All alone my watch I’m keeping,
In the Hazel Dell,
For my darling Nelly’s near me sleeping,
Nelly dear, farewell.
In the Hazel Dell my Nelly’s sleeping,
Where the flowers wave,
And the silent stars are nightly weeping,
O’er poor Nelly’s grave,
Hopes that once my bosom fondly cherished,
Smile no more for me,
Every dream of joy alas has perished,
Nelly dear, with thee.
All alone my watch, &c.
Now I’m weary, friendless and forsaken,
Watching here alone,
Nelly, thou no more will fondly cheer me,
With thy loving tone,
Yet forever shall thy gentle image,
In my memory dwell,
And my tears thy lonely grave shall moisten,
Nelly dear, farewell.
All alone my watch, &c.
53
Home, Sweet Home.
’Mid pleasures and palaces, though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home;
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,
Which, seek through the world, is ne’er met with elsewhere.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home,
There’s no place like home.
I gaze on the moon, as I trace the drear wild,
And feel that my parent now thinks of her child;
She looks on that moon from our own cottage door,
Through woodbines whose fragrance shall cheer me no more.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home,
There’s no place like home.
An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain,
Oh, give me my lowly, thatch’d cottage again;
The birds singing gayly, that came at my call,
Give me them, with the peace of mind, dearer than all.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home,
There’s no place like home.
My Boyhoods Home.
My boyhood’s home! I see thy hills--
I see thy valley’s changeful green,
And manhood’s eye a tear-drop fills,
Though years have roll’d since thee I’ve seen.
I come to thee from war’s dread school,
A warrior stern o’er thee to rule;
But while I gaze on each loved plain,
I feel I am a boy again.
To the war-steed adieu--to the trumpet farewell--
To the pomp of the palace--the proud, gilded dome;
For the green scenes of childhood, I bid ye farewell!
The soldier returns to his boyhood’s loved home.
My boyhood’s home, &c.
54
The Old Kirk-Yard.
Copied by permission of FIRTH, POND, & CO., 547 Broadway, publishers
of the music.
Oh, come with me to the old kirk-yard,
I well know the path through the soft, green sward;
Friends slumber there we were wont to regard,
We’ll trace out their names in the old kirk-yard.
Oh, mourn not for them, their grief is o’er,
Oh, weep not for them, they weep no more.
For deep is their sleep, though cold and hard,
Their pillow may be in the old kirk-yard.
I know it is vain when friends depart,
To breathe kind words to a broken heart;
I know that the joy of life seems marr’d;
When we follow them home to the old kirk-yard.
But were I at rest beneath yon tree,
Why should’st thou weep, dear love, for me?
I’m way-worn and sad, ah, why then retard,
The rest that I seek in the old kirk-yard?
55
I am a Freeman.
I am a freeman! ’Tis my boast and my pride,
The blue sky is o’er me, the dark soil beneath,
And spreading around is the wilderness wide;
My bath is the lake, my couch is the heath,
My rod and my rifle my larder provide--
I am a freeman! ’Tis my boast and my pride,
I am a freeman! _True_ freedom is mine;
I slay when I choose, yet spare when I will;
For my food use the bullet, or cast out the line,
But never, like fools, from wantonness kill.
My “roof-tree” is lofty, my dining-hall wide--
I am a freeman! ’Tis my boast and my pride.
The eagle above me soars lofty and free,
He knows that I’ll speed no bullet at him--
He is game for a tyrant, but _never_ for me,
While he sits on his nest on that old pine limb.
A life in the woods some men may deride,
But _freedom_ is there, my boast and my pride.
I roam through the wild wood o’er skim or the lake,
My wreaths are of laurel, my plumes never fade;
I sleep when the night falls, with the dawn am awake,
To hunt the red deer while they feed in the glade.
I’m joyous and free as a bird of the air,--
A son of the forest, a stranger to care.
56
Ship A-Hoy!
Copied by permission of FIRTH, POND & CO., 547 Broadway, publishers
of the music.
When o’er the silent seas alone,
For days and nights we’ve cheerless gone,
Oh! they who’ve felt it, know how sweet,
Some sunny morn a sail to meet,
Some sunny morn a sail to meet!
Sparkling on deck is every eye;
“Ship a-hoy! ship a-hoy!” our joyful cry.
When answering back we faintly hear,
“Ship a-hoy! what cheer! what cheer!’”
Now sails aback we nearer come,
Kind words are said of friends at home;
But soon, too soon, we part in pain,
To sail o’er silent seas again,
To sail o’er silent seas again.
When o’er the ocean’s dreary plain,
With toil her destined port to gain,
Our gallant ship has near’d the strand,
We claim our own, our native land,
We claim our own, our native land;
Sweet is the seaman’s joyous shout,
“Land ahead! land ahead! look out! look out!”
Around on deck we gayly fly,
“Land ahead! land ahead!” with joy we cry;
Yon beacon light directs our way,
While grateful vows to Heaven we pay,
And soon our long-lost joys renew,
And bid the boisterous main adieu,
And bid the boisterous main adieu.
57
Song of Blanche Alpen.
Copied by permission of FIRTH, POND, & CO., 547 Broadway, N. Y.,
publishers of the music.
You speak of sunny skies to me--
Of orange grove and bower--
Of winds that wake soft melody
From leaf and blooming flower;
And you may prize those far-off skies,
But tempt not me to roam;
In sweet content my days are spent,
Then wherefore leave my home?
In sweet content my days are spent,
Then wherefore leave my home?
You tell me oft of rivers bright,
Where golden galleys float;
But have you seen our lakes by night,
Or sail’d in Alpine boat?
You speak of lands where hearts and hands
Will greet me as I come,
But though I find true hearts and kind,
They’re kinder still at home.
But though I find true hearts and kind,
They’re kinder still at home.
Had you been rear’d by Alpine hills,
Or lived in Alpine dells,
You’d prize, like me, our mountain rills,
Nor fear the torrent swells;
It matters not how drear the spot
How proud or poor the dome,
Love still retains some deathless chains,
That binds the heart to home.
Love still retains some deathless chains,
That binds the heart to home.
58
By the Sad Sea-Waves.
Copied by permission of FIRTH, POND & CO., 547 Broadway, publishers
of the music.
By the sad sea-waves
I listen, while they moan
A lament o’er graves
Of hope and pleasure gone.
I am young, I was fair,
I had once not a care
From the rising of the morn
To the setting of the sun.
Yet I pine like a slave,
By the sad sea-wave.
Come again bright days
Of hope and pleasure gone;
Come again, bright days,
Come again, come again.
From my care last night,
By holy sleep beguiled,
In the fair dream-light
My home upon me smiled.
Oh, how sweet ’mid the dew,
Every flower that I knew
Breathed a gentle welcome back
To the worn and weary child!
I wake in my grave
By the sad sea-wave;
Come again, dear dream,
So peacefully that smiled,
Come again, dear dream,
Come again, come again.
59
Daylight is on the Sea.
Copied by permission of FIRTH, POND & CO., 547 Broadway, N. Y.,
publishers of the music.
Daylight is on the sea!
Love, do not stay;
Land is no place for me,
I must away!
My bark is on the waves,
My boat ashore;
The surge its broadside laves,
While sleeps each oar.