The greatest old nigger that ever I did see,Look’d like a sick monkey up a sour apple-tree;It don’t make a bit of difference to either you or IBig pig, little pig, root hog or die.CHORUS.Chief cook and bottle washer, captain of the waiters,Stand upon your head while you peel a bag of taters.Jog along.I come from old Virginny with a pocket-full of newsI am worth four shillings, standing in my shoes;Doesn’t make a bit of difference to either you or I,Little pig, big pig, root hog or die.Chief cook, &c.The Broadway niggers look so mighty grand,Shanghai coats and gloves upon the hand,A big standing collar, standing away up to the sky,Little pig, big pig, root hog or die.Chief cook, &c.Oh, these Broadway gals look so mighty gay,With their hoop’d skirts promenading Broadway,Their bonnets on their shoulders, and their noses to the sky,They go it in the sun or shade—root hog or die.Chief cook, &c.
The greatest old nigger that ever I did see,Look’d like a sick monkey up a sour apple-tree;It don’t make a bit of difference to either you or IBig pig, little pig, root hog or die.
CHORUS.
Chief cook and bottle washer, captain of the waiters,Stand upon your head while you peel a bag of taters.Jog along.
I come from old Virginny with a pocket-full of newsI am worth four shillings, standing in my shoes;Doesn’t make a bit of difference to either you or I,Little pig, big pig, root hog or die.
Chief cook, &c.
The Broadway niggers look so mighty grand,Shanghai coats and gloves upon the hand,A big standing collar, standing away up to the sky,Little pig, big pig, root hog or die.
Chief cook, &c.
Oh, these Broadway gals look so mighty gay,With their hoop’d skirts promenading Broadway,Their bonnets on their shoulders, and their noses to the sky,They go it in the sun or shade—root hog or die.
Chief cook, &c.
I am a jolly nigger as ever you did see,I come from Alabama just for to have a spree;I tought I come to York, dey do things up so high,Bound to have a spree, boys—root hog or die.CHORUS.New York gals—dey are so mighty tender,Have to put on hoops when dey go out on a bender.Jog along.I jump’d upon de boat as she started from de lebby,Dey put me in de hole in something of a hurry,De coal dey made me shovel, oh, how dey made me fly;Dat’s de way I come, boys—root hog or die.New York gals, &c.You tallk about your niggers dat grow up in de North,Can’t compete wid dis one dat sprouted in de South,Dey call me Blind Dick, kase I’ve only got one eye,Dat’s not my name, boys—root hog or die.New York gals, &c.When I take a walk I look so mighty gay,All de gals I draw from over cross de way,Wid my long-tail coat, mustache to de eye,Dat’s what dey like, boys—root hog or die.New York gals, &c.I’ll go back to Alabama wid a head full of nollige,And tell de folks dare I jis cum from college;Dey’ll take me for a lord, or somethin’ else, I’m thinkinI’se a mighty smart nigger, but I do my own drinkin’.New York gals, &c.
I am a jolly nigger as ever you did see,I come from Alabama just for to have a spree;I tought I come to York, dey do things up so high,Bound to have a spree, boys—root hog or die.
CHORUS.
New York gals—dey are so mighty tender,Have to put on hoops when dey go out on a bender.Jog along.
I jump’d upon de boat as she started from de lebby,Dey put me in de hole in something of a hurry,De coal dey made me shovel, oh, how dey made me fly;Dat’s de way I come, boys—root hog or die.
New York gals, &c.
You tallk about your niggers dat grow up in de North,Can’t compete wid dis one dat sprouted in de South,Dey call me Blind Dick, kase I’ve only got one eye,Dat’s not my name, boys—root hog or die.
New York gals, &c.
When I take a walk I look so mighty gay,All de gals I draw from over cross de way,Wid my long-tail coat, mustache to de eye,Dat’s what dey like, boys—root hog or die.
New York gals, &c.
I’ll go back to Alabama wid a head full of nollige,And tell de folks dare I jis cum from college;Dey’ll take me for a lord, or somethin’ else, I’m thinkinI’se a mighty smart nigger, but I do my own drinkin’.
New York gals, &c.
I am de greatest little darkey on de top ob de earth,New York is my home and de place ob my birthI do ply upon de banjo, and dar I don’t deny,I’m bound to be a sport, boys—root hog or die.CHORUS.Now I’ll tell all you, boys, what you’d better stop a doing,Dat is a drinking lager beer, and give up tobacco chewing;Now I’ll tell all you boys, what you’d better stop a doing,Dat is a drinking lager beer, and give up tobacco chewing.Jog along.De shanghai coats and de stub-toed boots,Tight-legg’d pants, and all such fancy suits,Big Byron collars and mustaches to de eye,Dat’s de way to sport, boys—root hog or die.Now I’ll tell you all, &c.Now I’ll tell you, one and all, dat I feel mighty proud,When I have my banjo wid me, and gets into a crowd,Dey do make a circle round me, and out dey do cry,For to sing dis good old song, boys—root hog or die.Now I’ll tell you all, &c.You may talk about your fiddles and de old tambo,But they cannot be compared with de old banjo,On it I’ll end my song, and I’m not ashamed to denyThe title that I give it, boys, was—root hog or die.Now I’ll tell you all, &c.
I am de greatest little darkey on de top ob de earth,New York is my home and de place ob my birthI do ply upon de banjo, and dar I don’t deny,I’m bound to be a sport, boys—root hog or die.
CHORUS.
Now I’ll tell all you, boys, what you’d better stop a doing,Dat is a drinking lager beer, and give up tobacco chewing;Now I’ll tell all you boys, what you’d better stop a doing,Dat is a drinking lager beer, and give up tobacco chewing.Jog along.
De shanghai coats and de stub-toed boots,Tight-legg’d pants, and all such fancy suits,Big Byron collars and mustaches to de eye,Dat’s de way to sport, boys—root hog or die.
Now I’ll tell you all, &c.
Now I’ll tell you, one and all, dat I feel mighty proud,When I have my banjo wid me, and gets into a crowd,Dey do make a circle round me, and out dey do cry,For to sing dis good old song, boys—root hog or die.
Now I’ll tell you all, &c.
You may talk about your fiddles and de old tambo,But they cannot be compared with de old banjo,On it I’ll end my song, and I’m not ashamed to denyThe title that I give it, boys, was—root hog or die.
Now I’ll tell you all, &c.
I have wander’d by the village, Tom—I’ve sat beneath the tree,Upon the school-house playing-ground which shelter’d you and me;But none are left to greet me, Tom, and few are left to knowThat play’d with us upon the green just Twenty Years Ago.The grass is just as green, dear Tom, bare-footed boys at playAre 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 replacedBy 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 sideAre larger than they were, dear Tom, the stream appears less wide;The grape-vine swing is ruin’d now, where once we play’d the beau,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 same,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 strewUpon 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 were we play’d just Twenty Years Ago.
I have wander’d by the village, Tom—I’ve sat beneath the tree,Upon the school-house playing-ground which shelter’d you and me;But none are left to greet me, Tom, and few are left to knowThat play’d with us upon the green just Twenty Years Ago.
The grass is just as green, dear Tom, bare-footed boys at playAre 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 replacedBy 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 sideAre larger than they were, dear Tom, the stream appears less wide;The grape-vine swing is ruin’d now, where once we play’d the beau,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 same,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 strewUpon 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 were we play’d just Twenty Years Ago.
Oh! say, can you see by the dawn’s early light,What so proudly we hail’d at the twilight’s last gleaming;Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,O’er the ramparts we watch’d, were so gallantly streamingAnd the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there,Oh! say, does the star-spangled banner still wave,O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?On the shore, dimly seen through the mist of the deep,Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,What is that, which the breeze o’er the towering steep,As it fitfully blows, half conceal’d, half discloses?Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam,In full glory reflected now shines on the stream;’Tis the star-spangled banner, Oh! long may it wave,O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.And where is the band who so vauntingly sworeThat the havoc of war, and the battle’s confusion,A home and a country should leave us no more?Their blood has wash’d out their foul footstep’s pollution.No refuge could save the hireling and slave,From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave;And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave,O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.Oh! thus be it ever when freemen shall standBetween their loved home and war’s desolation;Bless’d with victory and peace may the Heaven-rescued landPraise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation.Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,And this be our motto--“In God is our trust!”And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave,O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
Oh! say, can you see by the dawn’s early light,What so proudly we hail’d at the twilight’s last gleaming;Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,O’er the ramparts we watch’d, were so gallantly streamingAnd the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there,Oh! say, does the star-spangled banner still wave,O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?
On the shore, dimly seen through the mist of the deep,Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,What is that, which the breeze o’er the towering steep,As it fitfully blows, half conceal’d, half discloses?Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam,In full glory reflected now shines on the stream;’Tis the star-spangled banner, Oh! long may it wave,O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
And where is the band who so vauntingly sworeThat the havoc of war, and the battle’s confusion,A home and a country should leave us no more?Their blood has wash’d out their foul footstep’s pollution.No refuge could save the hireling and slave,From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave;And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave,O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
Oh! thus be it ever when freemen shall standBetween their loved home and war’s desolation;Bless’d with victory and peace may the Heaven-rescued landPraise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation.Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,And this be our motto--“In God is our trust!”And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave,O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
Oh, the sights that I see as I ply my lone trade,In the moldering dust that a cent’ry hath made,Where the coffin-worm doth creep.I began long ago, when my life was still green,And my mattock and spade have been active, I ween,To fashion the grave so deep.Ho! I laugh as I dig, for they all seek my aid,To provide them a home with my mattock and spade.The rich man hath pass’d me with towering head,But I sang o’er his grave when the scorner was dead,And laugh’d as I shovel’d the mold.The hungry and wretched ne’er enter’d his door,Hisheart never bled for the wrongs of the poor,For the proud man well loved his gold.Ho! I laugh’d as I dug, for they wanted my aid,To provide him a home with my mattock and spade.I saw a young man in the fresh bloom of life,As he came to the church with a trembling young wife,Lift against me the finger of scorn.Oh, the revel was joyous, the dance lasted long;But the shriek of the widow soon banish’d the song—The young man died ere the morn!Ho! I laugh’d as I dug, when they came for my aid,To provide him a home with my mattock and spade.I saw a fair child bend her beautiful head,And cull the lone flowers that bloom o’er the dead,To form a pure simple wreath.The crimson of hectic suffused her pale face;In her eyes fearful lustre I trembled to trace,The herald of early death.But I pray that ere then, the deep home I have made,May close overme, and my mattock and spade.
Oh, the sights that I see as I ply my lone trade,In the moldering dust that a cent’ry hath made,Where the coffin-worm doth creep.I began long ago, when my life was still green,And my mattock and spade have been active, I ween,To fashion the grave so deep.Ho! I laugh as I dig, for they all seek my aid,To provide them a home with my mattock and spade.
The rich man hath pass’d me with towering head,But I sang o’er his grave when the scorner was dead,And laugh’d as I shovel’d the mold.The hungry and wretched ne’er enter’d his door,Hisheart never bled for the wrongs of the poor,For the proud man well loved his gold.Ho! I laugh’d as I dug, for they wanted my aid,To provide him a home with my mattock and spade.
I saw a young man in the fresh bloom of life,As he came to the church with a trembling young wife,Lift against me the finger of scorn.Oh, the revel was joyous, the dance lasted long;But the shriek of the widow soon banish’d the song—The young man died ere the morn!Ho! I laugh’d as I dug, when they came for my aid,To provide him a home with my mattock and spade.
I saw a fair child bend her beautiful head,And cull the lone flowers that bloom o’er the dead,To form a pure simple wreath.The crimson of hectic suffused her pale face;In her eyes fearful lustre I trembled to trace,The herald of early death.But I pray that ere then, the deep home I have made,May close overme, and my mattock and spade.
Copied by permission ofRussell & Tolman, 291 Washington St., Boston, owners of the copyright.
Of all the mighty nations, in the East or in the West,Oh! this glorious Yankee nation is the greatest and the best.We have room for all creation, and our banner is unfurl’d,Here is a general invitation to the people of the world.Chorus.—Come along, come along—make no delay,Come from every nation, come from every way;Our land is broad enough—don’t be alarmed,For Uncle Sam is rich enough to give us all a farm.St. Lawrence marks our northern line, as fast her waters flow,And the Rio Grande our southern bound, way down to Mexico;From the great Atlantic ocean, where the sun begins to dawn,Leaps across the Rocky Mountains, away to Oregon.Chorus.—Come along, come along, &c.The South may raise the cotton, and the West the corn and pork,New England manufactories shall do up the finer work;For the deep and flowing waterfalls that course along our hills,Are just the thing for washing sheep and driving cotton mills.Chorus.—Come along, come along, &c.Our fathers gave us liberty, but little did they dream,The grand results that flow along this mighty age of steam;For our mountains, lakes, and rivers are all a blaze of fire,And we send our news by lightning on the telegraphic wire.Chorus.—Come along, come along, &c.Yes, we are bound to beat the nations, for our motto’s go-ahead,And we’ll tell the foreign paupers that our people are well-fed;For the nations must remember that Uncle Sam is not a fool,For the people do the voting, and the children go to school.Chorus.—Come along, come along, &c.
Of all the mighty nations, in the East or in the West,Oh! this glorious Yankee nation is the greatest and the best.We have room for all creation, and our banner is unfurl’d,Here is a general invitation to the people of the world.
Chorus.—Come along, come along—make no delay,Come from every nation, come from every way;Our land is broad enough—don’t be alarmed,For Uncle Sam is rich enough to give us all a farm.
St. Lawrence marks our northern line, as fast her waters flow,And the Rio Grande our southern bound, way down to Mexico;From the great Atlantic ocean, where the sun begins to dawn,Leaps across the Rocky Mountains, away to Oregon.
Chorus.—Come along, come along, &c.
The South may raise the cotton, and the West the corn and pork,New England manufactories shall do up the finer work;For the deep and flowing waterfalls that course along our hills,Are just the thing for washing sheep and driving cotton mills.
Chorus.—Come along, come along, &c.
Our fathers gave us liberty, but little did they dream,The grand results that flow along this mighty age of steam;For our mountains, lakes, and rivers are all a blaze of fire,And we send our news by lightning on the telegraphic wire.
Chorus.—Come along, come along, &c.
Yes, we are bound to beat the nations, for our motto’s go-ahead,And we’ll tell the foreign paupers that our people are well-fed;For the nations must remember that Uncle Sam is not a fool,For the people do the voting, and the children go to school.
Chorus.—Come along, come along, &c.
Will you come with me, my Phillis, dear, to yon blue mountain free,Where the blossoms smell the sweetest, come rove along with me.It’s every Sunday morning, when I am by your side,We’ll jump into the wagon, and all take a ride.CHORUS.—Wait for the wagon,Wait for the wagon,Wait for the wagon,And we’ll all take a ride.Where the river runs like silver, and the birds they sing so sweet,I have a cabin, Phillis, and something good to eat.Come listen to my story, it will relieve my heart,So jump into the wagon, and off we will start.Wait for the wagon, &c.Do you believe, my Phillis, dear, old Mike with all his wealth,Can make you half so happy, as I with youth and health?We’ll have a little farm, a horse, a pig, and cow,And you will mind the dairy, while I do guide the plow.Wait for the wagon, &c.Your lips are red as poppies, your hair so slick and neat,All braided up with dahlias, and hollyhocks so sweet,It’s every Sunday morning, when I am by your side,We’ll jump into the wagon, and all take a ride.Wait for the wagon, &c.Together on life’s journey, we’ll travel till we stop,And if we have no trouble, we’ll reach the happy top.Then come with me, sweet Phillis, my dear, my lovely bride,We’ll jump into the wagon, and all take a ride.Wait for the wagon, &c.
Will you come with me, my Phillis, dear, to yon blue mountain free,Where the blossoms smell the sweetest, come rove along with me.It’s every Sunday morning, when I am by your side,We’ll jump into the wagon, and all take a ride.
CHORUS.—Wait for the wagon,Wait for the wagon,Wait for the wagon,And we’ll all take a ride.
Where the river runs like silver, and the birds they sing so sweet,I have a cabin, Phillis, and something good to eat.Come listen to my story, it will relieve my heart,So jump into the wagon, and off we will start.
Wait for the wagon, &c.
Do you believe, my Phillis, dear, old Mike with all his wealth,Can make you half so happy, as I with youth and health?We’ll have a little farm, a horse, a pig, and cow,And you will mind the dairy, while I do guide the plow.
Wait for the wagon, &c.
Your lips are red as poppies, your hair so slick and neat,All braided up with dahlias, and hollyhocks so sweet,It’s every Sunday morning, when I am by your side,We’ll jump into the wagon, and all take a ride.
Wait for the wagon, &c.
Together on life’s journey, we’ll travel till we stop,And if we have no trouble, we’ll reach the happy top.Then come with me, sweet Phillis, my dear, my lovely bride,We’ll jump into the wagon, and all take a ride.
Wait for the wagon, &c.
Oh, the old farm-house, down beside the valley stream,Where in childhood so oft I have play’d,Ere sorrow had clouded my heart’s early dream,Or life’s purest joys had decay’d;How well I remember the vine-cover’d roof,And the rose-bushes clustering nigh,And the tall, stately poplar-trees standing aloof,Whose tops seem’d to reach to the sky,Oh! the old farm-house, my childhood’s happy home.Oh, the old farm-house, how I’ve sported round its hearthWith my sisters and brothers so dear;How oft has it rung with our innocent mirth,And hallow’d our soft evening-prayer;But the old farm-house now is bowing to decay,Its stones like dead friends lie apart;But its dear, cherish’d image shall ne’er fade awayFrom affection’s domain in my heart.Oh! the old farm-house, my childhood’s happy home.
Oh, the old farm-house, down beside the valley stream,Where in childhood so oft I have play’d,Ere sorrow had clouded my heart’s early dream,Or life’s purest joys had decay’d;How well I remember the vine-cover’d roof,And the rose-bushes clustering nigh,And the tall, stately poplar-trees standing aloof,Whose tops seem’d to reach to the sky,Oh! the old farm-house, my childhood’s happy home.
Oh, the old farm-house, how I’ve sported round its hearthWith my sisters and brothers so dear;How oft has it rung with our innocent mirth,And hallow’d our soft evening-prayer;But the old farm-house now is bowing to decay,Its stones like dead friends lie apart;But its dear, cherish’d image shall ne’er fade awayFrom affection’s domain in my heart.Oh! the old farm-house, my childhood’s happy home.
Copied by permission ofRussell & Tolman, 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 him:“Weep not, my boy,” the veteran said,“I bow to Heaven’s high will,But quickly from yon antlers bring,The sword of Bunker hill.”But quickly from yon antlers bring,The sword of Bunker hill.”The sword was brought, the soldier’s eyeLit 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.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’dThe sword of Bunker Hill.For, boy, the God of Freedom bless’dThe sword of Bunker Hill.“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 sireAnd sword of Bunker Hill.And twenty millions bless the sireAnd sword of Bunker Hill.
He lay upon his dying bed,His eye was growing dim,When with a feeble voice he call’d,His weeping son to him:“Weep not, my boy,” the veteran said,“I bow to Heaven’s high will,But quickly from yon antlers bring,The sword of Bunker hill.”But quickly from yon antlers bring,The sword of Bunker hill.”
The sword was brought, the soldier’s eyeLit 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.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’dThe sword of Bunker Hill.For, boy, the God of Freedom bless’dThe sword of Bunker Hill.
“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 sireAnd sword of Bunker Hill.And twenty millions bless the sireAnd sword of Bunker Hill.
God of the Free! to thee we look,As look’d our sires in days of old,When on thy breath invoked by prayer,Their banner for the Right unroll’d.That glorious banner still is ours;Our falchions like their own shall start,When Freedom’s sent’nel-trumpet calls,To find the impious tyrant’s heart.Their sacred homesteads still we own,And still the wave of Plymouth rollsThe hymn of Justice, Labor, Right,And blest Religion in our souls.Their mighty mission was not leftBy them in vain for us, for we,Heirs of a continent, are yetSubduing mountain, vale, and sea.How proudly on our march we go,With Washington’s own flag unfurl’d;The blood of all the world is here,And he who strikes us, strikes the world!Then wave thine oaken bough, O North!O South! exulting lift thy palms;And in our Union’s heritageTogether sing the Nation’s psalms.
God of the Free! to thee we look,As look’d our sires in days of old,When on thy breath invoked by prayer,Their banner for the Right unroll’d.
That glorious banner still is ours;Our falchions like their own shall start,When Freedom’s sent’nel-trumpet calls,To find the impious tyrant’s heart.
Their sacred homesteads still we own,And still the wave of Plymouth rollsThe hymn of Justice, Labor, Right,And blest Religion in our souls.
Their mighty mission was not leftBy them in vain for us, for we,Heirs of a continent, are yetSubduing mountain, vale, and sea.
How proudly on our march we go,With Washington’s own flag unfurl’d;The blood of all the world is here,And he who strikes us, strikes the world!
Then wave thine oaken bough, O North!O South! exulting lift thy palms;And in our Union’s heritageTogether sing the Nation’s psalms.
’Neath a tree by the margin of a woodland,Whose spreading leafy boughs sweep the ground,With a path leading thither o’er the prairie,Where silence hung her night garb around;Where oft I have wander’d in the evening,When the summer winds were fragrant on the lea,There I saw the little beauty Belle Brandon,And we met ’neath the old arbor tree.REPEAT.There I saw the little beauty, Belle Brandon,And we met ’neath the old arbor tree.Belle Brandon was a birdling of the mountain,In freedom she sported on the lea,And they said the life current of the red manTinged her veins, from a far distant sea.And she loved her humble dwelling on the prairie,And her guileless happy heart clung to me,And I loved the little beauty, Belle Brandon,And we both loved the old arbor tree.Repeat.—And I loved the little beauty, &c.On the trunk of an aged tree I carved them,And our names on the sturdy oak remain,But I now repair in sorrow to its shelter,And murmur to the wild winds my pain.And I sat there in solitude repining,For the beauty dream night brought to me,Death has wed the little beauty, Belle Brandon,And she sleeps ’neath the old arbor tree.Repeat.—Death has wed the little beauty, &c.
’Neath a tree by the margin of a woodland,Whose spreading leafy boughs sweep the ground,With a path leading thither o’er the prairie,Where silence hung her night garb around;Where oft I have wander’d in the evening,When the summer winds were fragrant on the lea,There I saw the little beauty Belle Brandon,And we met ’neath the old arbor tree.
REPEAT.
There I saw the little beauty, Belle Brandon,And we met ’neath the old arbor tree.
Belle Brandon was a birdling of the mountain,In freedom she sported on the lea,And they said the life current of the red manTinged her veins, from a far distant sea.And she loved her humble dwelling on the prairie,And her guileless happy heart clung to me,And I loved the little beauty, Belle Brandon,And we both loved the old arbor tree.
Repeat.—And I loved the little beauty, &c.
On the trunk of an aged tree I carved them,And our names on the sturdy oak remain,But I now repair in sorrow to its shelter,And murmur to the wild winds my pain.And I sat there in solitude repining,For the beauty dream night brought to me,Death has wed the little beauty, Belle Brandon,And she sleeps ’neath the old arbor tree.
Repeat.—Death has wed the little beauty, &c.
Lay up nearer, brother, nearer, for my limbs are growing cold,And thy presence seemeth dearer when thy arms around me foldI am dying, brother, dying, soon you’ll miss me in your berth,And my form will soon be lying ’neath the ocean’s briny surf.Hearken to me, brother, hearken, I have something I would say,Ere this vail my vision darken, and I go from hence away;I am going, surely going, but my hopes in God are strong,I am willing, brother, knowing that He doeth nothing wrong.Tell my father when you greet him, that in death I pray’d for him,Pray’d that I might one day meet him, in a world that’s free from sin;Tell my mother, God assist her, now that she is growing old,Tell, her son would glad have kiss’d her, when his lips grew pale and cold.Hearken to me—catch each whisper, ’tis my wife I speak of now.Tell, oh, tell her, how I miss’d her, when the fever burnt my brow:Hearken to me, closely listen, don’t forget a single word,That in death my eyes did glisten when the tears her memory stirr’d.Tell her then to kiss my children, like the kiss I last impress’d,Hold them fast as last I held them, fold’d closely to my breast;Give them early to their Maker, putting all their trust in God,And He will never forsake her—He has said so in His word.O my childern, Heaven bless them! they were all my life to me;Would I could once more caress them, ere I sink beneath the sea;’Twas for them I cross’d the ocean—what my hopes were I’ll not tell,But they have gain’d an orphan’s portion—yet He doeth all things well.Tell my sisters I remember every kindly parting word,And my heart has been kept tender by the thoughts their memory stirr’d;Tell them I never reach’d the haven where I sought the precious dust,But I’ve gain’d a port call’d heaven, where the gold doth never rust.Urge them to secure an entrance, for they will find their brother there,Faith in Jesus and repentance will secure for them a share;Hark! I hear my Saviour calling--’tis I know his voice so well,When I’m gone, oh, don’t be weeping, brother, hear my last farewell!
Lay up nearer, brother, nearer, for my limbs are growing cold,And thy presence seemeth dearer when thy arms around me foldI am dying, brother, dying, soon you’ll miss me in your berth,And my form will soon be lying ’neath the ocean’s briny surf.
Hearken to me, brother, hearken, I have something I would say,Ere this vail my vision darken, and I go from hence away;I am going, surely going, but my hopes in God are strong,I am willing, brother, knowing that He doeth nothing wrong.
Tell my father when you greet him, that in death I pray’d for him,Pray’d that I might one day meet him, in a world that’s free from sin;Tell my mother, God assist her, now that she is growing old,Tell, her son would glad have kiss’d her, when his lips grew pale and cold.
Hearken to me—catch each whisper, ’tis my wife I speak of now.Tell, oh, tell her, how I miss’d her, when the fever burnt my brow:Hearken to me, closely listen, don’t forget a single word,That in death my eyes did glisten when the tears her memory stirr’d.
Tell her then to kiss my children, like the kiss I last impress’d,Hold them fast as last I held them, fold’d closely to my breast;Give them early to their Maker, putting all their trust in God,And He will never forsake her—He has said so in His word.
O my childern, Heaven bless them! they were all my life to me;Would I could once more caress them, ere I sink beneath the sea;’Twas for them I cross’d the ocean—what my hopes were I’ll not tell,But they have gain’d an orphan’s portion—yet He doeth all things well.
Tell my sisters I remember every kindly parting word,And my heart has been kept tender by the thoughts their memory stirr’d;Tell them I never reach’d the haven where I sought the precious dust,But I’ve gain’d a port call’d heaven, where the gold doth never rust.
Urge them to secure an entrance, for they will find their brother there,Faith in Jesus and repentance will secure for them a share;Hark! I hear my Saviour calling--’tis I know his voice so well,When I’m gone, oh, don’t be weeping, brother, hear my last farewell!
I want to go home,For never a place did I see,Wherever I roam, far away and alone,So dear as my own Tennessee.But now I am far away,To my home I must go soon,I want to go back to hunt for the deer track,And watch for the possum and coon.CHORUS.I want to go home,For never a place did I see,Wherever I roam far away and alone,So dear as my own Tennessee.I want to go whereThe sugar cane’s growing so green,For many a day have I wandered away,To watch the old mill by the stream.And when the night had come,And the darkey’s work was done,We’ve gathered around, for a dance on the greenBy the sound of the old Tamborine.But now I am far away,And lonely and sad is my lot,I never can rest till my journey is past,And I again seek my old cot.From my childhood’s happy home,I never more will roam.I will take by my side, my young Tennessee brideAnd live ever happy at home.
I want to go home,For never a place did I see,Wherever I roam, far away and alone,So dear as my own Tennessee.But now I am far away,To my home I must go soon,I want to go back to hunt for the deer track,And watch for the possum and coon.
CHORUS.
I want to go home,For never a place did I see,Wherever I roam far away and alone,So dear as my own Tennessee.
I want to go whereThe sugar cane’s growing so green,For many a day have I wandered away,To watch the old mill by the stream.And when the night had come,And the darkey’s work was done,We’ve gathered around, for a dance on the greenBy the sound of the old Tamborine.
But now I am far away,And lonely and sad is my lot,I never can rest till my journey is past,And I again seek my old cot.From my childhood’s happy home,I never more will roam.I will take by my side, my young Tennessee brideAnd live ever happy at home.
It’s oh! my dearest Polly, you and I must part,I am going across the seas, love, I give to you my heart,My ship she lies in waiting, so fare thee well, my dear,I am just a going on board of the Bold Privateer.But oh, my dearest Johnny, great dangers have been cross’d,And many a sweet life by the seas has been lost;You had better stop at home with the girl that loves you dear,Than to venture your life on the Bold Privateer.When the wars are over, may heaven spare my life,Then soon I will come back to my sweet, loving wife.Then soon I will get married to charming Polly dear,And forever bid adieu to the Bold Privateer.Oh! my dearest Polly, your friends do me dislike,Besides you have two brothers who’d quickly take my life.Come, change your ring with me, my dear, come change your ring with me,And that shall be our token when I am on the sea.
It’s oh! my dearest Polly, you and I must part,I am going across the seas, love, I give to you my heart,My ship she lies in waiting, so fare thee well, my dear,I am just a going on board of the Bold Privateer.
But oh, my dearest Johnny, great dangers have been cross’d,And many a sweet life by the seas has been lost;You had better stop at home with the girl that loves you dear,Than to venture your life on the Bold Privateer.
When the wars are over, may heaven spare my life,Then soon I will come back to my sweet, loving wife.Then soon I will get married to charming Polly dear,And forever bid adieu to the Bold Privateer.
Oh! my dearest Polly, your friends do me dislike,Besides you have two brothers who’d quickly take my life.Come, change your ring with me, my dear, come change your ring with me,And that shall be our token when I am on the sea.
In a peaceful little valley,Where the violets grow,There I used to wander daily,Watching at the brooklet’s flow;Not a spot I loved so dearlyAs this fragrant vale,And I never shall forget it,Lovely little Heather Dale!Chorus.—Oh, how I always loved to,With my sister Nell,Roam in days of youthful pleasureIn that little Heather Dale.There I’ve heard the little songstersSing their songs of glee,Skipping from the waving tree-tops,’Twas a lovely sight to me;Fragrance from the little flowersFill’d each gentle gale,As they in their course came playingThrough the little Heather Dale.Chorus.—Oh, how I always loved to, &c.Now those childhood’s days have fleeted,And no more I’ll roam,In that quiet little valleyNear my old sequester’d home;But I always shall rememberWhere I used to trail,Through that lone and silent valley,My own little Heather Dale.Chorus.—Oh, how I always loved to &c.
In a peaceful little valley,Where the violets grow,There I used to wander daily,Watching at the brooklet’s flow;Not a spot I loved so dearlyAs this fragrant vale,And I never shall forget it,Lovely little Heather Dale!
Chorus.—Oh, how I always loved to,With my sister Nell,Roam in days of youthful pleasureIn that little Heather Dale.
There I’ve heard the little songstersSing their songs of glee,Skipping from the waving tree-tops,’Twas a lovely sight to me;Fragrance from the little flowersFill’d each gentle gale,As they in their course came playingThrough the little Heather Dale.
Chorus.—Oh, how I always loved to, &c.
Now those childhood’s days have fleeted,And no more I’ll roam,In that quiet little valleyNear my old sequester’d home;But I always shall rememberWhere I used to trail,Through that lone and silent valley,My own little Heather Dale.
Chorus.—Oh, how I always loved to &c.
Ye sons of Freedom, awake to glory!Hark! hark! what myriads bid you rise?Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary,Behold their tears and hear their cries.Shall hateful tyrants, mischiefs breeding,With hireling hosts, a ruffian band,Affright and desolate the land,While peace and liberty lie bleeding?To arms! to arms! ye brave!The avenging sword unsheath:March on! march on! all hearts resolvedOn victory or death.Now, now, the dangerous storm is rolling,Which treacherous kings confederate raise;The dogs of war, let loose, are howling,And lo! our fields and cities blaze;And shall we basely view the ruin,While lawless force, with guilty stride,Spreads desolation far and wide,With crimes and blood his hands embruing?To arms! to arms! ye brave, &c.With luxury and pride surrounded,The vile, insatiate despots dare,(Their thirst of power and gold unbounded),To mete and vend the light and air.Like beasts of burden would they load us,Like gods would bid their slaves adoreBut man is man, and who is more?Then shall they longer lash and goad us?To arms! to arms! ye brave, &c.O Liberty! can man resign thee,Once having felt thy generous flame?Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee?Or whips thy noble spirit tame?Too long the world has wept, bewailingThat falsehood’s dagger tyrants wield,But freedom is our sword and shield,And all their arts are unavailing.To arms! to arms! ye brave, &c.
Ye sons of Freedom, awake to glory!Hark! hark! what myriads bid you rise?Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary,Behold their tears and hear their cries.Shall hateful tyrants, mischiefs breeding,With hireling hosts, a ruffian band,Affright and desolate the land,While peace and liberty lie bleeding?To arms! to arms! ye brave!The avenging sword unsheath:March on! march on! all hearts resolvedOn victory or death.
Now, now, the dangerous storm is rolling,Which treacherous kings confederate raise;The dogs of war, let loose, are howling,And lo! our fields and cities blaze;And shall we basely view the ruin,While lawless force, with guilty stride,Spreads desolation far and wide,With crimes and blood his hands embruing?To arms! to arms! ye brave, &c.
With luxury and pride surrounded,The vile, insatiate despots dare,(Their thirst of power and gold unbounded),To mete and vend the light and air.Like beasts of burden would they load us,Like gods would bid their slaves adoreBut man is man, and who is more?Then shall they longer lash and goad us?To arms! to arms! ye brave, &c.
O Liberty! can man resign thee,Once having felt thy generous flame?Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee?Or whips thy noble spirit tame?Too long the world has wept, bewailingThat falsehood’s dagger tyrants wield,But freedom is our sword and shield,And all their arts are unavailing.To arms! to arms! ye brave, &c.
Twinkling stars are laughing, love,Laughing on you and me,While your bright eyes look in mine,Peeping stars they seem to be;Troubles come and go, love,Brightest scenes must leave our sight,But the star of hope, love,Shines with radiant beams to-night.CHORUS.Twinkling stars are laughing, love,Laughing on you and me,While your bright eyes look in mine,Peeping stars they seem to be.Golden beams are shining, love,Shining on you to bless,Like the queen of night, you fillDarkest space with loveliness.Silver stars how bright, love,Mother moon in thronely might,Gaze on us to bless, love,Purest vows here made to-night.Chorus.—Twinkling stars, &c.
Twinkling stars are laughing, love,Laughing on you and me,While your bright eyes look in mine,Peeping stars they seem to be;Troubles come and go, love,Brightest scenes must leave our sight,But the star of hope, love,Shines with radiant beams to-night.
CHORUS.
Twinkling stars are laughing, love,Laughing on you and me,While your bright eyes look in mine,Peeping stars they seem to be.
Golden beams are shining, love,Shining on you to bless,Like the queen of night, you fillDarkest space with loveliness.Silver stars how bright, love,Mother moon in thronely might,Gaze on us to bless, love,Purest vows here made to-night.
Chorus.—Twinkling stars, &c.
One summer eve, with pensive thought,I wandered on the sea-beat shore,Where oft, in heedless infant sport,I gathered shells in days before.I gathered shells, &c.The plashing waves, like music fell,Responsive to my fancy wild,A dream came o’er me like a spell,I thought I was again a child.A dream came o’er me like a spell,A dream came o’er me like a spell,I thought I was again a child.I stooped upon the pebbly strand,To cull the toys that ’round me lay,But as I took them in my hand,I threw them one by one away.I threw them, &c.“Oh, thus,” I said, “in every stage,By toys our fancy is beguiled,We gather shells from youth to age,And then we leave them like a child.”We gathere shells, &c.
One summer eve, with pensive thought,I wandered on the sea-beat shore,Where oft, in heedless infant sport,I gathered shells in days before.I gathered shells, &c.
The plashing waves, like music fell,Responsive to my fancy wild,A dream came o’er me like a spell,I thought I was again a child.A dream came o’er me like a spell,A dream came o’er me like a spell,I thought I was again a child.
I stooped upon the pebbly strand,To cull the toys that ’round me lay,But as I took them in my hand,I threw them one by one away.I threw them, &c.
“Oh, thus,” I said, “in every stage,By toys our fancy is beguiled,We gather shells from youth to age,And then we leave them like a child.”We gathere shells, &c.
Copied by permission ofFirth, Pond & Co., 547 Broadway, owners of the copyright.
The morn of life is past, and evening comes at last,It brings me a dream of a once happy day,Of many forms I’ve seen, upon the village green,Sporting with my old Dog Tray.Chorus.Old Dog Tray’s ever faithful,Grief can not drive him awayHe’s gentle, he is kind, I’ll never, never find,A better friend than old Dog Tray,The forms I call’d my own, have vanish’d one by one,The loved ones, the dear ones, have all pass’d away;Their happy smiles have flown, their gentle voices gone,I have nothing left but old Dog Tray.Old Dog Tray’s ever faithful,Grief can never drive him away,He’s gentle, he is kind; I’ll never, never find,A better friend than old Dog Tray.When thoughts recall the past, his eyes are on me cast,I know that he feels what my breaking heart would say,Although he can not speak, I’ll vainly, vainly seek,A better friend than old Dog Tray.Old Dog Tray’s ever faithful,Grief can not drive him away,He’s gentle, he is kind; I’ll never, never find.A better friend than old Dog Tray.
The morn of life is past, and evening comes at last,It brings me a dream of a once happy day,Of many forms I’ve seen, upon the village green,Sporting with my old Dog Tray.
Chorus.
Old Dog Tray’s ever faithful,Grief can not drive him awayHe’s gentle, he is kind, I’ll never, never find,A better friend than old Dog Tray,
The forms I call’d my own, have vanish’d one by one,The loved ones, the dear ones, have all pass’d away;Their happy smiles have flown, their gentle voices gone,I have nothing left but old Dog Tray.
Old Dog Tray’s ever faithful,Grief can never drive him away,He’s gentle, he is kind; I’ll never, never find,A better friend than old Dog Tray.
When thoughts recall the past, his eyes are on me cast,I know that he feels what my breaking heart would say,Although he can not speak, I’ll vainly, vainly seek,A better friend than old Dog Tray.
Old Dog Tray’s ever faithful,Grief can not drive him away,He’s gentle, he is kind; I’ll never, never find.A better friend than old Dog Tray.