Chapter II: Part 2

Youth’s the time for pleasure, life is but a span,
Gayety’s a treasure, seize it while you can,
Old men couldn’t go it, were they to be hung,
Their looks and actions show it--then
_Go it_ while you’re young, &c.

Pop Goes the Weasel. 39

Queen Victoria is very sick,
Napoleon’s got the measles,
Sebastopol’s not taken yet;
Pop goes the weasel,

CHORUS.

All around the cobbler’s bench,
The monkey chased the weasel
The priest, he kiss’d the cobbler’s wife;
Pop went the weasel.

A penny for a ball of thread,
A penny for a needle,
That’s the way the money goes;
Pop goes the weasel.
All around, &c.

My wife, she is awful sick,
The baby’s got the measles,
Sally’s got the hooping-cough;
Pop goes the weasel.
All around, &c.

Johnny Bull, he makes his brag,
He can whip the whole creation,
Why don’t he take Sebastopol,
By Pop goes the weasel.
All around, &c.

Mayor Wood has put the rumsellers through,
The Maine Law’s a sad evil,
We cannot get our toddy now;
Pop goes the weasel.
All around, &c.

Lather and Shave. 40

It was in this city, not far from this spot,
Where a barber he opened a snug little shop;
He was silent and sad, but his smile was so sweet,
That he pulled every body right out of the street.
With his lather and shave ’em, lather and shave ’em,
Lather and shave ’em, frizzle ’em bum.

One horrid bad custom he thought he would stop,
That no one for credit should come to his shop;
So he got him a razor full of notches and rust,
To shave the poor devils who come there for trust.
With his lather and shave, &c.

One day a poor Irishman passed by that way,
Whose beard had been growing for many a day;
He looked at the barber, and he put down his hod,
“Will you trust me a shave for the pure love o’ God?”
With your lather and shave, &c.

“Walk in,” says the barber, “sit down in that chair,
I’ll soon mow your beard off right down to a hair.”
So his lather he spread over Paddy’s big chin,
And with his “trust” razor to shave did begin.
With his lather and shave, &c.

“Och, murder!” says Paddy, “now what are you doin’?
Leave off wid yer tricks, or my jaws you will ruin,
Faith, now how would you like to be shaved wid a saw?
Be the powers, you’ll pull every tooth out o’ me jaw.”
With your lather and shave, &c.

“Sit still,” says the barber, “and don’t make a din,
With your moving your jaws, I’ll be cutting your chin.”
“Not cut but sawed, och, that razor you’ve got,
Sure it wouldn’t cut butter, if it wasn’t made hot.
With your lather and shave, &c.

“Now lave off yer tricks, and don’t shave any more,”
And Paddy he bolted straight out of the door,
Crying, “Ye may lather and shave all yer friends till yer sick,
But, be jabers, I’d rather be shaved wid a brick.”
With your lather and shave, &c.

Not long after that Pat was passing the door,
When a jackass he set up a terrible roar;
“Och murther,” says Paddy, “jist list to yon knave,
He’s given some poor divil a ’love o’ God shave.’”
With his lather and shave, &c.

Few Days. 41

This world is coming to an end, few days--few days
I’ll crack my shins, my jacket rend--I’m gwine home!
I’m gwine to run clear out of sight, few days--few days;
And leave these naughty diggins quite; I’m gwine home!

CHORUS.

For I’ve got a home out yonder, few days--few days!
I’ve got a home out yonder, in old Tennessee.
And I can’t stay in these diggins, few days--few days!
Can’t stay in these diggins, I’m gwine home.

They tell about Maine Liquor Law, few days--few days;
It makes the folks get drunk the more; I’m gwine home.
Nebraska’s gwine to be a State, few days--few days;
Cuba too will come in late; I’m gwine home.

For I’ve got a home out yonder, &c.

Every thing is done by steam, few days--few days;
Leather taffy, chalk ice-cream--I’m gwine home.
Boys wears beards, and women too, few days--few days;
Though all things change there’s nothing new, I’m gwine home.

For I’ve got a home out yonder, &c.

The Shanghai fowls, how tall they grow, few days--few days,
That people can not hear them crow; I’m gwine home.
When guano’s put on gudgeon’s tails, few days--few days;
They grow to be as big as whales; I’m gwine home.

For I’ve got a home out yonder, &c.

There’s sin and folly everywhere, few days--few days;
Enough to make old Satan stare: I’m gwine home.
I’ll sing my parting song once more, few days--few days;
And then I’ll pass o’er Jordan’s shore; I’m gwine home.

For I’ve got a home out yonder, &c.

The Other Side of Jordan. 42

David had a banjo, and he kept it strung,
And he ’ranged the music accordin’--
Then he play’d a tune, call’d “Go it while you’re young,”
And they dance it on t’other side of Jordan.

So I pull’d off my coat, and roll’d up my sleeve,
Jordan’s a hard road to trabble;
So I pull’d off my coat, and roll’d up my sleeve,
Jordan’s a hard road to trabble I b’lieve.

David and Goliah, they went out to fight,
Old Father Miller went out to part ’em;
He up with a stone, hit David on the shin,
And it landed on t’other side of Jordan.

Den pull off your coat, &c.

The M. P.’s came, and they took ’em up,
But the Mayor gave them their pardon;
They both shook hands and said they’d agree,
And settle on the other side of Jordan.

Den pull off your coat, &c.

Oh, de Cod-Fish Question, it made a mighty talk,
’Twas a subject that we nebber said a word on,
But when John Bull got sassy, de Yankees made him walk,
And day drobe him to the other side of Jordan.

So I pull’d off my coat, &c.

Dere’s Poor Uncle Tom, and de Old Folks at Home,
Am de songs dat all ob you hab heard on,
But the greatest song ob all, dat will hab the greatest run,
Is de song about de other side of Jordan.

So I pull’d off my coat, &c.

Jordan is a Hard Road to Travel. 43

Of all the banjo songs that have been sung of late,
There is none that is now so often call’d on,
As the one I sing myself, and apply it to the times,
It’s called “On the Other Side of Jordan.”

CHORUS.

So I pull’d off my coat, and roll’d up my sleeve,
Jordan’s a hard road to trabble;
So I pull’d of my coat and roll’d up my sleeve,
Jordan’s a hard road to trabble, I believe.

Around the Crystal Palace there are a great many shows,
Where all the country greenhorns are drawn in--
There are snakes and alligators, mammoth mules and big ’taters,
That were raised on the other side of Jordan.

The Sovereign of the Seas, she went to Liverpool,
In less than fourteen days, too, accordin’,
Johnny Bull he wiped his eyes, and looked with surprise,
At this clipper from the Yankee side of Jordan.

The ladies of England have sent a big address
About slavery, and all its horrors, accordin’,
They had better look at home, to their own white slaves,
That are starving on the English side of Jordan.

They have got a bearded lady down at Barnum’s show,
And lots of pictures outside, accordin’
She’s going to take her eye-lashes for a pair of mustaches,
For to trabble on the other side of Jordan.

The Duchess of Sutherland, she keeps the Stafford House,
The place where the “Black Swan” is boardin’;
At a musical party, they ask’d for a song,
And she gave them--On the other side of Jordan.

Our great father, Washington, he was a mighty man,
And all the Yankees do their fighting accordin’,
They will raise the flag of freedom wherever they can,
Till they plant it on the other side of Jordan.

I take off my coat, &c.

Pretty Jane. 44

My pretty Jane, my pretty Jane
Ah, never look so shy,
But meet me in the evening,
While the bloom, the bloom is on the rye.
The spring is waning fast, my love,
The corn is in the ear,
The summer nights are coming, love,
The moon shines bright and clear.
Then pretty Jane, my dearest Jane,
Oh, never look so shy,
But meet me, meet me in the evening,
When the bloom, the bloom is on the rye.

But name the day, the wedding-day,
And I will buy the ring,
The lads and maids in favors white,
And village bells, the village bells shall ring.
The spring is waning fast, my love,
The corn is in the ear,
The summer nights are coming, love,
The moon shines bright and clear.
Then pretty Jane, my dearest Jane,
Ah, never look so shy,
But meet me, meet me in the evening,
While the bloom, the bloom is on the rye.

My Girl with the Calico Dress. 45

A fig for your upper-ten girls,
With their velvets, and satins, and laces,
Their diamonds, and rubies, and pearls,
And their milliner figures and faces!
They may shine at a party or ball,
Emblazon’d with half they possess,
But give me in place of them all,
My girl with the calico dress.

She is plump as a partridge, and fair
As the rose in its earliest bloom;
Her teeth will with ivory compare,
And her breath with the clover perfume.
Her step is as free and as light,
As the fawns whom the hunters hard press,
And her eyes are as soft and as bright,
My girl with the calico dress.

Your dandies and foplings may sneer,
At her simple and modest attire,
But the charm she permits to appear,
Would set the whole iceberg on fire!
She can dance--but she never allows
The hugging, the squeeze, and caress,
She is saving all these for her spouse,
My girl with the calico dress.

She is cheerful, warm-hearted, and true,
And kind to her father and mother;
She studies how much she can do
For her sweet little sister and brother.
If you want a companion for life,
To comfort, enliven, and bless,
She is just the right sort for a wife,
My girl with the calico dress.

Darling Jenny Bell. 46

The days they are come, when this poor darkey must weep,
For the one that he used to love best,
Who now lies asleep in the dark grave so deep
And the sweet flowers bloom o’er her breast.
She’s gone to that land where the bright spirits go,
She’s gone far away to dwell;
Shall I never see the smile again
Of my darling Jenny Bell?

I remember the day when we walk’d side by side,
Away down in old Tennessee,
’Twas there that I promised to make her my bride,
As we sat beneath the old pine-tree;
But now she has gone to that bright land above,
In joy and freedom to dwell,
Shall I never see the smile again
Of my darling Jenny Bell?

Now I’m left all alone in this wide world to roam,
’Midst the throng of the happy and free,
And not one left to love, as that one who has gone,
And now sleeps beneath the old pine-tree;
But there is a land where the good darkies go,
I heard sweet Jenny once tell,
I’ll see you in that happy land above,
My darling Jenny Bell.

Ten o’Clock; or, Remember, Love, Remember. 47

Copied by permission of FIRTH, POND & CO., 547 Broadway,
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,
I 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,
I 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 morning;
And then we meet no more to part,
To twine for ever hand and heart;
And since that day in wedlock join’d,
The window shutters bring to mind,
“Remember, love, remember.”

The Gold-Digger’s Lament. 48

I am going far away from my creditors just now,
I ain’t got the tin to pay ’em, and they’re kicking up a row;
There’s the sheriff running after me with pockets full of writs,
And my tailor’s vowing vengeance, he swears he’ll give me fits.
There’s no room for speculation, and the mines ain’t worth a flam,
And I ain’t one of those lucky coves that works for _Uncle Sam_;
Whichever way I turn I am sure to meet a dun,
“So I think the best thing I can do is just to cut and run.”

I wish those “tarnal critters” that wrote home about the gold,
Was in the place the Scriptures say is never very cold;
They told you of the heaps of dust and lumps so very big,
But they never said a single word how hard you had to dig.
I went up to the mines and help’d to turn a stream,
Got trusted on the strength of that delusive golden dream;
But when the river we turn’d, we found it would not do,
And we who damm’d the river our creditors did sue.

I am going far away, but I don’t know where I’ll go,
’Twont do to turn homeward now, they’d laugh at me I know,
For I told them when I left I was going to make my pile,
But if they could only see mine now I rather guess they’d smile.
If of these United States I was the President,
No man who owed another should ever pay a cent;
And he who dunn’d another should be banish’d far away,
For attention to the pretty girls is all a man should pay.

The Boys of Kilkenny. 49

Oh, the boys of Kilkenny are brave roaring blades,
And if ever they meet with the nice little maids,
They’ll kiss them and coax them, and spend their money free,
Of all the towns in Ireland, Kilkenny for me.

In the town of Kilkenny there runs a clear strame,
In the town of Kilkenny there lives a pretty dame,
Her lips are like roses and her mouth much the same.
Like a dish of fresh strawberries smother’d in crame.

Her eyes are as black as Kilkenny’s large coal,
Which through my poor bosom has burnt a large hole;
Her mind, like its river, is mild, clear, and pure;
But her heart is more hard than its marble I’m sure.

Kilkenny’s a pretty town and shines where it stands,
And the more I think of it the more my heart warms;
If I was at Kilkenny, I should then be at home,
For there I got sweethearts but here can get none.

I’ll build my love a castle on Kilkenny’s free ground;
Neither lords, dukes, nor squires shall e’er pull it down;
And if any one should ask you to tell him my name,
I am an Irish exile, and from Kilkenny I came.

The Emigrant’s Farewell. 50

I’m leaving you at last, Mary, and all I love behind,
But sure ’tis for your sake I go, a better land to find;
I go to that young isle, Mary, where anger is unknown,
And the children of our widow’d land are cherish’d as her own.

Perhaps in after years I’ll come, unchanged to you again,
And if I win a golden store, I’ll not forget you then.
The peasant’s lowly lot, Mary, I would not have you share,
Altho’ I’m sure you’d bear with me life’s sorrows anywhere.

How happy I had been, Mary, in all that nature will’d,
My cabin by the mountain side, and the ground my father till’d.
But the landlord with the bailiff came, the poor man’s bitter foe,
And he cast me out to live or die, as God should will it so.

I would not live in Ireland now, for she’s a fallen land,
And the tyrant’s heel on her neck, with her reeking blood-stain’d
hand.
There’s not a foot of Irish ground, but’s trodden down by slaves,
Who die unwept, and then are flung, like dogs, into their graves.

My troubles make me grieve, Mary, and I often wish to die,
And I long to find the green churchyard where all my kindred lie.
’Tis pleasant when the heart is broke, to sleep beneath the dust,
But I still hope on for better days, and place in God my trust.

I’m leaving you, my Mary dear, they’re painful words to speak,
My last embrace I’m taking now, and my lips are on your cheek.
The parting hour is drawing near, and the sails wave in the wind,
Oh, fold me closer to your breast, I’ll leave you soon behind.

The Pirate’s Serenade. 51

CHORUS.

Come, love, come, come away with me,
My bark is on the glossy 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, &c.

I 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, &c.

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, &c.

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.

The Old Oaken Bucket which Hung in the Well. 52

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection recalls them to view--
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wildwood,
And every loved spot which my infancy knew;
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill which stood by it,
The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell,
The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it,
The old oaken bucket--the iron-bound bucket--
The moss-cover’d bucket, which hung in the well.

That moss-cover’d vessel I hail as a treasure.
For often, at noon, when return’d from the field,
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
The purest and sweetest that nature can yield;
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing
And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell,
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well,
The old oaken bucket--the iron-bound bucket--
The moss-cover’d bucket arose from the well.

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,
As poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips:
Not a full-blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
Though fill’d with the nectar that Jupiter sips.
And now far removed from the loved situation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy revisits my father’s plantation,
And sighs for the bucket which hangs in his well--
The old oaken bucket--the iron-bound bucket--
The moss-cover’d bucket which hangs in his well.

Man the Life Boat. 53

Man the life boat! man the life boat!
Help! or yon ship is lost;
Man the life boat, man the life boat,
See how she’s tempest-toss’d;
No human power in such an hour,
The gallant bark can save,
Her mainmast’s gone, and hurrying on,
She seeks a watery grave.

Man the life boat! man the life boat!
See the dreadful signal flies;
Ha! she has struck, and from the rock
Despairing shouts arise;
And one there stands and wrings his hands,
Amidst the tempest wild,
For on the beach he can not reach,
He sees his wife and child.

Life-saving ark! yon doomed bark
Immortal souls doth bear,
Not gems, nor gold, nor wealth untold,
But men, brave men, are there!
Oh, speed the life boat, speed the life boat,
O God! their efforts crown!
She dashes on--the ship is gone
Full forty fathoms down.

Ah, see! the crew are struggling now,
Amidst the billows roar,
They’re in the boat, they’re all afloat,
Hurrah! they’ve gain’d the shore,
Bless the life boat, bless the life boat!
Oh, thou’lt hear our prayer,
Bless the life boat, bless the life boat!
No longer we’ll despair.

A Sailor’s Life for Me. 54

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 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 tide!
A race with the angry sea!
Oh! this is the life for the brave;
And this the place for the free--
A life on the ocean wave--
A grave in the dark blue sea!

Hail Columbia. 55

Hail Columbia, happy land! hail, ye heroes, heaven-born band;
Who fought and bled in Freedom’s cause,
Who fought and bled in Freedom’s cause,
And when the storm of war was gone, enjoyed the peace your valor
won.
Let independence be our boast, ever mindful what it cost;
Ever grateful for the prize, let its altar reach the skies.

CHORUS.

Firm, united, let us be, rallying round our liberty;
As a band of brothers joined, peace and safety we shall find.

Immortal patriots, rise once more, defend your rights, defend your
shore.
Let no rude foe, with impious hand,
Let no rude foe, with impious hand,
Invade the shrine where sacred lies, of toil and blood the
well-earned prize.
While offering peace sincere and just, in heaven we place a manly
trust,
That truth and justice will prevail, and every shame of bondage
fail.
Firm, united, let us be, &c.

Sound, sound the trump of fame! let WASHINGTON’S great name
Ring through the world with loud applause,
Ring through the world with loud applause,
Let every clime to Freedom dear, listen with a joyful ear.
With equal skill and God-like-power, he govern’d in the fearful
hour,
Of horrid war! or guides, with ease, the happier times of honest
peace.
Firm united let us be, &c.

Behold the chief who now commands, again to serve his country
stands--
The rock on which the storm will beat,
The rock on which the storm will beat;
But armed in virtue firm and true, his hopes are fix’d on Heaven
and you.
When hope was sinking in dismay, and glooms obscured Columbia’s
day,
His steady mind, from changes free, resolved on death or liberty.
Firm united let us be, &c.

True Blue is the Color for Me. 56

There are fifty fine colors that flaunt and flare,
All pleasant and gay to see,
But of all the fine colors that dance in the air,
True Blue’s the color for me.

True Blue is the color of good true love,
For it melts in woman’s eye,
True Blue is the color of heaven above,
For it beams in the azure sky.

True Blue is the vest that Nature free
Has spread round the joyous earth,
True Blue is the hue of the dancing sea,
As it gave to beauty birth.

True Blue, it flows in the soft blue vein
Of a bosom that’s fair and true,
As the violet, soften’d by heaven’s own rain,
Is tinged with the heavenly hue.

True Blue, it is seen in the distant vale,
Where the fond hearts love to roam,
It curls in the smoke from the shelter’d dale,
As it guides the wanderer home.

True Blue hangs glorious over the wave,
From a thousand ships unfurl’d,
It clothes the breast of the Yankees brave,
As they bear it round the world.

And when the skies grow dark, and wild winds yell,
If he sees but a streak of blue,
The steersman is glad, for he knows all’s well,
And his guardian angel’s true.

Then let all the fine colors flaunt and flare
All pleasant and gay to see,
True Blue’s the color alone to wear,
True Blue’s the color for me.

My Dear Old Mother. 57

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 watch’d 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 joy that sparkled in my 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 will love thee to the last,
And always think of thee.

Jeannette and Jeannot. 58

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.
You’ll be taking, &c.

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 be at peace, or if kings must show their might,
Why let them who make the quarrels be the only men to fight.
Yes, let them, &c.

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 Jeannot;
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 this soldier, love, must no deserter be.
But, mind, &c.

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 battles won.
And you’d put an end to deeds which ladies love so well,
And have no tales of valor left for history to tell;
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.
Were only kings, &c.

Isle of Beauty. 59

Shades of ev’ning 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 love 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!

Woodman Spare that Tree. 60

Copied by permission of FIRTH, POND & CO., 547 Broadway, N. Y.,
owners of the copyright.

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

Old Rosin the Bow. 61

I have travel’d this wide world over,
And now to another I’ll go.
I know that good quarters are waiting
To welcome old Rosin the Beau.

_Chorus._--To welcome old Rosin the Bow,
To welcome old Rosin the Bow,
I know that good quarters are waiting
To welcome old Rosin the Bow.

When I’m dead and laid out on the counter,
A voice you will hear from below,
Singing out, “Whiskey and water,
To drink to old Rosin the Bow.”
To drink, &c.

And when I am dead, I reckon,
The ladies will all want to, I know,
Just lift off the lid of the coffin,
And look at old Rosin the Bow.
And look, &c.

You must get some dozen good fellows,
And stand them all round in a row,
And drink out of half-gallon bottles,
To the name of old Rosin the Bow.
To the name, &c.

Get four or five jovial young fellows,
And let them all staggering go,
And dig a deep hole in the meadow,
And in it toss Rosin the Bow.
And in it, &c.

Then get you a couple of tombstones,
Place one at my head and my toe,
And do not fail to scratch on it
The name of old Rosin the Bow.
The name, &c.

I feel the grim tyrant approaching,
That cruel implacable foe,
Who spares neither age nor condition,
Nor even old Rosin the Beau.
Nor even, &c.

Bessy was a Sailor’s Bride. 62

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’er 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 answer’d 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.

Love Not. 63

Love not! love not! ye hapless sons of clay.
Hope’s gayest wreaths are made of earthly flowers;
Things that are made to fade and fall away,
Ere they have blossom’d for a few short hours.
Love not! love not!

Love not! love not! the thing you love may die,
May perish from the gay and gladsome earth;
The silent star, the blue and smiling sky,
Beams on its grave, as once upon its earth.
Love not! love not!

Love not! love not! the thing you love may change,
The rosy lip may cease to smile on you;
The kindly beaming eye grow cold and strange,
The heart still warmly beat, yet not be true.
Love not! love not!

Love not! love not! Oh, warning vainly said
In present hours, as in years gone by,
Love sings a halo round the dear one’s head,
Faultless, immortal, till they change or die.
Love not! love not!

Kitty Kimo. 64

Copied by permission of WM. HALL & SON, 543 Broadway, 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?

CHORUS.

Camo kimo, daro, war, my high, my ho, my rumsti-pum-stididdle,
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, &c.
Rats and skippers are getting bold,
Sing song, &c.
A long-tail’d rat in a bucket of souse,
Sing song, &c.
Just come from de white folks’ house,
Sing song, &c.

In South Carolina the niggers grow,
Sing song, &c.
If de white man only plant his toe
Sing song, &c.
Water de ground with ’bacca smoke,
Sing song, &c.
And up de nigger’s head will poke,
Sing song, &c.

Way down South--in Cedar-street,
Sing song, &c.
Dar’s where de niggers grow ten feet,
Sing song, &c.
Dey go to bed, but ’taint no use,
Sing song, &c.
Dar feet hang out for a chicken’s roost.
Sing song, &c.

Uncle Ned. 65

I once knew 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.

CHORUS.

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 good darkies 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.

Lay down, &c.

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.

Lay down, &c.

The American Girl. 66

Our hearts are with our native land,
Our song is for her glory;
Her warriors’ wreath is in our hand,
Our lips breathe out her story.
Her lofty hills and valleys green,
Are shining bright before us;
And like a rainbow sign is seen
Her proud flag waving o’er us.

And there are smiles upon our lips
For those who meet her foemen,
For glory’s star knows no eclipse,
When smiled upon by woman.
For those who brave the mighty deep,
And scorn the threat of danger,
We’ve smiles to cheer, and tears to weep
For every ocean ranger.

Our hearts are with our native land,
Our songs are for her freedom;
Our prayers are for the gallant band
Who strike where honor leads them.
We love the taintless air we breathe,
’Tis freedom’s endless power;
We’ll twine for him an endless wreath
Who scorns a tyrant’s power.

They tell of France’s beauties fair,
Of Italy’s proud daughters,
Of Scotland’s lasses, England’s fair,
And nymphs of Shannon’s waters.
We need not boast their haughty charms
Though lords around them hover,
Our glory lies in freedom’s arms--
A FREEMAN for a lover!

The American Boy. 67

“Father, look up and see that flag,
How gracefully it flies;
Those pretty stripes--they seem to be
A rainbow in the skies.”

“It is your country’s flag, my son,
And proudly drinks the light,
O’er ocean’s waves, in foreign climes,
A symbol of our might.”

“Father, what fearful noise is that,
Like thundering of the clouds?
Why do the people wave their hats,
And rush along in crowds?”

“It is the noise of cannon, child,
The glad shouts of the free;
This is the day to memory dear--
’Tis Freedom’s Jubilee.”

“I wish that I were now a man,
I’d fire my cannon too,
And cheer as loudly as the rest--
But, father, why don’t you?”

“I’m getting old and weak--but still
My heart is big with joy;
I’ve witness’d many a day like this--
Shout you aloud, my boy.”

“Hurrah! for Freedom’s Jubilee!
God bless our native land!
And may I live to hold the sword
Of freedom in my hand!”

“Well done, my boy--grow up and love,
The land that gave you birth;
A home where Freedom loves to dwell,
A paradise on earth.”

My Poor Dog Tray. 68

On the green banks of Shannon, when Shelah was nigh,
No blythe Irish lad was so happy as I,
No harp like my own could so cheerily play,
And wherever I went, was my poor dog Tray.

When, at last, I was forced from my Shelah to part,
She said--while the sorrow was big in her heart,--
“Oh, remember your Shelah, when far, far away,
And be kind, my dear Pat, to my poor dog Tray.”

Poor dog, he was faithful and kind, to be sure;
And he constantly loved me, although I was poor,
When the sour-looking folks sent me heartless away,
I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray.

When the road was so dark, and the night was so cold,
And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old,
How snugly we slept in my old coat of gray,
And he lick’d me for kindness--my poor dog Tray.

Though my wallet was scant, I remember’d his case,
Nor refused my last crust to his pitiful face;
But he died at my feet on a cold winter’s day,
And I play’d a lament for my poor dog Tray.

Where now shall I go--poor, forsaken, and blind?
Can I find one to guide me so faithful and kind?
To my sweet native village so far, far away,
I can ne’er more return with my poor dog Tray.

Unhappy Jeremiah. 69

I’d often heard of married life, of pleasures without equal,
So I resolved to take a wife, but only mark the sequel.
But while my sorrows I relate, don’t try to raise my ire,
For oh, I’ve often cursed the fate of unhappy Jeremiah.

I courted Jane, the milliner, her parents were my betters,
But soon I had enough of her, when fast bound in wedlock fetters.
For we had a boarder of our own, a man she did admire,
And oft with him she’d be alone in spite of Jeremiah.

Remonstrating was all in vain, she’d always be my master,
And if I tried to stop her tongue, ’twas sure to run the faster.
One day she ask’d this man to tea, she told me to retire,
I left her sitting on his knee, what a treat for Jeremiah!

Now we had two children of our own, and oft I had to mind ’em,
And when she walk’d with other men, I had to walk behind ’em.
But what is more to my disgrace, oh, lord, I feel on fire,
The children didn’t look in the face a bit like Jeremiah.

Oh, I’d been to work quite hard one day, when to my home returning,
I found my wife had ran away, and all my offers spurning.
Of reason I was near bereft, folks thought I would expire,
For oh, she took the goods and left the brats for Jeremiah.

Happy Hezekiah.

Old Jeremiah you have heard so oft relate his troubles,
He told that married life was nothing but a bubble.
Now to confute this calumny, it is my heart’s desire,
So list you while I sing the luck of happy Hezekiah.

My wife she was no milliner, or any other trade, sir.
But was what I ne’er blush to own, a charming servant-maid, sir.
I courted her, ’twas in a house, where she used to build the fires,
And I’ve ne’er had cause to curse the day she first was Hezekiah’s.

I ne’er have cause for jealousy, I never take home codgers,
And what is more, I ne’er take in any single young men lodgers.
I always do go home to tea, then draw up to the fire,
My wife she reads, or mends the coat of happy Hezekiah.

My wife and I we ne’er fall out, we love each other dearly,
And of affections ’tis a fact, a pledge is sent us yearly.
And what adds more unto the joy, which a parent should inspire,
The children are the image of their father, Hezekiah.

We four dear children now have got, and do expect another,
The boys myself I do bring up, the girls I leave to their mother.
Thus with the children and my wife, my own, my loved Sophia,
So pleasantly doth pass the life of happy Hezekiah.

The Girl I left behind Me. 70

I’m lonesome since I cross’d the hills
And o’er the moor that’s sedgy;
With heavy thoughts my mind is fill’d,
Since I parted with Peggy.

Whene’er I turn to view the place,
The tears doth fall and blind me,
When I think on the charming grace
Of the girl I left behind me.

The hours I remember well,
When next to see doth move me,
The burning flames my heart doth tell,
Since first she own’d she loved me.

In search of some one fair and gay,
Several doth remind me;
I know my darling loves me well,
Though I left her behind me.

The bees shall lavish, make no store,
And the dove become a ranger,
The fallen water cease to roar,
Before I’ll ever change her.

Each mutual promise faithful made,
By her whose tears doth blind me,
And bless the hours I pass away,
With the girl I left behind me.

My mind her image full retains,
Whether asleep or awaken’d;
I hope to see my jewel again,
For her my heart is breaking.

But if ever I do go that way,
And she has not resign’d me,
I’ll reconcile my mind and stay
With the girl I left behind me.

’Tilda Horn. 71

Copied by permission of WM. HALL & SON, 543 Broadway, N. Y.,
owners of the copyright.

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

CHORUS.

But fretting won’t do for a darkey of this figure--
Time enough 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 I sat,
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’s she’s married to another man, or else she must “gone dead.”
In despair, I declare, I is crack’d, that’s a fact.

But fretting won’t do, &c.

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.
Oh! this wool I could pull, this poor heart is so full.

But fretting won’t do, &c.

Since the Shakspere’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 ’Tilda took my ’bacca-box, my shirts, and Sunday shoes,
Now I stray all the day, from the gay far away.

But fretting won’t do, &c.

CONTENTS

OF

Beadle’s Dime Military Song Book

AND SONGS FOR THE WAR.

A Dragoon Song,
A Good Time Coming,
A Hero of the Revolution,
A National Song,
A Soldier Lad my Love Shall be,
A Steed, a Steed of Matchless Speed,
All do Allow it, March where we may,
America,
Annie Laurie,
Auld Lang Syne,
Battle Hymn, Columns, Steady!
Bruce’s Address,
Burial of Sir John Moore,
Charge of the Light Brigade,
Hail Columbia,
Hail to the Chief,
Happy are we to-night, Boys,
Hohenlinden,
Hymn,
I’m Leaving Thee in Sorrow, Annie,
It is Great for Our Country to Die,
It is not on the Battle-field,
Light Sounds the Harp,
Mad Anthony Wayne,
Martial Elegy,
Merrily every Bosom Boundeth,
My Soldier Lad,
National Song,
Our Flag,
Peace be to those who Bleed,
Prelude--The American Flag,
Red, White and Blue,
Soldier’s Dirge,
Song,
Song for Invasion,
Song for the Fourth of July,
Star-Spangled Banner,
The American Boy,
The American Volunteer,
The Army and the Navy,
The Battle of Lexington,
The Dead at Buena Vista,
The Death of Napoleon,
The Dying Soldier to his Sword,
The Fallen Brave,
The Flag of our Union,
The Land of Washington,
The Marseilles Hymn,
The Mothers of our Forest Land,
The Myrtle and Steel,
The Origin of Yankee Doodle,
The Rataplan,
The Revolutionary Battle of Eutaw,
The Soldier’s Adieu,
The Soldier’s Dream,
The Soldier’s Farewell,
The Soldier’s Return,
The Soldier’s Wife,
The Sword Chant,
The Sword and the Staff,
The Sword of Bunker Hill,
The Triumph of Italian Freedom,
The Wounded Hussar,
Through Foemen Surrounding,
To the Memory of the Americans who bled at Eutaw Springs,
Uncle Sam’s Farm,
Unfurl the Glorious Banner,
Up! March Away,
War Song,
Warren’s Address,
Yankee Doodle.

CONTENTS

OF

Beadle’s Dime Union Song Book,

No. 1.

A “Big Thing” Coming,
A Doleful Ballad,
All Hail to the Stars and Stripes,
America,
An Ode to Washington,
An Old Story with a New Moral,
Anthem,
Army Hymn,
A Yankee Ship and a Yankee Crew,
Banner Song,
Cairo,
Columbia Forever,
Columbia Rules the Sea,
Dixie’s Farms,
Dixie for the Union,
Eighty-five Years Ago,
Enfield Gun,
Freedom’s Light,
God Save our Native Land,
God Save the Union,
God Save the Volunteers,
Hail Columbia,
Heaven for the Right,
Her Own Brave Volunteer,
Hunting Song of the Chivalry,
Hurra for the Union,
Let Cowards Shrink,
Long Live the Great and Free,
March Away, Volunteers,
Marching,
March of the Loyal States,
My own Native Land,
On, Brothers, on,
One I left There,
Our Banner Chorus,
Our Country,
Our Country, Right or Wrong,
Our Flag,
Our Good Ship Sails To-night,
Our Union, Right or Wrong,
Our Whole Country,
Red, White and Blue,
Soldier’s Tent Song,
Song for Battle,
Stand by the Union,
Star-Spangled Banner,
Step to the Front,
The Banner of the Nation,
The Bold Zouaves,
The Dead of the Battle-field,
The Flag of our Union,
The Irish Brigade,
The Michigan “Dixie,”
The Northern Boys,
The Northmen’s Marseilles,
The Old Union Wagon,
The Original Yankee Doodle,
The Patriot Flag,
The Rock of Liberty,
The Southrons are Coming,
The Stripes and Stars,
The Sword of Bunker Hill,
The Union--It must be Preserved,
The Union, Young and Strong,
The Yankee Boy,
The Zouave Boys,
The Zouave’s Song,
To the Seventy-ninth, Highlanders,
Traitor, Beware our Flag,
Unfurl the Glorious Banner,
Viva l’America,
Yankees are Coming.

CONTENTS

OF

Beadle’s Dime Union Song Book,

No. 2.

A Life in the Soldier’s Camp,
A Mother’s Hymn in Time of War,
A Soldier’s Dream of Home,
A Yankee Volunteer,
Away to the Fray,
Battle Invocation,
Beautiful Union,
Begone, Secesh,
Blue Jackets, Fall in,
Draw the Sword, Northland,
Drummer Boy of the National Greys,
“E Pluribus Unum,”
Flag Song,
Following the Drum,
Gathering Song,
Give us Room,
Hail Columbia,
Hark! to the Tread,
Hurrah for the Land we Love,
Liberty,
Mustering Chorus,
My Love he is a Zou-zu,
Our Country, Now and Ever,
Our Flag,
Rally, Boys!
Remember Traitors,
Rule, Columbia,
Song of the Zouaves,
Song of Union,
Stand by the Union,
Summons to the North,
Sweet is the Fight,
Sweet Maid of Erin,
The Alarum,
The Banner of Stars,
The Birth of our Banner,
The Brave and Free,
The Delaware Volunteers,
The Flag and the Union,
The Flag of the Brave,
The Flag of the Free,
The Great Union Club,
The “Mud-Sills” Greeting,
The Nation of the Free,
The Northmen are Coming,
The Northern Hurrah,
The Past and Present,
The Patriot’s Address,
The Patriot’s Serenade,
The Patriot’s Wish,
The Patriot Soldier,
The Star Flag,
The Star-Gemmed Flag,
The Star-Spangled Banner,
The Stripes and Stars,
The Union Gunning Match,
The Union Harvesting,
The Union Marseillaise,
The Union Sacrifice,
The Volunteer Yankee Doodle of ’61.
Three Cheers for our Banner,
Traitor, Spare that Flag,
Union Forever,
Victory’s Band,
Volunteer’s Song,
Where Liberty dwells there is my Country,
Wife of my Bosom,
Words of Sympathy.

CONTENTS

OF

Beadle’s Dime Song Book,

NO. 1.

All’s for the Best,
Annie Laurie,
A National Song,
Answer to a Thousand a Year,
Answer to Kate Kearney,
A Thousand a Year,
Belle Brandon,
Ben Bolt,
Blind Orphan Boy’s Lament,
Bob Ridley,
Bold Privateer,
Do They Miss me at Home?
Don’t be Angry, Mother,
Down the River,
E Pluribus Unum,
Evening Star,
Faded Flowers,
Gentle Annie,
Gentle Jenny Gray,
Glad to Get Home,
Hard Times,
Have You Seen my Sister,
Heather Dale,
Home Again,
I am not Angry,
I Want to Go Home,
Juney at the Gate,
Kate Kearney,
Kiss me Quick and Go,
Kitty Clyde,
Little Blacksmith,
My Home in Kentuck,
My Own Native Land,
Nelly Gray,
Nelly was a Lady,
Old Dog Tray,
Our Mary Ann,
Over the Mountain,
Poor Old Slave,
Red, White, and Blue,
Root, Hog, or Die,
Root, Hog, or Die, No. 2,
Root, Hog, or Die, No. 3,
Root, Hog, or Die, No. 4,
Row, Row,
Shells of the Ocean,
Song of the Sexton,
Star-Spangled Banner,
The Age of Progress,
The Dying Californian,
The Hills of New England,
The Lake-Side Shore,
The Miller of the Dee,
The Marseilles Hymn,
The Old Folks we Loved Long Ago,
The Old Farm-House,
The Old Play-Ground,
The Rock of Liberty,
The Sword of Bunker Hill,
The Tempest,
There’s a Good Time Coming,
Twenty Years Ago,
Twinkling Stars,
Uncle Sam’s Farm,
Unfurl the Glorious Banner,
Wait for the Wagon,
Willie, we have Miss’d You,
Willie’ll Roam no More.

CONTENTS

OF

Beadle’s Dime Song Book,

NO. 2.

Alice Gray,
America,
Banks of the Old Mohawk,
Be Kind to Each Other,
Billy Grimes the Rover,
Bryan O’Lynn,
Come Sit Thee Down,
Cora Lee,
Crazy Jane,
Darling Nelly Moore,
Darling Old Stick,
Fireman’s Victory,
Good News from Home,
Good-Night,
Grave of Lilly Dale,
Graves of a Household,
Home, Sweet Home,
I have no Mother Now,
I’m leaving Thee in Sorrow, Annie,
I miss Thee so,
I Shouldn’t like to Tell,
I Wandered by the Brook-Side,
Katy Darling,
Kathleen Mavourneen,
Little Katy; or, Hot Corn,
Mary of the Wild Moor,
Mable Clare,
Mary Alleen,
Mill May,
Minnie Moore,
Minnie Dear,
Mrs. Lofty and I,
Mr. Finagan,
My Eye and Betty Martin,
My Love is a Saileur Boy,
My Mother Dear,
My Grandmother’s Advice,
My Mother’s Bible,
New England,
Oh! I’m Going Home,
Oh! Scorn not thy Brother,
O! the Sea, the Sea,
Old Sideling Hill,
Our Boyhood Days,
Our Father Land,
Peter Gray,
Rory O’More,
Somebody’s waiting for Somebody,
The Farmer Sat in his Easy Chair,
The Farmer’s Boy,
The Irishman’s Shanty,
The Old Folks are Gone,
The Post-Boy’s Song,
The Quilting Party,
Three Bells,
’Tis Home where the Heart is,
Waiting for the May,
We Stand Here United,
What other Name than Thine, Mother?
Where the Bright Waves are Dashing,
What is Home without a Mother,
Widow Machree,
Willie’s on the Dark Blue Sea,
Winter--Sleigh-Bell Song,
Nancy Bell; or, Old Pine Tree.

CONTENTS

OF

Beadle’s Dime Song Book,

No. 4.