Then kiss but never tell,
Breathing breaks the spell,
True lovers pledged to keep forever,
Kiss, but never tell!
22
Ain’t I Glad to Get Out of the Wilderness.
Music-- Tum, Tum, Tum, Tum.
Chorus.-- Ahaa--Ahaa--Ahaa--Ahaa.
Solo-- Way down south in Beaver Creek,
In Beaver Creek, in Beaver Creek,
De niggers-dey grow about ten feet,
Way down in Alabam.
Chorus.-- Oh, ain’t I glad we got out of the wilderness
Out of the wilderness,
Oh, ain’t we glad we got out of the wilderness
And left old Alabam.
[Symphony with dance as above.]
Solo-- Dey wet the ground wid bacca smoke,
Wid bacca smoke, wid bacca smoke,
When out of de ground dar heads do poke.
Way down in Alabam,
Dance & Chorus--Oh, ain’t I glad, etc.
Solo-- My wife’s dead, an I’ll get anuder one,
I’ll get anuder one, I’ll get anuder one,
My wife’s dead, and I’ll get anuder one,
Way down in Alabam.
Dance & Chorus--Oh, ain’t I glad, etc.
Solo-- I met a cat-fish in the ribber.
In the ribber, in the ribber,
I golly, it made dis nigger shiver
Way down in Alabam.
Dance & Chorus--Oh, ain’t I glad, etc.
Solo-- I steer’d right straight for de critter’s snout
De critter’s snout, de critter’s snout,
Turned de cat-fish inside out,
Way down in Alabam.
Dance & Chorus--Oh, ain’t I glad, etc.
Solo-- Oh, here we go now altogether,
All together, all together,
Nebber mind de wind or wedder,
Way down in Alabam,
Dance & Chorus--Oh, ain’t I glad.
23
Jolly Jack the Rover.
Here I am one, and still will be,
Who spend their days in pleasure,
The tailor’s bill is seldom fill’d,
For he’s never took my measure.
_Chorus._--It must be while I do live,
And I must not give over,
Until old age doth me engage,
From being a jolly rover.
It’s on my vamps, I take my tramps,
My shoes being in a bad order,
My stockings down into the groun,
For I seldom wears a garter.
It must be, &c.
If I would dress up in fine clothes,
The ladies would adore me,
The fops of beaux that wear fine clothes,
They think to go before me,
It must be, &c.
It’s I can play at cards and dice,
Let me be drunk or sober,
Win or lose, I’ll have my dues,
For I’m Jolly Jack the Rover.
It must be, &c.
Three tons of wool through a comb I pul
All in the neatest order,
As white as milk and soft as silk,
To please the farmer’s daughter.
It must be, &c.
When my work’s done and finish’d off,
I’ll take it to the owner,
I have no doubt that she’s found out,
That I’m Jolly Jack the Rover.
It must be, &c,
When I am old, if I have gold,
I’ll set down by my table,
With you my dear, I’ll toast good beer
And drink while I am able.
It must be, &c.
When I am dead, and in my grave,
It’s then I must give over,
Let each jolly lass fill a parting glass,
And drink a health to Jack the Rover.
It must be, &c.
24
Somebody’s Courting Somebody.
Copied by permission of FIRTH, POND, & CO., 547 Broadway, owners
of the copyright.
Somebody’s courting somebody
Somewhere or other to-night;
Somebody’s whispering to somebody,
Under the clear moonlight,
Near the bright river’s flow,
Running so still and slow;
Talking so soft and low,
She sits with somebody.
Somebody’s courting somebody
Somewhere or other to-night;
Somebody’s listening to somebody
Under the clear moonlight,
Under the clear moonlight.
Pacing the ocean shore,
Edged by the foaming roar,
Words never breathed before,
Sound sweet to somebody;
Under the maple-tree,
Deep though the shadow be,
Plain enough they can see,
Bright eyes has somebody.
Somebody’s courting somebody
Somewhere or other to-night;
Somebody’s listening to somebody
Under the clear moonlight,
Under the clear moonlight.
No one sits up to wait,
Though she is out so late,
All know she’s at the gate
Talking with somebody;
Two sitting side by side,
Float with the ebbing tide,
“Thus, dearest, may we glide
Through life,” says somebody.
Somebody’s courting somebody
Somewhere or other to-night;
Somebody’s listening to somebody
Under the clear moonlight,
Under the clear moonlight.
25
The Little Low Room where I Courted my Wife.
Copied by permission of FIRTH, POND & CO., 547 Broadway, publisher
of the music.
My brow is seam’d o’er with the iron of years,
And the snow threads are gleaming the furrows among,
My eyes have grown dim in the shadow of tears,
Where the flowers of my soul have died as they sprung,
But memory bears to me on its broad wings
Bright images true of my earliest life,
And there, ’mid the fairest of all that is seen,
Is the little low room where I courted my wife,
Is the little low room where I courted my wife.
That low, humble room seem’d a palace of light,
As love held his torch, and illumined the scene,
With glory of state and profusion bedight,
Where I was a monarch, my darling a queen;
Ourselves were our subjects, pledged loyal were each,
And which should love best was our heartiest strife;
What tales could it tell, if possessing a speech,
That little low room where I courted my wife,
That little low room where I courted my wife.
Warm vows has it heard, the warmest e’er spoke,
Where lips have met lips in holy embrace,
Where feelings that never to utterance woke,
It saw oft reveal’d in a duplicate face;
The sweet hours hasten’d, how quickly they flew,
With fervent devotion and ecstasy rife!
Our hearts throbb’d the hours, but how I ne’er knew,
In the little low room where I courted my wife,
In the little low room where I courted my wife.
The romance of youth lent its rapturous zest,
And fairydom knew no delight like our own;
Our words were but few, but they were the best,
A dialect sweet for ourselves all alone.
So anxious to hear what the other might say,
We neither could utter a word for our life;
Thus the hours, in silence, pass’d quickly away
In the little low room where I courted my wife,
In the little low room where I courted my wife.
26
Long years have since pass’d o’er my darling and I,
The roses have vanish’d away from her cheek,
But the merciless moments, as onward they fly,
Leave love still undimm’d in her bosom so meek;
That love is the light to our faltering feet,
Our comfort in hours with sorrowing rife,
Our blessings in joy, as with joy ’twas replete,
In the little low room where I courted my wife,
In the little low room where I courted my wife.
Stand by the Flag.
Copied by permission of FIRTH, POND & CO., 547 Broadway, owners
of the copyright.
Stand by the flag, its folds have stream’d in glory,
To foes a fear, to friends a festal robe,
And spread in rythmic lines the sacred story,
Of freedom’s triumphs over all the globe;
Stand by the flag on land and ocean billow;
By it your fathers stood unmoved and true;
Living defended; dying, from their pillow,
With their last blessing, pass’d it on to you.
Stand by the flag, though death-shots round it rattle;
And underneath its waving folds have met,
In all the dread array of sanguine battle,
The quivering lance and glittering bayonet,
Stand by the flag, all doubt and treason scorning,
Believe with courage firm and faith sublime
That it will float until the eternal morning
Pales in its glories all the lights of time.
27
Gal from the South.
My Massa had a color’d gal--
He brought her from the South,
Her hair it curl’d so very tight,
She could not shut her mouth,
Her eyes they were so very small,
They both ran into one,
And when a fly lit in her eye,
’Twas like a June-bug in the sun.