BEADLE’S

Song Book

No. 1.

A COLLECTION OF NEW AND POPULAR

COMIC AND SENTIMENTAL

SONGS.

NEW YORK:

BEADLE AND COMPANY,

General Dime Book Publishers.

Books for the Hour!

MILITARY EXPLOITS

OF

Great Soldiers and Generals.

BEADLE’S

DIME BIOGRAPHICAL LIBRARY.

Each Issue Complete.  100 Pages.  Price Ten Cents.

No. 6.--The Life, Military and Civic Services of Lieut.-Gen. WINFIELD SCOTT. Complete up to the present period.

No. 4.--The Life, Times and Services of ANTHONY WAYNE (Mad Anthony) Brigadier-General in the War of the Revolution, and Commander-in-Chief of the Army during the Indian War.

No. 1.--The Life of JOSEPH GARIBALDI: The Liberator of Italy. Complete up to the withdrawal of Garibaldi to his Island Home, after the Neapolitan Campaign, 1860.

These brilliant books of the most brilliant Commanders and soldiers of modern times possess remarkable interest at this moment. Each book will be found to be a full record of the men and events in which they acted so splendid a part.

EVERY YOUNG MAN SHOULD READ THEM!

EVERY SOLDIER SHOULD READ THEM!

EVERY LOVER OF THE UNION SHOULD READ THEM!

For Sale at all News Depots.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866
By IRWIN P. BEADLE & CO.,
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for
the Southern district of New York.

CONTENTS OF DIME SONG BOOK NO. 1.

• All’s for the Best, [31]
• Annie Laurie, [15]
• A National Song, [49]
• Answer to a Thousand a Year, [9]
• Answer to Kate Kearney, [20]
• A Thousand a Year, [8]
• Belle Brandon, [50]
• Ben Bolt, [25]
• Blind Orphan Boy’s Lament, [65]
• Bob Ridley, [19]
• Bold Privateer, [53]
• Do They miss Me at Home?, [35]
• Don’t be Angry, Mother, [32]
• Down the River, [17]
• E Pluribus Unum, [68]
• Evening Star, [62]
• Faded Flowers, [23]
• Gentle Annie, [5]
• Gentle Jenny Gray, [22]
• Glad to Get Home, [64]
• Hard Times, [24]
• Have You Seen my Sister?, [18]
• Heather Dale, [54]
• Home Again, [21]
• I Am not Angry, [33]
• I Want to Go Home, [52]
• Juney at the Gate, [26]
• Kate Kearney, [20]
• Kiss me Quick and Go, [14]
• Kitty Clyde, [11]
• My Home in Kentuck, [34]
• My Own Native Land, [37]
• Nelly Gray, [6]
• Nelly was a Lady, [16]
• Old Dog Tray, [58]
• Our Mary Ann, [61]
• Over the Mountain, [28]
• Poor Old Slave, [7]
• Red, White, and Blue, [59]
• Root, Hog, or Die, [38]
• Root, Hog, or Die, No. 2, [39]
• Root, Hog, or Die, No. 3, [40]
• Root, Hog, or Die. No. 4, [41]
• Row, Row, [29]
• Shells of the Ocean, [57]
• Song of the Sexton, [44]
• Star-Spangled Banner, [43]
• The Age of Progress, [63]
• The Dying Californian, [51]
• The Hills of New England, [70]
• The Lake-Side Shore, [66]
• The Miller of the Dee, [30]
• The Marseilles Hymn, [55]
• The Old Folks we Loved Long Ago, [71]
• The Old Farm-House, [47]
• The Old Play-Ground, [10]
• The Rock of Liberty, [60]
• The Sword of Bunker Hill, [48]
• The Tempest, [67]
• There’s a Good Time Coming, [69]
• Twenty Years Ago, [42]
• Twinkling Stars, [56]
• Uncle Sam’s Farm, [45]
• Unfurl the Glorious Banner, [36]
• Wait for the Wagon, [46]
• Willie, we have Missed You, [12]
• Willie’ll Roam no More, [18]

BEADLE’S
DIME SONG BOOK.

No. 1.

Gentle Annie.

Copied by permission of Firth, Pond & Co., 547 Broadway, 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.

CHORUS.

Shall we never more behold thee,
Never hear thy winning voice again,
When the spring time comes, gentle Annie,
When the wild flowers are scattered 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.—Shall we never more, &c.

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.—Shall we never more, &c.

Nelly Gray.

There’s a low green valley on the old Kentucky shore,
There I’ve whiled many happy hours away,
A sitting and a singing by the little cottage door
Where lived my darling Nelly Gray.

CHORUS.

Oh, my poor Nelly Gray, they have taken you away,
And I’ll never see my darling any more,
I’m sitting by the river and I’m weeping all the day,
For you’ve gone from old Kentucky shore.

When the moon had climb’d the mountain, and the stars were shining too,
Then I’d take my darling Nelly Gray,
And we’d float down the river in my little light canoe—
While my banjo sweetly I would play.
Oh, my poor Nelly Gray, &c.

One night I went to see her, but she’s gone, the neighbors say,
The white man bound her with his chain—
They have taken her to Georgia for to wear her life away,
As she toils in the cotton and the cane.
Oh, my poor Nelly Gray, &c.

My canoe is under water, and my banjo is unstrung,
I’m tired of living any more:
My eyes shall look downward, and my songs shall be unsung
While I stay on old Kentucky shore.
Oh, my poor Nelly Gray, &c.

My eyes are getting blinded and I can not see my way,
Hark! there’s somebody knocking at the door:
Oh, I hear the angels calling, and I see my Nelly Gray;
Farewell to the old Kentucky shore.

CHORUS.

Oh, my Nelly Gray, up in heaven there they say
That they’ll never take you from me any more:
I’m a coming, coming, coming, as the angels clear the way,
Farewell to the old Kentucky shore.

Poor Old Slave.

Copied by permission of Russell & Tolman, 291 Washington St., Boston, owners of the copyright.

’Tis just one year ago to-day,
That I remember well,
I sat down by poor Nelly’s side
A story she did tell;
’Twas about a poor, unhappy slave
That lived for many a year;
But now he’s dead and in his grave,
No master does he fear.

Chorus.—The poor old slave has gone to rest,
We know that he is free;
Disturb him not, but let him rest,
Way down in Tennessee.

She took my arm, we walk’d along
Into an open field,
And here she paused to breathe awhile,
Then to his grave did steal.
She sat down by that little mound,
And softly whisper’d there,
“Come to me, father, ’tis thy child,”
Then gently dropp’d a tear.

Chorus.—The poor old slave, &c.

But since that time, how things have changed,
Poor Nelly that was my bride,
Is laid beneath the cold grave-sod,
With her father by her side.
I planted there upon her grave,
The weeping-willow tree,
I bathed its roots with many a tear,
That it might shelter me.

Chorus.—The poor old slave, &c.

A Thousand a Year.

Robin Ruff.—
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.

Gaffer 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.

Robin Ruff.—
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.

Gaffer 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 your gains
If you then had a thousand a year?

Robin Ruff.—
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.

Answer to A Thousand a Year.

Have you heard the strange news just come down, Gaffer Green,
That they’re talking of now far and near?
How young Robin Ruff has his wish sure enough,
And he’s now got a thousand a year, Gaffer Green!
He’s now got a thousand a year!

Young Rob’s a good heart, and I’m glad Master Cross,
Oh, it will not spoil him, never fear!
In the face of the poor he will not shut his door,
Though he has got a thousand a year, Master Cross!
Though he has got a thousand a year!

But ’twould be but the way of the world. Gaffer Green,
If he did not see now quite so clear;
They say yellow mists rise, and soon dim a man’s eyes,
When he once gets a thousand a year, Gaffer Green!
When he once gets a thousand a year!

Robin’s eyes were not dim t’other day, Master Cross,
When his poor old friend Harry was here;
Robin soon cured his pain, and soon made sunshine again,
With a touch of his thousand a year, Master Cross!
With a touch of his thousand a year!

Ah! but Rob must take care, must take care, Gaffer Green,
Or he’ll spend all his new-gotten gear;
How much better ’twould be—he may want it, you see—
If he saved all his thousand a year, Gaffer Green!
If he saved all his thousand a year!

If he spends the last pound that he’s got, Master Cross,
He’ll be richer than some folks, I fear;
For a heart such as Rob’s, though ’neath tatters it throbs,
Is worth ten times a thousand a year, Master Cross!
Is worth ten times a thousand a year!

The Old Play-Ground.

I’m sitting to-day in the old play-ground,
Where you and I have sat so oft together,
I’m thinking of the joys when you and I were boys
In the merry days now gone, John, forever;
’Twas here we sat in the merry olden time,
And we dream’d of the wild world before us,
And our visions and hopes of the coming time
Were as bright as the sun that shone o’er us.

CHORUS.

I’m sitting to-day in the old play-ground,
Where you and I have sat so oft together,
I’m thinking of the joys when you and I were boys
In those merry days now gone, John, forever.

O’er the threshold, John, we pass’d forlorn,
To wander we knew not where,
The heaven we thought so bright was o’ershadow’d by night,
And the pathway lay dark and drear.
But I am sitting to-day in the old play-ground,
Where you and I have sat so oft together,
And these memories wild have made me a child,
As in the merry days now gone, John, forever.

Chorus.—I’m sitting to-day, &c.

Kitty Clyde.

Copied by permission of Russell & Tolman, 291 Washington St., Boston, owners of the copyright.

Oh, who has not seen Kitty Clyde?
She lives at the foot of the hill,
In a sly little nook by the babbling brook,
That carries her father’s old mill.
Oh, who does not love Kitty Clyde?
That sunny eyed, rosy cheek’d lass,
With a sweet dimpled chin that looks roguish as sin,
With always a smile as you pass.

CHORUS.

Sweet Kitty, dear Kitty, my own sweet Kitty Clyde,
In a sly little nook by the babbling brook,
Lives my own sweet Kitty Clyde.

With a basket to put in her fish,
Every morn with a line and a hook,
This sweet little lass, through the tall heavy grass,
Steals along by the clear running brook.
She throws her line into the stream,
And trips it along the brook side,
Oh, how I do wish that I was a fish.
To be caught by sweet Kitty Clyde.

Sweet Kitty, dear Kitty, &c.

How I wish that I was a Bee,
I’d not gather honey from flowers,
But would steal a dear sip from Kitty’s sweet lip,
And make my own hive in her bowers.
Or, if I was some little bird,
I would not build nests in the air,
But keep close by the side of sweet Kitty Clyde,
And sleep in her soft silken hair,

Sweet Kitty, dear Kitty, &c.

Willie, we have Missed You.

Copied by permisson of Firth, Pond & Co., 547 Broadway, owners of the copyright.

Oh! Willie, is it you, dear, safe, safe at home?
They did not tell me true, dear, they said you would not come,
I heard you at the gate, and it made my heart rejoice,
For I knew that welcome footstep, and that dear familiar voice,
Making music on my ear in the lonely midnight gloom,
Oh! Willie, we have miss’d you; welcome, welcome home.

We’ve long’d to see you nightly, but this night of all;
The fire was blazing brightly, and lights were in the hall,
The little ones were up ’till ’twas ten o’clock and past,
Then their eyes began to twinkle and they have gone to sleep at last;
But they listen’d for your voice till they thought you’d never come,
Oh! Willie, we have miss’d you; welcome, welcome home.

The days were sad without you, the nights long and drear,
My dreams have been about you, oh, welcome, Willie dear,
Last night I wept and watch’d, by the moonlight’s cheerless ray,
Till I thought I heard your footsteps, then I wiped my tears away,
But my heart grew sad again, when I found you had not come;
Oh! Willie, we have missed you; welcome, welcome home.

Willie’ll Roam no More.

Yes, Mary, I have come, love, across the dark, blue sea,
To our peaceful, quiet home, love, our little ones and thee;
I’ve watch’d and waited nightly for the welcome hour to come,
When happily and brightly all the dear delights of home
Should greet my listening ear, love, upon my native shore;
Then wipe away thy tears, Mary, for thy Willie’ll roam no more.

CHORUS.

Thy Willie’ll roam no more, thy Willie’ll roam no more,
Then wipe away thy tears, Mary, for thy Willie’ll roam no more.

How often since I left you, love, in solitude and tears,
Have I bless’d that love which clung to me through many changing years;
And while I paced the silent deck, forgotten and alone,
Has my heart recall’d thy love-lit smile, thy sweet and gentle tone.
Thy image, love, has e’er been shrined within this fond heart’s core;
But wipe away thy tears, Mary, for thy Willie’ll roam no more.

Chorus.—Thy Willie’ll roam no more, &c.

Dear Mary, when in life’s sweet morn, in all thy youthful pride,
I bore thee, virgin, bathed in tears, from thy fond mother’s side,
And promised at the altar to love through life as now,
Say, Mary, when life’s sorrows came, did I forget that vow?
Your heart will own I left you, love, our fortunes to restore;
Then wipe away thy tears, Mary, for thy Willie’ll roam no more.

Chorus.—Thy Willie’ll roam no more, &c.

Kiss Me Quick and Go.

The other night while I was sparking
Sweet Turlina Spray,
The more we whisper’d our love talking,
The more we had to say;
The old folks and the little folks
We thought were fast in bed,—
We heard a footstep on the stairs,
And what d’ye think she said?

CHORUS.

“Oh! kiss me quick and go my honey,
Kiss me quick and go!
To cheat surprise and prying eyes,
Why kiss me quick and go!”

Soon after that I gave my love
A moonlight promenade,
At last we fetch’d up to the door
Just where the old folks stay’d;
The clock struck twelve, her heart struck two (too).
And peeping over head
We saw a night-cap raise the blind,
And what d’ye think she said?

Oh! kiss me quick and go my honey, &c.

One Sunday night we sat together,
Sighing side by side,
Just like two wilted leaves of cabbage
In the sunshine fried;
My heart with love was nigh to split
To ask her for to wed,
Said I: “Shall I go for the priest,”
And what d’ye think she said?

Oh! kiss me quick and go my honey, &c.

ANNIE LAURIE.

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 forget 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.

Nelly was a Lady.

Down on de Mississippi floating,
Long time I trabble on de way
All night de cotton-wood a toting,
Sing for my true lub all de day.

CHORUS.

Nelly was a lady,
Last night she died;
Toll de bell for lubly Nell,
My dark Virginny bride.

Now I’m unhappy and I’m weeping,
Can’t tote de cotton-wood no more:
Last night, while Nelly was a sleeping,
Death came a knocking at de door.

Nelly was a lady, &c.

When I saw my Nelly in de morning
Smile till she open’d up her eyes,
Seem’d like de light ob day a dawning
Jist for de sun begin to rise.

Nelly was a lady, &c.

Close by de margin ob de water,
Whar de lone weeping-willow grows
Dar lib’d Virginny’s lubly daughter,
Dar she in death may find repose.

Nelly was a lady, &c.

Down in de meadow ’mong the clober,
Walk wid my Nelly by my side:
Now all dem happy days am ober,—
Farewell, my dark Virginny bride,

Nelly was a lady, &c.

Down the River.

Oh! the river is up, and the channel is deep,
And the wind blows steady and strong;
Let the splash of your oars the measure keep,
As we row the old boat along.
Oh! the water is bright, and flashing like gold,
In the ray of the morning sun,
And old Dinah’s away up out of the cold,
A getting the hoe-cake done.
Oh! the river is up, and the channel is deep,
And the wind blows steady and strong;
Let the splash of your oars the measure keep,
As we row the old boat along.

Chorus.—Down the river, down the river,
Down the Ohio;
Down the river, down the river,
Down the Ohio.
Chorus repeated.

Oh! the master is proud of the old broad-horn,
For it brings him plenty of tin;
Oh! the crew they are darkies, the cargo is corn,
And the money comes tumbling in.
There is plenty on board for the darkies to eat,
And there’s something to drink and to smoke;
There’s the banjo, the bones, and the tambourine,
There’s the song, and the comical joke.
Oh! the river is up, and the channel is deep,
And the wind blows steady and strong;
Let the splash of your oars the measure keep,
As we row the old boat along.

Chorus.—Down the river, &c.

Have you seen my Sister?

Say, my lovely friends, have you any pity
At your finger-ends? then listen to my ditty.
Our Kate has gone away, last Thursday night we miss’d her;
Good people do not smile,—say, Have you seen my sister?

If you have her seen, I hope you will advise her
To return to me, or I must advertise her;
Her waist is very thick, her stays give her a twister,
Now tell me, b’hoys and g’hals, Have you seen my sister?

She squints with both her eyes, in a manner very shocking,
She’s got a mouth for pies, and wears no shoes or stockings;
I’m afraid she’s gone astray, and some chap did enlist her,
I’m afraid she’s gone for good; say, Have you seen my sister?

She wants her two front teeth, you’d see it when she’d titter.
She’s got such little feet, Victoria’s shoes won’t fit her;
She wears no cap at all, but a great big muslin whister,
Now tell me once for all, Have you seen my sister?

Her figure’s straight and tall, her conduct’s very proper;
She’s well provided, for she’s eighteen pence in copper.
Now if you have her seen, you never could forget her,
For she’s very much like me; now, Have you seen my sister?

Her mouth is very small, her nose is straight and natty,
I tell you once for all, this girl is very pretty
Now I’ll sing you another song, and it shall be a twister,
If you will go with me, and help me find my sister.

Bob Ridley.

Now white folks I’ll sing you a ditty,
I’se from home, but dat’s no pity,
Oh, to praise myself it am a shame,
But Robert Ridley is my name.

CHORUS.

Oh, Bob Ridley ho, Oh, Bob Ridley ho,
Oh, Bob Ridley! Oh! Oh!! Oh!!!
ROBERT RIDLEY HO!

Oh, white folks I hab cross’d de mountains
How many miles I didn’t count ’em,
Oh, I’se left de folks at de old plantation
An’ come down here for my edecation.

Oh, Bob Ridley ho, &c.

De first time dat I eber got a licken,
’Twas down at de forks ob de cotton picken;
Oh! it made me dance, it made me tremble,
I golly, it made my eyeballs jingle.

Oh, Bob Ridley ho, &c.

New York City am a mighty fine one,
For beauty and location it ain’t behind none;
Oh! de ladies all look so sweet and gidley,
Wonder dey don’t fall in love wid old Bob Ridley.

Oh, Bob Ridley ho, &c.

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.

O should you e’er meet this Kate Kearnev,
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 can 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,
I’ve felt the keen smart of love’s fatal dart,
And inhal’d the warm sigh of Kate Kearney.

Home Again.

Home again, home again,
From a foreign shore;
And, oh, it fills my soul with joy,
To meet my friends once more
Here I dropp’d the parting tear,
To cross the ocean’s foam;
But now I’m once again with those
Who kindly greet me home.

Home again, &c.

Happy hearts, happy hearts,
With mine have laugh’d in glee,
But, oh, the friends I loved in youth
Seem happier to me.
And if my guide should be the fate
Which bids me longer roam,
But death alone can break the tie
That binds my heart to home

Home again, &c.

Music sweet, music soft,
Lingers round the place;
And, oh, I feel the childhood charm,
That time can not afface.
Then give me but my homestead roof,
I’ll ask no palace dome;
For I can live a happy life
With those I love at home.

Home again, &c.

Gentle Jennie Gray.

My heart is sad, I’ll tell you why,
If you’ll listen to my lay,
Which makes me weep, when I sing
Of my gentle Jennie Gray;
But I never can forget the days,
When with Jennie by my side,
We talk’d of love and happiness,
When she should be my bride.

Chorus.—Hush the banjo, toll the bell,
I’m very sad to-day,
I can not work, so let me weep,
For my gentle Jennie Gray.

My Jennie had the sweetest face,
And eyes of sparkling jet,
With lips like new-born roses,
She was my darling pet;
But Death he called one morning,
And took my love away,
And left me lonely weeping,
For my gentle Jennie Gray.

Chorus.—Hush the banjo, &c.

And in the ground they laid her,
Close by my cabin door;
A rude stone marks the spot,
Where she sleeps to wake no more;
While at her grave I’m weeping,
At every close of day,
I fancy then, she’s sleeping,
And not dead! my Jennie Gray.

Chorus.—Hush the banjo, &c.

Faded Flowers.

Copied by permission of Russell & Tolman, 291 Washington St., Boston, owners of the copyright.

The flowers I saw in the wild wood,
Have since dropp’d their beautiful leaves,
And the many dear friends of my childhood,
Have slumber’d for years in their graves;
But the bloom of the flowers I remember,
Though their smiles I shall never more see,
For the cold, chilly winds of December
Stole my flowers, my companions, from me.

The roses may bloom on the morrow,
And many dear friends I have won,
But my heart can part with but sorrow,
When I think of the ones that are gone.
’Tis no wonder that I am broken-heart’d
And stricken with sorrow should be,
For we have met, we have loved, we have part’d,
My flowers, my companions, and me.

How dark looks this world, and how dreary,
When we part from the ones that we love,
But there’s rest for the faint and the weary,
And friends meet with lost ones above;
But in heaven I can but remember,
When from earth my proud soul shall be free,
That no chilly winds of December,
Shall steal my companions from me.

Hard Times.

Listen awhile and give ear to my song
Concerning these hard times, ’twill not take you long,
How every one tries each other to bite,
And in cheating each other they think they do right.
Nothing but hard times.

There are some young men, which you very well know,
To see pretty girls they are sure to go;
The old folks will giggle, they will laugh, and they’ll grin,
Crying, “Use him well, Sal, or he’ll not come again.”

The baker will cheat you in the bread that you eat,
And so will the butcher, in the weight of his meat;
He’ll tip up the steelyards, and make them go down,
And swears it is weight, when it lacks a half pound.

The next are the ladies, the sweet little dears,
At the balls and the parties, how nice they appear;
With whalebones and corsets themselves they will squeeze,
You have to unlace them before they can sneeze.

Next is the tinker, he’ll mend all your ware,
For little or nothing, some ale or some beer;
But before he begins, he’ll get half drunk or more,
And in stopping one hole, why he’ll punch twenty more.

The judge on his bench, so honest and true,
He’ll stare at a man, as though he’d look him through;
He’ll send him a year or six months to the jail,
And for five dollars more, why he’ll go your bail.

Then next is the doctor, he’ll cure all your ills,
With his puffs and his powders, his syrups, and squills,
He’ll give you a dose that will make you grow fat,
Or some pills that will leave you but your boots and your hat.

The ladies must all have their silks and their laces,
And things they call bonnets, to show off their faces;
But their figure, however, can never be seen,
For they are hoop’d like a barrel, with French crinoline.

The last is the sheriff, who thinks himself wise,
He’ll come to your house with a big pack of lies;
He’ll take all your property that he can sell,
And get drunk on the money, that’s doing right well,
In these hard times.

Ben Bolt.

Copied by permission of Peters & Sons, Fourth St., Cincinnati O owners of the copyright.

Don’t you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt?
Sweet Alice, with hair so brown,
Who blush’d with delight if you gave her a smile,
And trembled with fear at your frown?
In the old church-yard in the valley, Ben Bolt,
In a corner obscure and lone,
They have fitted a slab of granite so gray,
And Alice lies under the stone.

Under the hickory tree, Ben Bolt,
That stood at the foot of the hill,
Together we’ve lain in the noonday shade,
And listen’d to Appleton’s mill.
The mill-wheel has fallen to pieces, Ben Bolt,
The rafters have tumbled in,
And a quiet that crawls round the wall as you gaze,
Takes the place of the olden din.

Do you mind the cabin of logs, Ben Bolt,
That stood in the pathless wood?
And the button-ball tree with its motley boughs,
That nigh by the door-step stood?
The cabin to ruin has gone, Ben Bolt,
You would look for the tree in vain;
And where once the lords of the forest stood,
Grows grass and the golden grain.

And don’t you remember the school, Ben Bolt,
And the master, so cruel and grim?
And the shady nook in the running brook,
Where the children went to swim?
Grass grows on the master’s grave, Ben Bolt—
The spring of the brook is dry;
And of all the boys who were school-mates then
There are only you and I!

There’s a change in the things I love, Ben Bolt?
They have changed from the old to the new;
But I feel in the core of my spirit the truth,
There never was a change in you.
Twelvemonths twenty have pass’d, Ben Bolt,
Since first we were friends, yet I hail
Thy presence a blessing, thy friendship a truth,
Ben Bolt of the salt-sea gale!

Poor Juney.

Copied by permission of Russell & Tolman, 291 Washington St., Boston, owners of the copyright.

Pearl River’s side is far away, in Mississippi State,
Where our Old Cabin stands alone, with Juney at the gate;
I told her I was going away, but would not stay out late,
And so she thought I’d soon be home, and waited at the gate.

CHORUS

The Cabin stands upon the stream in Mississippi State,
And I must quickly hurry home and take her from the gate.

Old Massa died, and I was sold away to Georgia’s State,
They did not buy my sister Jane when they bought me her mate,
I could not tell her we must part, alas! our cruel fate,
And so, with weeping eyes, she stands to meet me at the gate.
The Cabin stands upon the stream, &c.

I can’t forget her gloomy look, when I bid her good-night,
Nor how my body quaked and shook as slow I left her sight;
But soon I’ll gold and silver get, pray Heaven I’m not too late,
To buy my darling Juney free and take her from the gate.
The Cabin stands upon the stream, &c.

Oh, Juney was a simple child, with pretty shining curls,
And white folks loved her best of all, the young Mulatto girl,
’Twas wrong for me to leave her ’lone, in Mississippi State,
But money it shall break the chain that binds her to the gate.
The Cabin stands upon the stream, &c.

If you go away down South, to Mississippi State,
Don’t fail to seek our Cabin there, with Juney at the gate;
Tell her to wait a little while, tell her in hope to wait,
For I am he shall make her free, and take her from the gate.
The Cabin stands upon the stream, &c.

The Little Blacksmith.

We heard his hammer all day long
On the anvil ring, and ring,
But he always came when the sun went down,
To sit on the gate and sing;
His little hands so hard and brown
Cross’d idly on his knee,
And straw-hat lopping over cheeks
As red as they could be.

Chorus.—The hammer’s stroke on the anvil, fill’d
His heart with a happy ring,
And that was why, when the sun went down,
He came to the gate to sing.

His blue and faded jacket, trimm’d
With signs of work, his feet
All bare and fair upon the grass,
He made a picture sweet.
For still his shoes, with iron shod,
On the smithy wall he hung,
As forth he came, when the sun went down,
And sat on the gate and sung.

Chorus.—The hammer’s stroke on the anvil, fill’d, &c.

The whistling rustic tending cows,
Would keep in pastures near,
And half the busy villagers
Lean from their doors to hear.
And from the time the robin came
And made the hedges bright,
Until the stubble yellow grew,
He never miss’d a night.

Chorus.—The hammer’s stroke on the anvil, &c.

Over the Mountain.

Over the mountain wave,
See where they come;
Storm cloud and wintry wind
Welcome them home;
Yet where the sounding gale
Howls to the sea,
There their song peals along
Deep-toned and free.

Chorus.—Pilgrims and wanderers.
Hither we come;
Where the free dare to be,
This is our home.

England hath sunny dales,
Dearly they bloom;
Scotia hath heather hills,
Sweet their perfume;
Yet through the wilderness
Cheerful we stray,
Native land, native land,
Home far away!

Chorus.—Pilgrims and wanderers, &c.

Dim grew the forest path,
Onward they trod;
Firm beat their noble hearts,
Trusting in God;
Gray men and blooming maids,
High rose their song,
Hear it sweep clear and deep,
Ever along.

Chorus.—Pilgrims and wanderers, &c.

Not theirs the glory wreath
Torn by the blast;
Heavenward their holy steps,
Heavenward they pass’d;
Green be their mossy graves,
Ours be their fame,
While their song peals along
Ever the same.

Chorus.—Pilgrims and wanderers, &c.

Row, Row.

Row! row! homeward we steer,
Twilight falls o’er us,
Hark! hark! music is near,
Friends glide before us,
Song lightens our labor,
Sing as onward we go,
Keep each with his neighbor
Time as we flow.

Chorus.—Row! row! homeward we go,
Twilight falls o’er us,
Row! row! sing as we flow,
Day flies before us.

Row! row! sing as we go,
Nature rejoices;
Hark! how the hills as we flow
Echo our voices;
Still o’er the dark waters
Far away we must roam,
Ere Italy’s daughters
Welcome us home.

Chorus.—Row! row, &c.

Row! row! see in the west
Lights dimly burning,
Friends in yon harbor of rest
Wait our returning;
See now they burn clearer,—
Keep time with the oar;
Now, now we are nearer
That happy shore.

Chorus.—Row! row, &c.

Home, home, daylight is o’er,
Friends stand before us;
Yet ere our boat touch the shore,
Once more the chorus.

Chorus.—Row! row, &c.

The Miller of the Dee.

There dwelt a miller hale and bold
Beside the river Dee;
He work’d and sang from morn till night,
No lark more blithe than he;
And this, the burden of his song,
Forever used to be,
“I envy nobody, no, not I,
And nobody envies me.”

“Thou’rt wrong my friend,” said old King Hal,
“Thou’rt wrong as wrong can be;
For could my heart be light as thine,
I’d gladly change with thee;
And tell me now what makes thee sing
With voice so loud and free,
While I am sad, though I am King
Beside the river Dee.”

The miller smiled, and doff’d his cap,
“I earn my bread,” quoth he
“I love my wife, I love my friends,
I love my children three;
I owe no penny I can not pay,
I thank the river Dee,
That turns the mill, that grinds the corn
To feed my babes and me.”

“Good friend,” said Hal, and sigh’d the while,
“Farewell and happy be;
But say no more, if thou’dst be true,
That no one envies thee;
Thy mealy cap is worth my crown,
Thy mill my kingdom’s fee,
Such men as thou are England’s boast,
Oh, miller of the Dee.”

All’s for the Best.

All’s for the best! be sanguine and cheerful;
Trouble and sorrow are friends in disguise,
Nothing but folly goes faithless and fearing,
Courage forever! is happy and wise.
All’s for the best! if a man would but know it,
Providence wishes that all may be blest,
This is no dream of the pundit or poet,
Fact is not fancy, and all’s for the best!

Chorus.—All’s for the best! All’s for the best!
Fact is not fancy, and all’s for the best.

All’s for the best: set this on your standard,
Soldier of sadness, or pilgrim of love,
Who to the shores of despair may have wander’d
A way-wearied swallow, or heart-stricken dove.
All’s for the best! be a man, but confiding,
Providence tenderly governs the rest,
And the frail bark of his creature is guiding
Wisely and warily, all’s for the best!

Chorus.—All’s for the best, &c,

All’s for the best dispel idle terrors,
Meet all your fears and your foes in the van,
And in the midst of your dangers and errors,
Trust like a child, and strive like a man.
All’s for the best! unfailing, unbounded,
Providence wishes that all may be blest,
And both by wisdom and mercy surrounded,
Hope and be happy, then all’s for the best!

Chorus.—All’s for the best! All’s for the best!
Hope and be happy, then all’s for the best.