Then come along, come along, make no delay,
Come sign the temperance pledge, sign it right away,
For if you do but keep it, you need not fear alarm
But you will soon be rich enough to buy a handsome farm.
The temperance cause is spreading o’er this our native land,
And Alchy with his subjects know not where to make a stand.
His army is decreasing, and soon there’ll be but few,
Who to oppose the temperance cause on Alchy’s smiles get blue.
The drunkard is so foolish that he will money waste,
On liquor, when there’s water more pleasant to the taste;
The water is much cheaper, and much more healthy too,
And never makes a man a fool--which liquors often do.
It never yet caused people to quarrel and to fight,
Or come home intoxicated at twelve o’clock at night.
Cold water never caused man in the gutter to be found,
And never, as I know of, to feel upward for the ground.
Now if you only hasten our pledge to come and sign,
To leave off drinking brandy, rum, cider, gin, and wine,
You can not help but prosper in your business through life,
Provided you have with you a nice teetotal wife.
35
Would I were a Boy again.
Oh, would I were a boy again,
When life seem’d form’d of sunny years,
And all the heart then knew of pain
Was swept away in transient tears,
Was swept away in transient tears.
When ev’ry dream hope whisper’d then,
My fancy deem’d was only truth;
Oh, would that I could know again,
The happy visions of my youth.
Oh, would I were a boy again, &c.
’Tis vain to mourn that years have shown
How false these fairy visions were,
Or murmur that mine eyes have known
The burden of a fleeting tear;
But still the heart will fondly cling
To hopes no longer prized as truth,
And memory still delights to bring
The happy visions of my youth.
Oh, would I were a boy again, &c.
Would I were a Girl again.
Oh, would I were a girl again,
With heart and spirit free,
To gayly rove the village plain,
Or singing o’er the lea.
Then can you wonder if I sigh
And sadly thus deplore,
To wish for days, alas! gone by,
And be a girl once more.
I gayly trod the mountain side,
Knew naught of care or gloom,
Its purple bells brought home with pride,
To deck my mother’s room,
Then can you wonder if I sigh, &c.
36
The Farmer’s Boy.
The sun had gone down behind yon hill,
And o’er yon dreary moor,
When, weary and lame, a boy there came
Up to a Farmer’s door,--
Saying, can you tell me, if any there be,
Can give to me employ,
For to plow, for to mow, for to reap, for to sow,
For to be a Farmer’s Boy.
My father is dead, my mother is left
With her five children small,
And what is worse, for mother still,
I’m the eldest of them all;
Though small I am, I fear no work,
If you will give me employ.
For to plow, &c.
One favor yet I ask, If you can not me employ,
That is to shelter me this one night
From the cold winter’s blast;
At the break of day, I will trudge away,
Elsewhere to seek employ,
For to plow, &c.
The farmer says, “We will try the lad,
No further let him seek.”
Oh, yes, dear father, his daughter cried,
While the tears rolled down her cheek;
For him that can labor it is hard to want,
Or elsewhere to seek employ
For to plow, &c.
At length of years this boy grew up,
This good old farmer died,
He left the boy the farm he had,
And his daughter for his bride.
The boy that was, is a farmer now,
And he oft times thinks with joy,
On the happy, happy day, he came that way,
For to be a Farmer’s Boy.
37
Song of the Farmer.
I have cattle that feed in the valley,
And herds that graze on the hill,
And I pride in the fruits of my labor,
For I’m lord of the land that I till,
I have plow’d the rough hill and the meadow
Till feeble with age and with toil,
And I know before long that another
Shall reap the new fruits of the soil.
For the son that hath toil’d for me ever,
And faithfully stood by my side,
Hath a hand that shall gather the harvest,
When his feeble old father hath died.
And the daughter so kind to her mother,
Shall share with him all I possess,
For I feel that they love me as father,
And welcome my tender caress.
There’s my faithful, my trusting companion,
My kind-hearted dear loving wife;
I have toil’d for her comfort with pleasure,
For such was the pride of my life.
And still in my manhood I love her,
For her kind and affectionate care,
And all that the earth can afford me,
With her I most willingly share.
38
They don’t wish Me at Home.
They don’t wish me at home, though they miss me,
’Twould be a great assurance, I fear,
To think for a moment some soft one
Would say, “I wish Toby were here.”
Although the poor tom-cat at the fireside
May think of poor me as I roam,
Oh yes, I’d be green beyond measure
To think they do wish me at home.
Dark nights were my joy for this reason:
Some orchard I’d visit alone;
Next morning some farmer would mention
My name with some fruit that was gone.
But now fruits are safe from all danger,
None’s miss’d since poor Toby’s away;
And the neighbors all wish I may never
Return from the place where I stay.
I forgot not my place at the table,
When “grub-time” was fast drawing nigh;
Then the “vittles” that lay all around me
Disappear’d in the wink of an eye.
Now, when my poor supper is over,
I spread myself out for a snore,
Oh! I dream of the fruits in the garden,
And think myself happy once more.
Oh! I wish I was home, though they quiz me
And jaw me from morning till night;
I’d finger the peach-trees around me--
The farmers should stare with affright.
Although they would give me no welcome,
I’d not be less bold than before;
Their fruit they shall miss by the bushel.
Because I am with them once more.
39
Broken-Hearted Tom, the Lover.
I’m lonesome since I cross’d the saes,
My mind is never aisy;
No mortal sowl can give relaif--
In troth, I’m getting crazy.
The burning tears roll down me chakes,
In faith, they nearly blind me;
I weep and sigh, both night and day,
For the Girl I left behind me.
The lovely lass I courted long,
She lives in Tipperary;
Her eyes were like the diamonds bright,
And they call’d her black-eyed Mary.
In summer’s night I took delight,
Her beauty so inclined me,
A thousand crowns I’d give to see
The Girl I left behind me.
In foreign lands compell’d to roam,
Yet often think of Mary:
The black-eyed lass that won my heart
That lives in Tipperary.
On distant shores I weep and sigh,
Without a friend to mind me;
Bad luck unto the ship that sail’d
And left the Girl behind me.
If e’er I land on Erin’s shore,
I’ll haste to Tipperary;
Within me arms I will embrace
Me lovely black-eyed Mary.
With her I’ll dwell while life shall last,
For she’d roam the world to find me,
From Mary I’ll not wander more,
The Girl I left behind me.
40
Terry O’Reilly.
Sure, Terry O’Reilly, I’ve waited, you know,
And sure you’re not coming like my own thrue beau;
I’ve look’d through the windy till each little pane,
Is near hid by my tears like a shower of rain.
Och! hone! Terry, come soon!
Or else I’ll get married some fine afternoon.
Sweet Terry O’Reilly, why keep me sighing?
If I tarry longer, of grief I’ll be dying;
Now, Terry, pray haste, and this heart give relief,
Or faith, my dear Terry, I’ll soon die with grief.
Och! hone! Terry, come soon,
Or else I’ll get married some fine afternoon.
Dear Terry O’Reilly, I ne’er was a flirt,
Still Terence is handsome, and he’ll gain my heart;
Sure some one I must have, whose kindness will prove,
He’s devoted to me, and faith him I’ll love.
Och! hone! Terry, come soon,
Or else I’ll get married some fine afternoon.
Now, Terry O’Reilly, I am tired of sighing,
I’m wearied to death, sure, with fretting and crying;
I’ll marry to spite you, ma cushla, and part,
With love for you, Terry, and so break my heart.
Och! hone! Terry, come soon,
Or else I’ll get married some fine afternoon.
41
Sparking Sunday Night.
Sitting in a corner, on a Sunday eve,
With a taper finger resting on your sleeve;
Starlight eyes are casting on your face their light;
Bless me, this is pleasant--sparking Sunday night!