THE MEN OF MY HEART'S DESIRE

THE MEN OF MY HEART'S DESIRE

WHERE are the men of my heart's desire?Of the British blood and the loyal names?Some are North, at the home hearth-fire,Where the hemlock glooms and the maple flames,And some are tramping the old world roundFor the pot of gold they have never found.Oh, leal are the men of my heart's desire—Their fathers were leal in the days gone by—And their blood is blithe with the subtle fireThe purple breeds, and their hearts are high,—Poor, and gallant, and dear to me,With a strong hand each, and a pedigree.Good men are bred in the East and the West,And ripe, true gentles in Boston town,But the men of my blood to my blood seem best—Who still hold the honor of Mitre and Crown.Though empty their cellars and worn their attire,These are the men of my heart's desire.So, gentles, these stumbling rhymes I sendTo our spruce-clad hills, for a word of cheer,—Where there's ever a welcome and ever a friend,And the brown coat covers the cavalier.Take them, I pray you, for what they are worth,For I swear by my soul you're the salt of the earth.

WHERE are the men of my heart's desire?Of the British blood and the loyal names?Some are North, at the home hearth-fire,Where the hemlock glooms and the maple flames,And some are tramping the old world roundFor the pot of gold they have never found.Oh, leal are the men of my heart's desire—Their fathers were leal in the days gone by—And their blood is blithe with the subtle fireThe purple breeds, and their hearts are high,—Poor, and gallant, and dear to me,With a strong hand each, and a pedigree.Good men are bred in the East and the West,And ripe, true gentles in Boston town,But the men of my blood to my blood seem best—Who still hold the honor of Mitre and Crown.Though empty their cellars and worn their attire,These are the men of my heart's desire.So, gentles, these stumbling rhymes I sendTo our spruce-clad hills, for a word of cheer,—Where there's ever a welcome and ever a friend,And the brown coat covers the cavalier.Take them, I pray you, for what they are worth,For I swear by my soul you're the salt of the earth.

WHERE are the men of my heart's desire?Of the British blood and the loyal names?Some are North, at the home hearth-fire,Where the hemlock glooms and the maple flames,And some are tramping the old world roundFor the pot of gold they have never found.

WHERE are the men of my heart's desire?

Of the British blood and the loyal names?

Some are North, at the home hearth-fire,

Where the hemlock glooms and the maple flames,

And some are tramping the old world round

For the pot of gold they have never found.

Oh, leal are the men of my heart's desire—Their fathers were leal in the days gone by—And their blood is blithe with the subtle fireThe purple breeds, and their hearts are high,—Poor, and gallant, and dear to me,With a strong hand each, and a pedigree.

Oh, leal are the men of my heart's desire—

Their fathers were leal in the days gone by—

And their blood is blithe with the subtle fire

The purple breeds, and their hearts are high,—

Poor, and gallant, and dear to me,

With a strong hand each, and a pedigree.

Good men are bred in the East and the West,And ripe, true gentles in Boston town,But the men of my blood to my blood seem best—Who still hold the honor of Mitre and Crown.Though empty their cellars and worn their attire,These are the men of my heart's desire.

Good men are bred in the East and the West,

And ripe, true gentles in Boston town,

But the men of my blood to my blood seem best—

Who still hold the honor of Mitre and Crown.

Though empty their cellars and worn their attire,

These are the men of my heart's desire.

So, gentles, these stumbling rhymes I sendTo our spruce-clad hills, for a word of cheer,—Where there's ever a welcome and ever a friend,And the brown coat covers the cavalier.Take them, I pray you, for what they are worth,For I swear by my soul you're the salt of the earth.

So, gentles, these stumbling rhymes I send

To our spruce-clad hills, for a word of cheer,—

Where there's ever a welcome and ever a friend,

And the brown coat covers the cavalier.

Take them, I pray you, for what they are worth,

For I swear by my soul you're the salt of the earth.


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