his heart was broken. (CHORUS.)

 

Come Where the Moonbeams Linger.
Copied by permission of O. Drrson & Co., 451 Washington ‘street, Boston

owners of the copyright.

Come where the moonbeams linger,
Come to the fairy scene,

Come where the pale light falleth,
With soft and silvery sheen.
Come to the fairy scene,

Come where the pale light falleth,
With soft and silvery sheen!

There I will softly whisper
My heart’s fond love to thee,

That fading years can never change,
Whate’er my lot may be,
Whate’er my lot may be.

CHORUS.

Come, come, come, come, come, come, come,
Come where the moonbeams linger,

Come to the fairy scene,

. Come, come, come, come to the fairy scene!

Come where the moonbeams linger,
And rippling waters play,

Come when the day hath faded,
With footsteps light and gay;
Where rippling waters play,

Come when the day hath faded,

ith footsteps light and gay;

Where the bright stars shine above us,
And we breathe our hearts’ fond vow,

That truth alone may guide us,
Where’er on earth we go,

Where’er on earth we go.

CHORUS.

Come, come, come, come, come, come, come,
Come where the moonbeams linger,

Come to the fairy scene,
Come, come, come, come to the fairy scene!

 

 

  
 
   

 

   

 

 

    

 

 

a cl OP LGPL EL IBIS gp gl

 

 

 

THE BELLE OF THE BALL.

Copied by permission of FrEpERICK. BLUME, 861 Broadway, New York,
owner of the copyright. Music and words, 30 cents.
To a ball I one night was invited,
And being so fond of the dance
At the prospect I felt quite delighted,
And eagerly jump’d at the chance.
There were swells looking out for belles,
And belles were “ fishing ” for beaus,
But a friend introduced me to one,
Whom I thought far outrivaled the rose.

Spoxren—My friend introduced me to her, saying, ‘‘ Charlie, old
boy, you’re lucky, for—

CuHorvs — This is the belle of the ball, Charlie,
This is the belle of the ball, Charlie,
This is the best of them all, Charlie,

She is*the belle of the ball.”

The envy of all the fair dancers,
She had such a fairy-like grace,
But just in the midst of the Lancers,
The lady turned black in the face;
She gurgled, she gasped, and she glared,
And seized hold of the tails of my coat,
Alas the top teeth of my partner,
Had slipped down her beautiful throat.

SPpoKEN—Well, there’s nothing so awfully detrimentalin a false
tooth or two, so I still thought that—
CHorus—She was the belle, etc.

/ She retired, and when she’d recovered,
In a quadrille I next took her hand,
When a look in her eyes I discovered,
Which somehow I could not understand;
Her eyes were as straight as a Venus,
When I gazed at them fundly before,
But now one eye looked up at the ceiling,
And the other looked down on the floor.

SpoxEN—Most extraordinary appearance! she’d evidently a
glass eye. Some of my friends whispered, ‘‘I say, Charlie—
CHoRUS— You've got the belle, ete.

How the ladies they giggled and tittered,
Of course you may easily guess,

Though my feelings were sadly embittered,
I would not leave a girl in distress;

So we madly rushed into a waltz,
When she stumbled o’er some fellow’s leg,

When off came her hair—twas all false,
And her head was as bald as an egg.

SpoKEN—Horror upon horror, she’d no more hair upon her
respected cranium than you’d discover upon a billiard ball. I
found my coat and hat, called a cab and went to bed, and when-
ever I meet any of my friends they cruelly inquire—

Cxuorus—‘“ How is your belle of the ball, Charlie?
How is your belle of the ball, Charlie?
Oh wasn’t she bald at the ball, Charlie?
Oh how is the belle of the ball?”

—_——_++4—____—_

The Sweet, Sunny Smile of My Dar-

ling.
Copied by permission of Wm. A. Ponp & Co., 547 Broadway, New York,
owners of the copyright.
The sweet, sunny smile of my darling
Is the rarest of treasures to me;
Tis my fondest delight, by day and by night,
This dear little dew-drop to see;
Her voice is as soft as a zephyr,
The sun’s golden rays tinge her hair;
The tint of the skies is seen in her eyes,
Oh, she is an angel fair. ’

Cuorus—The sweet, sunny smile of my darling,
Is the rarest of treasures to me;

‘Tis my fondest delight, by day and by night,
This dear little dew-drop to see.

 

THE SINGER’S LIBRARY.

 

 

The sweet, sunny smile of my darling
Is my beacon by day and by night;
And when she is near, I see in my dear
A glance that is charming and bright;
Her heart is as pure as a lily,
It’s beating with fond love for me;
Her face is as light as moonbeams at night,
That peep through the linden tree. (CHoRUS.)

The sweet, sunny smile of my darling
Is the brightest I ever have seen;
And when we’re apart it shines thro’ my heart,
And cheers the lone moments between;
Her step is as light as a fairy’s,
Her hands are as white as the snow;
The smile of my pet I ne’er can forget,
*Tis with me where e’er I go. (CHORUS.)

 

SHIP A-HOY!

Copied by permission of Frrtx, Ponp & Co., 547 Broadway, New York,
owners of the copyright.

When o’er the silent seas alone,
For days and nights we’ve cheerless gone,
Oh! they who’ve felt it, know how sweet,
Some sunny morn a sail to meet,
Some sunny morn a sail to meet!
Sparkliag on deck is every eye;
“Ship a-hoy! ship a-hoy!” our joyful cry.
When answering back we faintly hear,
“Ship a-hoy! what cheer! what cheer!”
Now sails aback we nearer come,
Kind words are said of friends at home;
But soon, too soon, we part in pain,
To sail o’er silent seas again,
To sail o’er silent seas again.

When o’er the ocean’s dreary plain,
With toil her destined port to gain,
Our gallant ship has near’d the strand,
We claim our own, our native land,
We claim our own, our native land,
Sweet is the seaman’s joyous shout,
“Land ahead! land ahead! look out! look out!”
Around on deck we gayly fly.
“Land ahead! land ahead!” with joy we cry;
‘Yon beacon light directs our way,
While grateful vows to Heaven we pay,
And soon our long-lost joys renew,
And bid the boisterous main adieu,
And bid the boisterous main adieu.

 

MY DEAR OLD MOTHER.

My dear old mother and I did part
When I was very young;
Her memory still clings round my heart,
As charming visions roam.
They tell me of my mother’s form—
She watched me while I slept,
And with her soft and gentle hand
She wiped the tears I wept.

And that same hand that held my own
When I began to walk,

And the joys that sparkled in her eyes
When I began to talk;

I remember, too, when I was ill,
She kiss’d my burning brow;

And the tears that fell upon my cheek
I think I feel them now.

And then she always knelt by me—
How gloomy was that day!
She put her hand up to her breast,
And taught me how to pray.
Oh! mother, mother, in this breast,
Thy image still shall be,
And I willlove thee to the last, ~
And always think of thee.

   

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

      

 

_—

 

Be Sure You're Right, Then go Ahead!

Copied by permission of E. H. Harprna, 229 Bowery, New York, owner
of the copyright. Music and words, 10 cents.
Be sure you're right, then go ahead!
Make this your motto, boys,
And fewer clouds will o’er you spread
To shadow life’s fair joys.
There’s naught that’s great but may be won,
Of this I will remind you,
And when your eyes are on the sun,
The shadows lie behind you.
Be slow, till doubts have all an end
Then on, nor stop to rest;
For Providence will e’er befriend
The man who does his best.
Ah! many are the traps and snares
That lie on ev’ry side;
But when yow’re right you'll know no cares,
/ Nor fear whate’er betide.

Cuorus—Be sure you're right, then go ahead!
My boys, oh! ne’er despond,
Be sure you’re right, then go ahead!
Success lies just beyond.

Be sure you're right, then go ahead!
With heart and conscience true,
You’ll on the path of right be led,
And heav’n will prosper you.
What though your station lowly be?
A purpose placed you there,
Which though your earthly eyes can’t see,
Shows wisdom ev’rywhere,
Let slander wound you all it can,
The truth it can not slay,
Fear not, my boys, an honest man
Is open as the day.
Act but your part as, to your sight,
The better course appears;
Walk in the right, and joy, shall light
The skies of future years, (CHORUS.)

Woodman, Spare that Tree.

Copied by permission of Firrx, Ponp & Co., 547 Broadway, New York,
owners of the copyright.

Woodman, spare that tree
Touch not a single bough,
In youth it shelter’d me,
And U’ll protect it now;
*Twas my forefather’s hand
That placed it near his cot;
There, woodman, let it stand,
Thy ax shall harm it not.

That old familiar tree,
Whose glory and renown
Are spread o’er land and sea—
And wouldst 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 play’d.
My mother kiss’d me here;
My father press’d my hand:
' Forgive this foolish tear,
f But let the old oak stand!

My heart-strings round thee cling,
Close as thy bark, old friend!
Here shall the wild birds sing,
And still thy branches bend.
Old tree! the storms still brave!
' And, woodman, leave the spot!
While I’ve a hand to save,
Thy ax shall harm it not. : .

 

 

 

 

 

THE SINGER’S LIBRARY. a

Ten O’Clock; or, Remember, Love,

Remember.

Copied by permission of FirtH, Ponp & Co., 547 Broadway, New York,
owners of the copyright.
Twas ten o’clock one moonlight night,
I ever shall remember,
When every star shone twinkling bright,
In frosty dark December;
When at the window, tap, tap, tap,
L heard a certain well-known rap,
And with these words most clear,
‘“‘Remember, ten o'clock, my dear,
Remember, love, remember.”

My mother dozed before the fire,

My dad his pipe was smoking,

I dare not for a word retire,

And was not that provoking?
At length the old folks fell asleep,
1 then my promised word to keep,
And for his absence did denote,
He on the window-shutters wrote,

“Remember, love, remember.”

And did I heed a treat so sweet?
Oh, yes! and mark the warning,
He said at church we were to meet,
At ten o’clock next nforning;
And then we meet no more to part,
To twine forever hand and heart;
And since that day in wedlock join’d,
The window-shutters bring to mind,
“Remember, love, remember.”

 

MY EYE AND BETTY MARTIN.

In Yorkshire I wur born and bred,
And knows a thing or two, sir,
Nay, what be more, my father said
My wit would bring me through, sir;
At single stick or kiss the maids,
I wur the boy vor sartin,
Zays I, ‘“‘ Push on, to be afraid’s
My eye and Betty Martin.”
Ri tol de rol, etc.

At whoam I’d often heard folks talk
Of Lunnun’s famous city,
And that the streets on which they walk
Wur paved with gold so pretty;
To mam and dad I gave a buss,
Says I, “I’m off vor sartin,
So about my trip to make a fuss,
Is my eye and Betty Martin.”
Ri tol de rol, ete.

At Inn arrived, I met a man,
Who offered me his sarvice,
To take my baggage wur his plan,
And help me to a jarvis;
‘But stop,” says I, “this wunna do,
Your rigs I’ze known, vor sartin,
Your kindness, friend, ’tween me and you’s,
My eye and Betty Martin.”
Ri tol de rol, etc.

A lady next, a flashy dame,
Lin the Strand did meet, sir;
Who said as how it wur a shame
That I should walk the street, sir;
She talked of love, and sarvants, too,
And thought her prey right sartin,
But, “Noa,” says I, ‘‘to go with you’s
My eye and Betty Martin.”
: Ri tol de rol, ete.

T’ze seen the lions and the tower,
The circus, Ashley’s, too, sir;

The play and giants strike the hour, z
And all that’s strange to view, sir

So back to whaom I’ll turn again,
And marry Doll vor sartin,

T’ze please her so, that to complain’s,
My eye and Betty Martin.

“Ri tol de rol, etc. ©

 

~~ 2

   
   
  

 

 

 

 
  

 

 

 

  
   
 
 
  

 

 

 

 
 
   
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   
 
 
 

 

  

 

 
  
  
   
  

 

 
  

 

   

 

 
  
 

 

 
  
 

 

 
  

      
      
   
    
    
   
   
    
     
      
  

 

 

 

 

 

 
  

 

 

 

 

THE SINGER’S LIBRARY.

 

 

 

 

The Sword of Bunker Hill.

Copied by permission of Russert & Torman, 291 Washington St., Boston,
owners of the copyright.
He lay upon his dying bed,
His eye was growing dim,
When with a feeble voice he call'd
His weeping son to bim:
“Weep not, my boy,” the veteran said,
‘*T bow to Heaven’s high will,
But quickly from yon antlers bring,

l
The sword of Bunker Hill.” j REPEAT.

The sword was brought, the soldier’s eye,
Lit with a sudden flame; |

And as he grasp’d the ancient blade,
He murmur’d Warren’s name;

Then said, ‘‘ My boy, I leave you gold,
But what is richer still,

I leave you, mark me, mark me, now,
The sword of Bunker Hill.

“Twas on that dread, immortal day,
I dared the Briton’s band,

A captain raised this blade on me,
I tore it from his hand;

And while the glorious battle raged,
It lighten’d freedom’s will,

For, boy, the God of freedom bless’d
The sword of Bunker Hill.

t REPEAT.

} REPEAT.

“Oh! keep the sword,” his accents broke,
A smile, and he was dead;
But his wrinkled hand still grasp’d the blade,
Upon that dying bed.
The son remains, the sword remains,
Its glory growing still,
And twenty millions bless the sire
And sacl of Bunker Hill. ; BEPEAT,

 

KATE KEARNEY.

Oh! did you ne’er hear of Kate Kearney?

She lives on the banks of Killarney;

From the glance of her eye, shun danger and fly, «
For fatal’s the glance of Kate Kearney.

For that eye is so modestly beaming,

‘You ne’er think of mischief she’s dreaming

‘Yet, oh! I can tell, how fatal’s the spell,
That lurks in the eye of Kate Kearney.

Oh should you e’er meet this Kate Kearney,
Who lives on the bank of Killarney,
Beware of her smile, for many a wile
Lies hid in the smile of Kate Kearney.
Though she looks so bewitchingly simple,
Yet there’s mischief in every dimple;
And who dares inhale her sigh’s spicy gale,
Must die by the breath of Kate Kearney.

 

ANSWER TO KATE KEARNEY.

Oh, yes, I have seen this Kate Kearney,

Who lives near the Lake of Killarney;

From her love-beaming eye, what mortal ean fly,
Unsubdued by the glance of Kate Kearney?

For that eye so seducingly meaning,

Assures me of mischief she’s dreaming;

And I feel ’tis in vain to fly from the chain
That binds me to lovely Kate Kearney.

At eve when I’ve met this Kate Kearney,

On the flower-mantled banks of Killarney,

Her smile would impart thrilling joy to my heart,
As I gaz’d on the charming Kate Kearney

On the banks of Killarney reclining,

My bosom to rapture resigning,

Tve felt the keen smart of love’s fatal dart,

And inhal’d the warm sigh of Kate Kearney.

N

 

 

The Sea King’s Burial.

i ission of E, H. Harprna, 229 Bowery, New Y
ee pi a copyright. Music and words, 10% cents, ~
My strength is failing fast
Said the sea king to his men;
I shall never sail the seas
Like a conqueror again,
But while yet a drop remains
Of the life blood in my veins,
Raise, oh raise me from my bed,
Put my crown upon my head,
Put my good sword in my hand,
And so lead me to the strand,
Where my ship at anchor rides; steadily, steadily,
If I cannot end my life,
In glorious battle strife,
Let me die as I have lived;
Let me die, let me die on the sea.

They have borne him to the ship
With a slow and solemn tread;
They have placed him on the deck,
With his crown upon his head,
And in the hold beneath,
Lit the slow sure fire of death;
There was music in the sails,
As they spread them to the gales,
And a dashing at her prow,
As she cleft the waves below,
And he rais’d his voice exulting! gallantly,
gallantly,
The life is in me yet,
And the courage to forget,
All my pain in my triumph,
All my pain in my triumph on the sea.

Once alone a cry arose,
Half of anguish, half of pride,
As he sunk upon the deck,
With the flames on ev’ry side.
“T am coming,” said the king,
“Where the sword and bucklers ring.”
And of bolder warrior born,
Naught remained at break of moi
Of the charr’d and blacken’d hull,
But some ashes and a skull.
And still the vessel drifted heavily, heavily,
With a pale and hazy light
Until far into the night,
‘When she founder’d in the silence,
When she founder’d in the silence of the sea,

 

GOOD NEWS FROM HOME.

Good news from home—good news for me
Has come across.the deep blue sea,

From friends that I have left in tears—
From friends that I’ve not seen in years;
And since we parted long ago,

My life has been a scene of woe,

But now a joyful hour has come,

For I have heard good news from home.

Cuorus—Good news from home, good news for me
Has come across the deep blue sea,
From friends that I have left in tears,
From friends that I’ve not seen for years,

No father’s near to guide me now,

No mother’s tears to soothe my brow,

No sister’s voice falls on mine ear,

Nor brother’s smile to give me cheer;

But, though I wander far away,

My heart is full of joy to-day,

For friends across the ocean’s foam

Have sent to me good news from home. (CHoRUS.)

When shall I see that cottage door,

Where I’ve spent years of joy before?

’Twas there I mew no grief nor care,

My heart was always happy there;

Though I may never see it more,

Nor stand upon my native shore,

Where’er on earth 1’m doom’d to roam, z
My heart will be with those at home. (CHORUS.)

 

 

 

 

    

 

 

 
    

  

   

 

 

 

a

   

42

 

Since Terry First Joined the Gang.

Copied by permission of E. H. Harpina, 229 Bowery, New York, owner
of the copyright. Music and words, 10 cents.

My name it is Mike Slattery,
And from Ireland I came,
And I’ve a son who’s a big blackguard,
And Terrance is his name;
He wears a gold watch and chain,
And he calls it a “super” and a “slang;”
Oh! my heart is booke, God knows it is,
Since Terry first join’d the “ gang.”

Cxorvus—He'll come rolling home in the morning,
And he’ll give the door the devil’s own bang;
Oh! my heart is broke, God knows it is,
Since Terry first joined the “ gang.”

When he came home last Thursday night,
Sure, I talked to him very nice;
When he said, ‘‘Old man, you’re getting too fresh,
And we'll soon have to put you on the ice!”
He told the old woman for to take a drop,
And to shut up giving him her slang;
Oh! her heart is broke, God knows it is,
Since Terry first joined the ‘‘ gang.” (CHORUS.)
Sure, he stands upon the corner
From morning until night,
And if the policeman says, ‘‘ Move on,”
He’ll spit at him with spite;
He went to the market only yesterday,
And there he stole a “‘wine” and a ‘‘slang;”
Now he’s got three months in the Penitentiary,
Along with the rest of the “gang!” (CHoRvs.)

 

A BIT OF MY MIND.

Published, by E. H. Harprna, 229 Bowery, N.Y. Music and words, 10 cents.

I’m not of a quarrelsome nature at all,
But a peaceable sort of a man,

And I always avoid a dispute, or a brawl,
That’s to say if I possibly can;

Still if people behave in an insolent way,
Or to argue or fight are inclin’d,

Why I first listen calmly to all they’ve to say,
Then I give them a bit of my mind.

Cuorus—A bit of my mind, a bit of my mind,
If friends or relations should e’er prove unkind,
You cannot conceive the relief that I find,
If I’m able to give them a bit of my mind.

When a wild little urchin of seven years old
I was under a pedagogue’s rule,

And the first time I got into trouble I’m told,
Was for smashing a window at school.

I was promised the cane as a matter of course,
Which I told them was not very kind,

But I didn’t much care tho’ they flogged me by force,
For I gave them a bit of my mind. (CHoRvs.)

I been sadly deceiv’d by my intimate friend,
Tho’ I treated bim just like a Prince,
For he took all the cash I could manage to lend,
And I’ve never set eyes on him since;
Still I wrote him a letter indignant and strong,
Full of all the bad names I could find,
And it pleas’d me to think tho’ his conduct was wrong,
That | gave him a bit of my mind.

So if ever I’m injured or treated amiss,
My behavior is always the same,

And i’ve one satisfaction at least, which is this,
That I don’t think I’m greatly to blame;

If my wife should elope with a rival to-day,
(Tho’ I might not at first be resigned,)

I should feel myself better “I’m happy to say,”
If I gave them a bit of my mind. (CHORUS.)

 

NN

 

 

THE SINGER’S LIBRARY.

 

2

ao

I NEVER REFUSE.

Copied by permission of E. H. Harprna, 229 Bowery, New York, owner
of the copyright. Music and words, 10 cents,

I like to satisfy my friends,
In everything I do, boys;
There’s nothing small in me, at all,
As a friend, you’ll find me true, boys.
Good nature is my only fault,
But that you must excuse;
Whatever you ask me, I shall do,
My motto is, ‘‘ Never refuse!”

Cuorvs «I never refuse, I never refuse!
Invite me to dine, or pour out the wine;
Suggest what you like, or ask what you choose,
My motto thro’ life is, ‘‘ Never refuse!”

One night when coming from the play,
My throat was feeling dry, boys;

So I “dropped in” and a cork “dropped out,”
The drink was real “ old rye,” boys!

Just then, came in a dear old friend,
Not seen in years before;

Our hands we entwined ina friendly grasp,
And he begged me to take ‘ just one more!”

Sproxen—Well, it would have been ome my principles to say
no, so I just told him plainly that— (CHoRUvs.)

I used to sing ‘‘ My pretty Jane,”
When love’s deep draught I swallowed;
And give my sweetheart strawberry cream,
To make myself more ‘‘ solid.”
So when I asked her for a kiss,
She did not faint or ery;
No gentle rebuke, but a whisper sweet,
And this was her charming reply:

Cuorvus—lI never refuse, I never refuse,
Such love and delight, how could I refuse?
‘You may say what you like, or ask what you choose
My motto through life is ‘‘ Never refuse!”

 

THE OLD MAN’S GOT TO GO.

Written and composed by Louis Braunlein; sung by Harris and Carroll.

I am growing old and weary now, my limbs are very weak,
And I can not plant the cane, or hoe the corn;

My days are nearly numbered, and for rest I vainly seek,
For my heart is saddened, weary and forlorn.

Oh! I sadly miss the good old times, departed long ago.
When the darkies used to gather ’round my door,

To join their merry voices, while I’d pick the old banjo—
Those times, alas! the old man ‘Il see no more.

CHORUS.
Ah, yes, I’m old and feeble now, my head is bending low,
And Ill never hoe the good old corn-no more;
For my days are surely numbered, and the old man’s got to go
From, this world toward the bright celestial shore.

Oh, I once was happy all the day, and merry as a king, ‘
And my time was spent devoid of care and strife;

At night I used to sit at home and make the banjo ring
For my little boy, and good old lovely wife.

But they have crossed the river, and I soon will follow them,
For my days are surely numbered now, I know;

My steps are growing feeble, and my sight is getting dim,
And it’s evry day the old man ’spects to go. (CHORUS.)

My friends have all departed, and have left me here alone,
To totter feebly to my journey’s end;

Ah, it makes me very sad to think of leaving this old home,
Where many years of happiness I spent. —

I’ve stowed away my things—I’ve hung up the old banjo,
And put away the fiddle and the bow—

But, hark! [ hear the Voices calling gently, soft and low,
The time has come—the old man’s got to go. (CHoRus.) —

 

 

 

n .

 

 

 

 

at

  

  

Si Teas Sa ee cies tg aie egal od ny

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   
   
 
  

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lord Bateman and the Fair Sophia.

Lord Bateman he was a noble lord,
A noble lord of high degree,

He shipped himself on board a ship,
Some foreign country he would go see.

He sailed east, and he sailed west,
Until he came. to proud Turkey,

Where he was taken and put in prison,
Until his life was almost weary.

And in this prison there grew a tree,
It grew so stout and strong,

Where he was chained by the middle,
Until his life was almost gone.

This Turk he had one only daughter,
The fairest creature my eyes did see,
She stole the key of her father’s prison,
And swore Lord Bateman she would set free.

“ Have you got houses, have you got lands,
Or does Northumberland belong to thee?
What would you give to the fair young lady,
That out of the prison would set you free?”

“T have got houses, I have got lands,
And half Northumberland belongs to me,
Tl give it all to the fair young lady,
That out of prison would set me free.”

Oh then she took him to her father’s hall,
And gave to him the best of wine,

And every health she drunk unto him,

“T wish Lord Bateman that you were mine.

“ Now in seven years T’ll make a vow,
And seven years I'll keep it strong,
If you’ll wed with no other woman,
I will wed with no other man.”

Oh then she took him to her father’s harbor,
And gave to him a ship of fame,
“Farewell, farewell, to-you, Lord Bateman,
I’m afraid I ne’er shall see you again.”

Now seven long years are gone and past,
And fourteen days well known to thee,

She packed up all her gay: clothing,
And swore Lord Bateman she would go see.

But when she came to Lord Bateman’s castle,
So boldly she-rung the bell,
** Who’s there, who's there?” cried the proud porter,
“Who's there, come, unto me tell?”

“Oh is this Lord Bateman’s castle,
Or is his lordship here within?’
“Oh yes, oh yes,” cried the young porter,
“He’s just now taken his new bride in,”

“Oh tell him to send me a slice of bread,
And a bottle of the best wine,
And not forgetting the fair young lady,
Who did release him when close confin’d,”

Away, away, went this young proud porter,
Away, away, and away went he,

Until he came to Lord Bateman’s chamber,
Down on his bended knees fell he,

“ What news, what news, my proud young porter,
What news hast thou brought unto me?”
*‘There is the fairest of all young creatures,
That e’ér my two eyes did see,

“She has got rings on every finger,
And round one of them she’s got threw,
And as much gay clothing round her middle,
As all Northumberland would buy.

“She bid you send her’a slice of bread,
And a bottle of the best: wine,
And not forgetting the fair young lady,
Who did release. you, when close confin’d,”

Lord Bateman he then in a passion flew, |
And broke his sword in splinters three,
Saying, ‘I will give all my father’s riches,
If that Sophia has crossed the sea,”

 

 

 

“THE SINGER’S LIBRARY. _ £3

ana ame

Then up spoke the young bride’s mother,
Who never was heard to speak so free,
“You'll not forget my only daughter,
If that Sophia has crossed the sea.”

“T own I made a bride of your daughter,
She’s neither the better nor worse for me,
She came to me with her horse and saddle,
She may go back in her coach and three.”

Lord Bateman prepared another marriage,
With both their hearts so full of glee;
“ll range no more in foreign countries,
Now my Sophia has crossed the sea,”

 

To the Love of My Youth I’ll be True.

Copied by permission of Freperick Biumm, 861 Broadway, New York,
owner of the copyright. Music and words, 35 cents.
There’s a day when the roses shall wither,
There’s a day when the sunlight shall fade,
There’s a day when the weight of time’s finger,
On the gold of thy curls shall be laid.
When whispering voices of angels,
Call o’er the dark river to you,
But e’en to that day, little darling,
To the love of my youth I'll be true.
When the pink from the rosebud has flown, love,
When the violet has lost its bright hue,
Then bloometh the flower of affection,
To the love of my youth I'll be true.

Cuorus—To the love of my youth I will ever be true,
To the love of my youth I will ever be true,
To the love of my youth I will ever be true,
To the love of my youth I’ll be true.

When the song of the woodlark is hush’d, love,
And the voice of the linnet is still,

When no low rippling music doth break, love,
From the silvery waves of the rill,

When the chill of life’s snow’s on thy forehead,
When the cold world shall turn, love, from you,

Then list to my heart breathe affection,
To the love of my youth T’ll be true.

When the pink from the rosebud has flown, love,
When the violet has lost its bright hue,

Then bloometh the flower of affection,
To the love of my youth I'll be true. (CHorus.)

 

EULALIE.

Copied by permission of S. T. Gorpon, Music Publisher, New York,

owner of the copyright.

Blue-birds linger here awhile,

O’er this sacred grassy pile,

Sing your sweetest songs to me—

“Tis the grave of Eulalie.

Roses white, around her tomb

Gently wave and sweetly bloom;

Let your silent language be—

“We will bloom for Eulalie.”

Streamlet, chanting at her feet
Mournful music, sad and sweet,
Wake her not, she dreams of me
"Neath the yew-tree, Eulalie!
Eulalie, but. yesternight,

Came a spirit vailed. in white;

I knew it could be none but thee,
Bride of death, lost Eulalie.

Angels, guard her with your wings,
Shield her from unholy things,

Bid her dream love-dreams of me—
Till I come, sleep, Eulalie!
Blue-birds linger here awhile,

O’er this sacred grassy pile.

Sing your sweetest songs to me

*Tis the grave of Eulalie.

 

 

PS eS

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

THE SINGER’

S LIBRARY.

——

 

 

     
   

 

 

 

Don’t Marry Your Mother-in-law.

Copied by permission of E. H. Harprya, 229 Bowery, New York, owner
of the. copyright. Music and words, 10 cents.

Of all the troublesome creatures
That cling to a married man’s life,
There is none with such terrible features
As the.“‘ ma” of your own little wife.
Her head it is fill’d with suggestions
For the good of connubial bliss,
She'll kill you outright with her questions,
Take my advice just in this,

Cxorus—Don’t marry your mother-in-law,
Keep out of the reach of her paw,
You had better be dead
With a slab at your head:
Than to marry your mother-in-law!

Should your home e’er seem lonely and dreary,

Your wife will then send for her sure,
“ Tt’s so nice for ma to come, Charley,”

Says your darling, you must it endure;

And if your dear wife prove deficient
In matters known to womankind,

Her mother will post her in all things,
And drive you well out of your mind, (CHORUS.)

She'll keep you all day in hot water,
_,.And worry you almost to death,
Till you wish in your heart, that her daughter
And herself had never drawn breath! 5
She’ll make your much hoped for Elysian
A desert of unending strife,
So keep these few words in your vision,
When you take to yourself a young wife. (CHO.)

 

True Blue, and Seventy-two.
Published by E. H. Harvie, 229 Bowery, N.Y. Music and words, 10 cents,

I come of a free and jovial race,
A country squire am I,

With a name that has never known disgrace,
And ll tell you the reason why:

I’m a chip of the block, of an ancient stock,
And am loyal, brave, and true,

And one of a race that can go the pace,
Altho’ ’m seventy-two.

Cuorus—Then cheer, boys cheer,
For an old true blue,
And one of a race that can go the pace,
Altho’ he’s seventy-two.

In the red-brick’d hall, with moss cover’d wall,
Where my father he liv’d and died,

I live at my ease, and do as I please,
Caring naught for the world so wide;

The pluck of a lion, and a muscle of iron,
And a heart that is honest and true,

Yet a heart that can always for others feel,
Altho’ I’m seventy-two. (CHORUS.)

No sluggard am I in my bed to lie,
I rise at early dawn;

Thro’ meadows I jog with my gun, and my dog,
Or mount at the sound of the horn;

A seat in the saddle I still can keep, }
With a heigh, tally-ho, halloo!

For my limbs are strong, and my wind long,
Altho’ I’m seventy-two. (CHoRUS.)

At Christmas time when the bells they chime,
I’ve a welcome as well as a smile;

And hearty good cheer for peasant or peer,
In a jolly English style;

I'm fond of good sport, yet nevertheless,
My passions I always subdue,

_ For it’s only a fool that loves excess

And will never reach seventy-two. (CHORUS.)

 

A THOUSAND A YEAR.

Rosin Rurr—
If I had but a thousand a year, Gaffer Green—
If I had but a thousand a year,
What a man would I be, and what sights would I see,
If I had but a thousand a year.

GarFFER GREEN—
The best wish you could have, take my word, Robin Ruff,
Would scarce find you, in bread or in beer; /
But be honest and true, say what would you do,
If you had but a thousand a year?

Rosin RurrF—
I’d do—I scarcely know what, Gaffer Green,
I'd go—faith, I scarcely know where;
I'd scatter the chink, and leave others to think,
If I had but a thousand a year.

Garrer GREEN—
But when you are aged and gray, Robin Ruff,
And the day of your death it draws near,
Say, what with your pains, would you do with yours gains;
If you then had a thousand a year? ©

Rosin Rurr—
I scarcely can tell what you mean, Gaffer Green,
For your questions are always so queer;
But as other folks die, I suppose so must I—
GaFFER GREEN--
What! and give up your thousand a year?

There’s a place that is better than this, Robin Ruff—
And I hope in my heart you’ll go there—

Where the poor man’s as great though he hath no estate,
Ay, as if he’d a thousand a year.

 

TWENTY YEARS AGO.

I have wandered by the village, Tom—lI’ve sat beneath the tree,

Upon the school-house playing-ground which sheltered you and
me;

But none are left to greet me, Tom, and few are left to know,

That play’d with us upon the green, just Twenty Years Ago.

The grass is just as green, dear Tom, bare-footed boys at play
Are sporting just as we were then, with spirits just as gay;
But master sleeps upon the hill, all coated o’er with snow,
That afforded us a sliding-place just Twenty Years Ago.

The old school-house is alter’d some, the benches are replaced

By new ones, very like the same our penknives had defaced ;

But the same old bricks are in the wall, the bell swings to and
fro

The music just the same, dear Tom, ’twas Twenty Years Ago.

The boys are playing some old game, beneath that same old tree,
I do forget the name just now—you have play’d the same with me;
On that same spot ’twas play’d with knives, by throwing so and so,
The leaders had a task to do there Twenty Years Ago,

The river is running just as still—the willows on its side

Are larger than they were, dear Tom, the stream appears less wide;

The grape-vine swing is ruin’d now, where once we play’d th
beau, oy

And swung our sweethearts, pretty girls, just Twenty Years Ago.

The spring ‘that bubbled ’neath the hill, close by the spreading
beach

Is very high—twas once so low that we could almost reach,

But in‘kneeling down to get a drink, dear Tom, I started so,

To see how sadly I am changed since Twenty Years Ago.

| Down by the spring upon an elm you know I cut your name—
| Your sweetheart is just beneath it, Tom—and you did mine the

sam

2
| Some heartless wretch has peel’d the bark—’twas dying sure but

slow,
Just as the one whose name you cut did Twenty Years Ago.

My lids have long been dry, dear Tom, but tears come in my eyes,

' I thought of her I loved so well—those early broken ties; :

I visited the old churchyard, and took some flowers to strew
Upon the graves of those we loved some Twenty Years Ago.

Some are in the churchyard laid, some sleep beneath the sea,

_ But few are left of our old class, excepting you and me;
But when our time shall come, dear Tom, and we are call’d to go,

I hope they’ll lay us where we play’d just Twenty Years Ago.

 

 

 

 

or

p!

 

 

 
 

bY

 

 

 

a
wy

 

 

 

Sng a i oh LN a

 

a ee ne

 

jo EE

 

 

 

i

— $$

 

 

THE SINGER’S LIBRARY. 45

 

 

Rather Too “Heavy” For Me!

Copied by permission of E. H. Harprne, 229 Bowery, New York, owner
of the copyright. Music and words, 10 cents.
“I fell in love with a damsel sweet,
And thought that she was in love with me;
I knelt in worship before. her feet,
All dressed in my Sunday clothes!
She heard me thro’ and then she grew
Sympathetic, and sad; said, twas really too bad!
“You know,” she said, ‘‘Im a friend to you,
But you must not thus propose.”

CHorus—Oh! no, don’t ask me, I pray,
I’m sorry, indeed,
Believe what I say;
Oh! dear, such things do not pay.
You’re rather too ‘“‘ heavy ” for me!

I still kept on and I hoped to see
A change take place in her angel facé,
But she was ever the same to me,
And I was her slave the while.
At last I saw her walking out
With another young man, then between them I ran,
But he turn’d about, gave an awful shout,
While in vain I tried to smile.

SpokKEN—Yes, and I trembled a little too, when he said:
“What's the matter with you, young fellow? Don’t you make any
common error.” All I could say, was: (CHORUS.)

Down town I met with a friend, one night,
For pleasure bound, we were all round;
Says I, “I wish for a loan so slight,
A ten dollar bill will do!”
He looked at me and smiled so queer,
While he vow’d his regret, said he had none “ to let,”
Do you take me, sir, for a ‘ Fusileer?
I must beg to be free from you!” (CHoRUS.)

One night I went to a dazzling ball,
In the mazy whirl, with a lovely cir,
I thought this pleasure the best ot : Il,
With music around my ears.
‘When came the time, we went to sup,
There was bright sparkling wine, and the table was fine,
But I thought my love would never get up,
While I look’d, I was filld with fears!

Spoxen—She had the most astonishing appetite of any girl I
ever saw; and you should see how gracefully she drank off her
champagne! Very charming indeed. I called on her a few days
afterwards, and she wanted to know when we would go to an-
other ball? All I said in reply was:—

CHoruUs—Oh! no, don’t ask me, I pray,
I’m sorry, indeed,
Believe what I say;
Oh! dear, such things do not pay.
You're rather too “‘ heavy ” for me!

 

Be Kind to Thy Father and Mother.

BY NOVICE.

Be kind to thy father, and mother,
When their steps grow feeble and slow;
Brighten and gladden their pathway,
As through life’s journey they go.
For when you were young and helpless,
They watched you with tenderest care;
They were always ready to help you,
And tried all your troubles to share,

Cxorus—So be kind to thy father, and mother,
And keep this motto in view;
Always try, and do unto others,
As you’d have them do unto you.

Be kind to thy father, and mother,
When their hair is turning gray;
Endeavor to lighten their burdens,
Scatter sunshine along their way.
And as they descend this life’s hillside,
When their journey is nearly through,
You'll never regret that you did unto them,
As you’d have them do unto you. (CHorRUS.)

 

 

JAMIE!
Published by E. H. Harprine, 229 Bowery, N. Y. Music and words, 10 cents.

Jamie! Jamie! Jamie!
Jamie! do you hear me calling in the gloaming,
Calling to you laddie, to come home?
Long and lone I’m watching, and my heart is wondering
Why upon the hill so late you roam!
Jamie! Jamie! are you never coming
To the little heart that’s waiting sad at home?

Jamie! Jamie! Jamie!

Jamie, do you hear me calling in the gloaming?
Calling to you, laddie, calling Jamie?

Jamie! Jamie! ah, if he were never, never more

to hear me,

Never to come back to me again!

Sure ’m only dreaming, and I know he’s coming—
All the same the tears will flow like rain.

Jamie! Jamie! ah, the fear is on me,
And my heart is aching with dull pain.

Jamie! Jamie! Jamie!
Jamie! do you hear me calling in the gloaming—
Calling to you, laddie, to come home?
Jamie! echo answers, and it says he’s coming-—-coming
down the hill-side;
Well 1 know his voice, my bonnie lad!
Now I hear him singing to the cattle blithely!
And the little sheep-bells tinkling glad.
Jamie! Jamie! ab the joy is on me,
And my heart is going just like mad!
Jamie! Jamie! Jamie! welcome to you, laddie, welcome
in the gloaming,
All my heart is crying: welcome, Jamie!

 

GENTLE ANNIE.

Copied by permission of Firtu, Ponp & Co., 547 Broadway, New York,
owners of the copyright.
Thou wilt come no more, gentle Annie—
Like a flower thy spirit did depart;
Thou art gone, alas! like the many,
That have bloom’d in the summer of my heart.

CHorvus—Shall we never more behold thee,
Never hear thy winning voice again,
When the springtime comes, gentle Annie,
When the wild flowers are scatter’d o’er the plain?

We have roam’d and loved ’mid the bowers,
When thy downy cheeks were in bloom;
Now I stand alone ’mid the flowers,
While they mingle their perfumes o’er thy tomb.
(CHORUS.)
Ah! the hours grow sad while I ponder
Near the silent spot where thou art laid,
And my heart bows down when I wander «
By the streams and the meadows where we stray’d.
(CHORUS. )

——__— 4g

“Strike the Iron while It’s Hot.”
An original ‘‘ motto song;” composed by J. W. Uliman,

Now, motto songs are all the rage,
And T’ll sing of one to you;
Dll try to please you the best I can,
And give you advice that is true.
Now, as you jog on through life’s little span, :
No matter how hard may be your lot;
Whenever the occasion presents itself,
Strike the iron while it’s hot!

Regarding trouble in this world,
Some have more, and some have less;
But strike the iron while it’s hot!
Therein is the road to success.
Now, Fortune is a fickle thing,
We change from palace to the cot;
But if you wish to regain yourself
Strike the iron while it’s hot!

1

 

 

 
 

Beadle’s Half Dime Singer’ S Library. |

 

Contents of No. 1.

ale Gabriel,
ee syne,
ood time coming,

Ratbara Allan,

Billy Larkin.
Some, os ig awa’ wi’ me,
Sheer, i cheer,

* Cliequo
Co-ca-che-lunk,
* Crooked whisky!”
8 1 me when breakfast is

ready,

Brorich and English,
Gay and happy,
Hoop-la,
Hea her Jock,
xnew that I was dreaming,
muse on thee
Johnny, aad been a bad boy,
Juliana Jones,
im, the carter lad,
Let the girls alone,
Landlord, fill your flowing bowl,
Land of a birth.
Lord Lo
iiss. Panetta boarding house,

ae red rose,

Dy Bawn,
Poor Jack,
Pull down your vest,
Put me in ao ae bed,
Rose of Killa ney:
Roll out! heave at cotton,
hine vine S! harley,
See that my thes '3 kept green,
Sweet by an by
Son of a See er,
Sing, birdie, sing,
Ten minutes too late,

‘he en in the moon Is looking,

 

lov

_ "Twit two stools aman goes to
the ground,”

Chey all do it,

The railroad engineer’s song,

Che nightingale’s trill,

Chey borrow, but never return,

The butcher boy,

rhe hazel dell,

fhe vacant chair,

Com Bowling,

Che midnight bugle,

The tempest,

Che drunkard’s raggit wean!

fwinkling stars,

he Marseilles hymn,

Che old English squire,

‘™nder the willow she’s sleeping,
Vhoa, Emma (new version),

V antes Emma (original version),

ee can’t I have a beau?
Vaiting for p;

Vhbo will care Rito mother now?

Contents of No. 2.

» cushla fal mochree,
motto for every man,
yabylon is fallen,
Beautiful Rose,
Bitter beer,
Beside the weet Shannon.
Captain Ouff,
Constantino
Boon S five of the musketeers
pa ie Jinks,
andy Pat,
barber Joe,
Gentle Jennie Gray,
George Constantine McKeown,
Home a: aan
Sen eg ight smile haunts me

ra Teokinik at you now,
know when I’ve enough,
I’m lonely since my ‘mother

 

*m a b’hoy,
ohn Chinaman,
Jimmy’s wooing,
Limburger sheese,
Little waxed mustache,
My vife is so arenes thin,
_ May the best man win
Norah, the pride of Kildare
One by one they crossed the

viv
bull ‘down the blind,
Qui re dat ticklin’ me,
Robinson Oro Re,
eponey, hu aby,

weet vision = childhood,

all we ever meet again?

Single blessedness a
Lhe fields of home,
ERS ones of the Cameron

rhe ‘aeyle in which it’s done,
Ihe five cent shave,

[ne merry widow,

on aa light guard,
aie 7 ’3 chant,

hen Chinee,

The solgieets tear,

The king’s tthe Moy

The O’s and t

The steam arm,

She sparklt
cle 7
oe en

0 fy,
| etn of Be es t

were wor. out
Thee?

i ‘ou make me laugh,
‘ou a more iikeyourdad every

 

 

 

 

solitaire,
be in

 

ms, Sen

 

FIFTY OR MORE SONGS IN EACH ISSUE.

Contents of No 3

A national song,
al Robin Hood,

ee O’Lynn,
Bi iy Grimes the rover,
Cackle, cackle, cackle,
Coaxing with - aioe
Camptown rac
ee will settle the bill,

ood-by, John,
Gea bless the little church, etc.
Hildebrandt Montrose,
He isn’t as rich as he used to be,
He was such a nice young man,
Human natur
Hail to the chief,
I do feel so awfully loose,
Pe antiog any such place?
Pll be watching for you at, etc.
It’s naughty, but it’s nice,
llove my native land,
I’m in it,
Juanita,
Lager beer reek
pelo maid of Arcadee,
McGinnis,

Mary of the wild moor,
Massa’s in de cold ground,
Mine host! mine host! come, etc.
My brudder gum,
Mary Avourneen,
Nancy Lee,
Never despair.
mol army and navy of blue,

Only a flower there,
Old folks at home,
Peter pray
Pink dominoes,
pape says I may,

white and Blue,

Sing! sing! sing!
Song of the locomotive,
Sprig of shillelah,
Shall we know each other there?
I'he Gainsboro’ hat,
Terrance Muldoon,
The flreman’s boy,
The summer of love,
The runaway mare,
The roast beef of old England,
The timid ave squad!
The boulevard,
The low back’d car,
The Campbells are comin’ i
The Yankee boy,
The fighting dog,
The brave old oak,
The blarney,
When the flowers fall asleep,
Wake! Dinah, wake.
Why have my loved ones gone?
Whisper it softly,
Yankee ship, and a Yankee crew,

Contents of No, 4.

After tolling cometh rest,
A starry night for a ramble,
Adventures of Robinson Crusoe,
Auld Robin Gray,
Broadway promenade,
Bashful young man,
Blue-eyed violets,
Bob Ridley.
Down the shadowed lane she goes
Darling old stick
‘Fifth avenue George,”
Few days,
Faded flowers
Good byt T's — f
ood-by see you again,
Hail, ‘Ciumb ‘bia, @ e
Home, sweet home,
Hard times,
her “little bed” we laid her,
am waiting, Essie dear,
“T cannot sing the old songs,”
Johnny Morgan.
Little green vail,
Looki

ng bac

Lather and shave,

Mollie Brady,

Nelly was a i

Oh! you pretty iue-eyed witch,
“Our bo;

ys,”
old eh the Beau,

Over the left,

Pop goes the weasel,

Par excellence,

“Put the brake on when, etc.
Row, row,

Rory oO” Moore,

Rosa Lee,
Ridin’ in’a railroad keer,
8 neiog moselle,
Sleighing with my girl,
Spring, gentle spring,
Star-spangled banner,
e king of trumps, .
The ocean burial,
The Brooklyn n fire,
The miller of the dee,
The minute ae at sea,
The other side of Jordan
The old oaken ‘bucket. which
hung in the well,
The rollicking old man,
ere are Biases waiting for me,
The monks 01
The fine old ings gentleman,
The fine old Dutch gentleman,
The fine old Irish en
The spider and the fly,
" i. a succeeds like
suce!
The Sangin
Sane st; oe servant girl,
— regiment,
rings of love
You tdaver siea the water: ate.

 

Contents of No. 5.

Annie Laurie,
A sailor’s life for me,
Answer to Kate Kearney,
A bit of my mind,
A thousand a year,
a rouDs and daisies,
ae was a sailor’s bride,
Batt e of the kegs
Be sure you’re r ght,
Be kind to thy father ann mother,
Come to the ole gum tree,
Call her back and kiss her,
Come where the moonbeams, etc.
Don’t marry your mother-in-law,
Flow tl, eet Aft
low gently, sw on,
Fair Rosabell lle,
Good news from home.
ntle Anni le,
aunting ey es
@ led her to the altar,
‘ll strike you with a feather,
sle of beauty,
never refuse
Jocky hat and feather,
Jeannette and Jeannot,
Jamie!
Kitty Kimo,
Kate Kearney,
Lord Bateman and fair So! hia,
My heart’s in the Highlands,
My dear old mother,
My eye and Betty Martin,
No one to love,
“Our laddie’s dead, Jem,”
Oh! I shall call a,
Rather too “heavy ” for me,
ESET I dreamed, love,
y, bird of ee
ie moonlight se:
iF eens Piper Heldestck, sg
hip a-h
sured of Banker Hill,
Since Terry first joined the gang,
“ Strike the iron while it’s hot.”
The star that leads to thee,
The ee clock,
"Tilda Hor
"Twas ike 4 a spirit’s sigh,
’Twas rank and fame,
The answer,
The way to be happy,
The pirate’s serenade,
The belle of the ball,
The sweet. sunny smile, eto,
Ten o'clock ; or, remember, ete.
The sea king’ 's burial,
The old man’s got to ‘go,
To the love of my youth, ete.
True blue, and seventy-two,
Twenty years ago,
Uncle Ned,
Woodman, spare that tree,

Contents of No. 6.

“A lock of my mother’s hair,”
Alas! my love’s away,

Answer to a thousand a year,
Away down East,

A life on the ocean wave,
Ada, with the golden hair,
Ben Bolt,

By the sad sea-wav
en eyes has that little maid-

Bases ball}

Beaatieat! dreamer,

Boy with the auburn, hair,

Clear the way,

Castles in the air,

oe mother, I’vé come home to

 

 

 

 

ie
Don’t you dare to kiss me, Joe!
Evangeline,

Finigan’s wake,

“Free and easy,”

George, the charmer,

Her pretty, smiling face,

I want to go home to mamma!
I wish I was in Dixie’s land,
I’ve only been down to the

club,

I really don’t think I shall
malrry,

¥ font, Barleycorn is a aero

on kissing me,

Kie ing a man when he’s down,

Katy did. aoe didn’t,

Kind and true.

Lanigan’s ball,

Mulcahy’s home again,

Miss Malony’s ball,

My love is Still the’ same,

Merry little birds are we,

Nelly ers

Nelly

Never a never win:

Over the mountain,

Oh, merry hours!

Poor June

Poor old slave,

Roger O'Malley,

Rock me to sleep; mother,

Sil — stars are’ softly gleam-

in;
Song ‘of ae Alpen,
Sweet Jong agi
“The sca
The Tittle b bi Molcsmnith
oe oe girl that’s out,

The ae gay ee
The ret te smugegl

oe op niey isticat
e e Joe,
Victorine, 5

Wait till the moonlight falls on
the water, |

leva a

 

Contents of No. 7.

annie of the vale,
Awfully awful,
merica,
merican vocal melody,
a n the surf,
Bear it like a man,
Crazy Jane,
Come, maiden, with me,
Dat’s der kind of mans
Dreaming and drifting,
Every inch a sailor,
Sepeee the griddle, birdie, Dar-
Nn
He How how to do it,
I know you’ll be true to me,

bin,
Lhold the winning hand,
r u aoe you in my pray-

Jenene, blow the fire,

Little diamond dewdrop,

Like a Turk!

oc dear, I’m thinking of

wy nrecty: little blonde,

Marriage bells,

Mr. Finagan,

Never push a man because he’s
Baoee down the hill,

George! beautiful George!

oni I’m Leer home,

pe cture,

“Pulling ard against
stream,”

Pretty little primrose,

Remember you have Children of
your own.

Spooning on the sands,

Speak to me, speak,

Stick to your trade ‘and be true,

The belle of Rockaway,

That’s the style for me, boys,

Taffy was a Welshman,

Take this letter to my mother,

The blonde that never dyes,

Tassels on the boots,

The big sunflower,

The rollicking rams,

The Mulligan guard,

The blue and the gray,

Take your coats 1 up to your

unclé,
The old folks are
The little ones at home,
The belle of Pleasure bay,
Uncle Sam’s farm.
Winter—sleigh-bell song,
What is home without a ‘mother,
Wait for the wagon,
Would you if you were me?
Widow Machree,

 

 

 

 

am,

the

one,

Contents of No. 8.
Awfully fi 9
“ Ain’t you awful,”
Brother's ‘fainting at the door,
Bobbin’
oi sit py 2 my side, little dar-

ing,
Call me your darling again,
“Come back 7 Erin,
Dot German band,
Dat Ray old nigger ball,
Donk nod: bys i up the ship,
lovely Lou,
Happy ezekiah
isn’t a marrying man,
it speak to you gladly again,
’m going home to Dixie,
sn’t he a darling?
ordan is a hard road to travel,
a ey
Kitty Clyde,
Little aaa “cider,
La-de-da-de Micks,
Minnie Dear,
ee the solid man,
M my guiding star,
eal AH xieal

Minnie Rooke,
My tittle wife ‘ashore,
Nobody’s darling but mine,
Old Bleek Joe,
Our girls,
Only speak kindly to me,
On the beach at Long Branch,
“Oh would I were a
captain’s last words,
hundred
Roach at ;

 

eyes,
lark in the morning,

tide,
you
are white in
comes rolling

Would I were with thee,
Young fellah, you’re too fresh,

18d by al newts et or sent, post-paid, to any address, on receipt of six cents per copy.

‘BEADLE: & ADAMS. Publishers, - 98

ane old folks we love

 

*

Contents of No, 9.

Brother, tell me of the battie,
A ne li Sees of de moon,

Gaaer" 'S W. ioe
Come home, father,
Chickabiddy,
Dear old words,
Dermot Astore,
De ole corn mill,
“De bad Bob I.ee,”
“Davy Jones,”
ae arling,

hoe:

Ever of thee,
Evenin Star,
Fat Mic
Fritz, w fe e Behts allewveill
Good-ni gh
Hark! I hear an angel sing,
Hold the fort,
I'll meet you on Broadway,
I miss thee so
I wouldn’t if f could,
Kiss me again,
Katy a! ling,
Kafoozleum
Katie Lee and Willie Gray,
Kitty McGee,
Keep a little corner in yoor
heart for me,
eee ona baleony,
Lora Vale.
My sweet Polywog,
Merit commands suvcess,
My own patie land,
My sweet girl
Not before Pa, dear,
Our Mary Ann,
Oh, let him rest,
Pretty Jemima, don’t say no,
Playing in the hay,
Shy young girl; or, Du-da, da.
She was c’ lak ina ae store,
Seer Dinkelspiel,
Still T love thee,
Shells of the ocean,
The Hills of New England,
The Bene he Hat a happy life,
The on the wire,
The bell goes a-ringing for, etc.
id long ago.
‘he bashful ae
The gallant bri;
The fellar that eck: like me,
The bird so: nB
The diamond ring,
The old farm house
The old pla ground,
Up in a ballon,
Uncle ane the Yankee,
ES ca p a tre
rite to a yiten; darling,
When the little pings are sing
in the garden !
Tieky, ou’re the divil,
When Johny comes marching e+
Will a monkey climb a tree?
Yeur pocket-book is your, ete

Contents of No. 10.
A merry Gipsy girl again,
Baby’s got a tooth!
Hilly Johnson’s ball,
Breeze of the night,’
Colleen Avar:
Coming home thorn the bal
De g Roepe car,
* Douglas tender and true,”
Dark-eyed Norina,
Se onion vender,

wn the river,

Eileen Allanna,
E Pluribus Unum,

 

| Farewell song of Enoch Arden,

From Madison to Union Square,
ee of ee poueet old,
py-go-lucky,

Ho such a lovely waltzer!
Her front name is “ Hannar,”.
Have you seen my sister?

I’m the governor’s son,

It’s funny when you feel, ete. -
vm Jeayine. tbee in sorrow, ete,
Jack’s yar

Kissing in rhe moonlight,

Kiss me quick and go,

“Little Barefoot,”

Lilly Dale,

Little Nannie

Let me kiss him for his mother,
Little Magzie May,

Minnie © ee

ee dear : ‘ttle Mollie Malone, —

Ma, e
Pau 's the’ bo:

Pretty Mineaned belle,
Rather too old for me,

Susan Jane, ‘
Strangers yet,

She’; ndsome as arose,
The Hoolahan musketeers!

A uae rake our papers say,”

e
Thee ce tL aac the wa,
The fisherman’s daugh
The lake-side shore,
The grave of Bonaparte,
Three bells,
The © Newfoundland dog,
The lass that loves a satibe;
Victory at last,
Why don’t you come ands
What care I how fair she ber
ee, down Broadway,
Weart the pare bestiy ‘to play,

e blu
here hee sa will ae
Witten roam no more, : te

ay ae

 

~ =

William Stoo. iE