Edwin Waugh: Poems and Songs II.  (1)

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The Lost Shepherd.

I.


ON the wild top of Pendle
    The clouds gather grim;
To the shepherd of Pendle
    The pathway grows dim:
The sleet blinds his sight
As he peers for the light
That still glimmers bright
    In the valley for him.


II.


O'er the wild ridge of Pendle
    The wintry winds sweep;
On the lone waste of Pendle
    The snowfall is deep:
Near the bleak mountain's crest,
Where the wildest drifts rest,
With the snow on his breast,
    The wanderer's asleep.


III.


His mate trims her light
    For the shepherd in vain,
As she listens all night
    To the stormy refrain:
Long, long she may mourn;
In vain the lamps burn
To guide his return
    To his loved ones again.


IV.


She may gaze down the path
    Till sight fades away;
She may wait for his feet
    Till hair has grown grey:
She may sigh, she may moan;
She may dream, she may groan;
She may weep all alone,
    To her last dying day.


V.


No friends bore the bier
    To his lone wintry bed;
No kind hand was near
    To pillow his head:
Wild hawks o'er him wing;
White snows round him cling;
And stormy winds sing
    The dirge of the dead.

 

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The Moorland Breeze.

I.


OF all the blithesome melody
    That wakes the warm heart's thrill,
Give me the wind that whistles free
    Across the moorland hill;
When every blade upon the lea
    Is dancing with delight,
And every bush and flower and tree
    Is singing in its flight.


II.


When summer comes I'll wear a plume,
    With flowers of shining gold;
And it shall be the bonny broom,
    That loves the moorland wold;
And it shall wave its petals bright
    Above my cap so free,
And kiss the wild wind in its flight
    Across the lonely lea.


III.


Blithe harper of the moorland hills,
    The desert sings to thee;
The lonely heath with music thrills
    Beneath thy touch so free:
With trembling glee its wilding strings
    Melodious revels keep,
As o'er the waste on viewless wings,
    Thy fairy fingers sweep.


IV.


In yonder valley, richly green,
    I see bright rivers run;
They wind in beauty through the scene
    And shimmer in the sun;
And they may sing and they may shine
    Down to the heaving sea;
The bonny moorland hills are mine,
    Where the wild breeze whistles free!


V.


Oh lay me down in moorland ground,
    And make it my last bed,
With the heathery wilderness around,
    And the bonny lark o'erhead:
Let fern and ling around me cling,
    And green moss o'er me creep;
And the sweet wild mountain breezes
        sing
    Above my slumbers deep.

 

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The Kindly Hearth.

AIR—'Fill the bumper fair.'

I.


OF all the joys on earth,
    The sweetest yet I've found it
Upon the kindly hearth,
    With loving hearts around it;
Where Mally sits at ease,
    And, singing, plies her knitter,
While children round my knees
    Delight me with their twitter.

Chorus— Of all the joys on earth,
                     The sweetest yet I've found it
                 Upon the kindly hearth,
                     With loving hearts around it.


II.


Give me a cosy chair
    Beside the glowing ingle,
When kindly hearts are there,
    In simple bliss to mingle;
And there, though gloomy skies
    Above my roof are scowling,
I'll bask in sunny eyes,
    While wintry winds are howling.

Chorus— Of all the joys on earth,
                     The sweetest yet I've found it
                 Upon the kindly hearth,
                     With loving hearts around it.


III.


Oh dearer far to me
    Than prison'd lark or linnet,
The home that rings with glee
    From happy creatures in it;
The little realm divine,
    With rosebuds ever clinging,
Where heart-warm sunbeams shine,
    And birds of love are singing.

Chorus— Of all the joys on earth,
                     The sweetest yet I've found it
                 Upon the kindly hearth,
                     With loving hearts around it.


IV.


Oh happy is the wight,
    Beyond the cold world's knowing,
With nature true and bright
    Within his bosom glowing;
Howe'er the seasons run,
    Or fickle fortune flout him,
His kind heart, like the sun,
    Still warms the world about him.

Chorus— Of all the joys on earth,
                     The sweetest yet I've found it
                 Upon the kindly hearth,
                     With loving hearts around it.


V.


Some may pine for fame,
    Some for piles of treasure;
Some may chase the flame
    That leads to painful pleasure
Though lowly be my share,
    My pouches scant of money,
I love the fireside fair
    Where all is sweet and sunny.

Chorus— Of all the joys on earth,
                     The sweetest yet I've found it
                 Upon the kindly hearth,
                     With loving hearts around it!

 

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These Bonny Bits o' Childer.

AIR—“Has sorrow thy young days shaded?

I.


NEVER tell me that childer are tiresome;
    They're th' best little craiters alive;
An' i'th' beautiful country aboon us
    They're throng as a humma-bee hive:
The sunlight of heaven beams round them,
    An' seldom a mortal can meet,
In this changeable world that we're born to,
    With aught so unsullied an' sweet!

Chorus—Never tell me that childer are tiresome,
               
    They're th' best little craiters alive!
                And, i'th' beautiful country aboon us,
                    They're throng as a humma-bee hive.


II.


Wi' their prattlin' talk an' their marlocks
    They keepen a body's heart green;
An' i'th' gloomiest hour o' life's winter
    I can sun me i'th' leet o' their e'en:
Wi' th' sound o' their sweet chicken-music
    They maken my little cote ring,
Like a cagefull o' twitterin' angels
    That's sent down from heaven to sing!

Chorus—Never tell me that childer are tiresome,
               
    They're th' best little craiters alive!
                An' i'th' beautiful country aboon us
                    They're throng as a humma-bee hive.


III.


An' when I grow weary wi' thinkin',
    An' everything round me seems dark,
They keepen my spirits fro' sinkin',
    An' senden me back to my wark:
For I feel that there's something to live for,
    Though everything else should depart;
An' there's nought in the wide world so precious
    As treasures that sweeten the heart!

Chorus—Never tell me that childer are tiresome,
   
                They're the best little craiters alive!
                An' i'th' beautiful country aboon us,
                    They are throng as a humma-bee hive.


IV.


An' when eventide deepens around us,
    An' I get 'em laid snugly to rest,
I sometimes creep up again softly,
    To look at 'em lyin' i'th' nest:
An' then the quiet tears come down dreepin';
    As I sit by the bedside alone;
For the face of a little child sleepin'
    Would soften the heart of a stone.

Chorus—Then never say childer are tiresome;
              
     They're th' best little craiters alive,
                An' i'th' beautiful country aboon us
                    They're throng as a humma-bee hive:


V.


Oh, the sunshine of heaven enfolds them,
    An' seldom a mortal can meet
In this changeable world that we're born to,
    With aught so unsullied an' sweet!

 

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Good Night!


THE sun has dipped his golden rim
    Beyond the western sea;
The soft winds sings its evening hymn
    Unto the drowsy lea;
The wild waves' surging murmurs creep
    Along the lonely sand;
The kiss of twilight lulls to sleep
    The eyelids of the land.
            Good night, my love, good night!

Mysterious whispers, soft and low,
    Steal through the rustling leaves;
The dusky bat flits to and fro
    About the fading eves;
Yet daylight waits, to see thee close
    Those eyes divinely bright;
For, whilst they shine, full well she knows
    It cannot yet be night.
            Good night, my love, good night!

 

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When the Sun Goes Down.

I.


When life's glad day is gone,
    And the sun goes down
When we muse all alone
    As the sun goes down;
Oh, the heart is not so light,
    When the day is taking flight,
And we feel the coming night,
    As the sun goes down.


II.


Oh, the flowers fall asleep
    When the sun goes down;
And the silence is deep,
    When the sun goes down;
But the skies of night grow fine,
    And the stars begin to shine,
With a radiance divine,
    When the sun goes down.


III.


Oh, the curfew bell's tolled,
    When the sun goes down;
And the sheep seek the fold,
    When the sun goes down;
And the churchyard tower grey
    Calls life's children home from play,
At the closing of the day,
    When the sun goes down.


IV.


Ere the lark sinks to rest,
    When the sun goes down,
In his grass-shaded nest,
    When the sun goes down;
While the world begins to dream,
    Then his evening carols stream
From the gathering starlight's gleam,
    When the sun goes down.


V.


So, remote from the throng,
    When the sun goes down,
Life's quiet shades among,
    When the sun goes down;
In the twilight's deepening grey,
    At the waning of the day,
Let me sing my little lay,
    As the sun goes down.

 

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Oh, my Clothing's Thin.

I.


OH, my clothing's thin, and the wind is cold;
I'm a way-worn wanderer, I'm poor and old;
And with trembling limbs, and with failing sight,
I trail through the city from morn till night.


II.


Oh, I once had a home and a kind, good man,
And four brave sons, but they're dead and gone;
But now I'm worn to the bare, bare bone;
And I'm left to wander in the world alone.


III.


Oh, the road it is dreary without a friend,
And I'm waiting weary for the coming end;
And I'm thankful the close of the journey's nigh;
For the poor and forlorn are content to die.


IV.


As I painfully crawl through the heedless crowd,
Many pass me by that are hard and proud;
But the Queen of Heaven, with a holy ray,
Touches some kind hearts on my lonely way.


V.


Oh, I sadly dream on the crowded street,
For I'm seeking for those I shall never meet;
And I listening lie, in the sleepless night,
For the voices that once were my heart's delight.


VI.


Oh, the wide, wide world! it is lone and cold,
When our darlings are laid in the silent mould,
And the poor old wand'rer may pine for rest,
But the great, good God knows His own time best.


VII.


And when I feel that I'm going to die,
I'll creep to the place where my own folks lie;
And I humbly hope to the Heavens above
That they'll lay me down with the friends I love.

 

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To the River Roach.


THE quiet Roch comes dancing down
    From breezy moorland hills;
It wanders through my native town,
    With its bonny tribute rills.

Oh, gentle Roch, my native stream!
    Oft, when a careless boy,
I've prattled to thee, in a dream,
    As thou went singing by.

Oft, on thy breast, my tiny barge
    I've sailed, in thoughtless glee;
And roved in joy thy posied marge,
    That first grew green to me.

I've paddled in thy waters clear,
    In childhood's happy days;
Change as thou wilt, to me thou'rt dear
    While life's warm current plays.

Like thee, my little life glides down
    To the great absorbing main,
From whose mysterious deeps unknown
    We ne'er return again.

 

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The Hour of Shade.

I.


WHEN stars begin to steal in sight
    Above the moorland hill;
When dreamy dusk leads on the night,
    And all the world grows still;
When dewy pearls on every blade
    Light up the twinkling lea,
I hail the soft, sweet hour of shade,
    That brings my love to me.


II.


In pensive dreams I rove alone
    Where gardens scent the air;
But my fancy's on the mountains lone,
    And all my heart is there;
Rich groves, and posied fields may charm
    The thoughtless and the free,
But my flower of love grows in the wild,
    And there I fain would be.


III.


I see him springing down the steep,
    And singing as he comes;
I see his form in manly sweep,
    Bound o'er the heather-blooms!
I see, I see his glowing eyes,
    That burn with loving glee!
He comes!   My own dear moorland lad!
    I know he comes to me!


IV.


Of all the hours that, night and day,
    In ceaseless circles run,
Give me the hour whose shadows grey
    Pursue the setting sun;
It brings the dreamy time of rest
    That sets the prisoner free;
It brings the wild bird to its nest;
    It brings my love to me!


V.


Bright star, that leads the glorious throng
    That gem the midnight sky,
When the noisy world has hushed its song,
    And laid its business by;
The kindly heavens have filled thy light
    With love's enchanting thrill;
Shine sweetly when my bonny lad
    Comes lilting down the hill!

 

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To my Old Fiddle.

I.


OH, David was a famous king,
    An' maister man o' singers;
His fiddle was a witching thing
    When touched by David's fingers;
But David never stirred a string
    To melody as fine, oh,
And David's fiddle couldn't sing
    Like this owd brid o'mine, oh!


II.


My bonny little angel-neest,
    So tender, sweet an' funny,
I wouldn't swap my music-kist
    To own a mint o' money.
I sometimes think it's gradely wick;
    There's singin' brids inside on't;
An' not a string but's swarmin' thick
    Wi' little elves astride on't!


III.


For it can sob, an' moan an' sigh,
    An' it can pout an' whimper;
An' it can coax an' wheedle sly,
    An' it can lisp and simper:
An' it can laugh, an' crow, an' shout,
    An' it can wail so keen, oh,
Folk connot see their gate about
    For th' wayter i' their e'en, oh!


IV.


Th' wood were groon i' fairy-lond
    That th' bits o' pegs were made on;
An' every nook on't thrills wi' life
    The minute that it's played on:
For th' younger end o' fairy-folk,
    They're dancin' upo' th' bridge on't;
They're caperin' upo' th' fiddle-bow,
    An' ridin' upo' th' ridge on't!


V.


As I go tweedlin' up an' down
    I meet wi' welcome free, oh!
There's never a mon that comes to town
    They're hauve as fain to see, oh:
For th' childer bring'n me butter cakes,
    To tickle up my timber;
An' fuddlers bring'n me gills of ale,
    To make my elbow limber!


VI.


My darlin' little singin' brid,
    We'n both grown owd together;
An' we'n bin kind an' faithful friends,
    Through dark an' sunny weather:
An' though nought else should make
        a moan
    The day that I shall dee, oh,
If they'n let this little brid alone
    It'll sing a hymn for me, oh!

 

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I Wish, my Love, it was so with You.

I.


OH, I dream all day, and I muse all night,
On the one dear girl that's my only light;
For my heart it is tender, and fond and true,
And my thoughts, my love, have no home but you;
                        No home but you,
                        No home but you;
My thoughts have no home in the world but you!


II.


Oh, there's not a cloud on the soft blue sky,
Where the blithe lark chants in the lift so high;
Yet my heart it is sad, for it's fond and true
As the cloudless heaven's unchanging blue;
                        Fond and true;
                        Fond and true;
And I wish, my love, it was so with you!


III.


There's a sweet bird singing in my poor breast;
And, by night and day, he gives me no rest;
For his song it is tender, and fond, and true;
And I wish, my love, he would sing to you;
                        Sing to you;
                        Sing to you;
Oh, I wish, my love, he would sing to you!

 

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Fishwoman's Song.

I.


AS I wander slow, through the frost and snow,
    And the cold drift round me flying,
With my basket on my head I go
    Through the village, sadly crying,
            Codling, fresh codling; codling alive!


II.


Oh, my good man toils on the stormy wave,
    O'er the deep where my sons are lying;
And the wintry winds around me rave
    Whilst with aching heart I'm crying,
            Codling, fresh codling; codling alive!


III.


God help the gallant fishermen
    That brave the wild sea cheerly;
And send them safely home again
    To the hearts that love them dearly.
            Codling, fresh codling; codling alive!


IV.


Oh, I left my children at their play;
    To win their bread I'm trying;
And my thoughts are with them all the way,
    As from door to door I'm crying,
            Codling, fresh codling; codling alive!


V.


Oh, I care not for the frost and snow,
    Nor the cold drift round me flying;
But I tremble when the wild winds blow,
    And with anxious heart I'm crying,
            Codling, fresh codling; codling alive.

 

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Oh, the Wild, Wild Moors.

I.


MY heart's away in the lonely hills,
    Where I would gladly be—
On the rolling ridge of Blackstone Edge,
    Where the wild wind whistles free!
There oft in careless youth I roved,
    When summer days were fine;
And the meanest flower of the heathery waste
    Delights this heart of mine!
        Oh, the wild, wild moors; the wild, wild moors,
            And the stormy hills so free;
        Oh, the wild, wild moors; the wild, wild moors,
            The sweet wild moors for me.


II.


I fain would stroll on lofty Knowl,
    And Rooley Moor again;
Or wildly stray one long bright day
    In Turvin's bonny glen!
The thought of Wardle's breezy height
    Fills all my heart with glee,
And the distant view of the hills so blue
    Bring tears into my e'e!
        Oh, the wild, wild moors; the wild, wild moors,
            And the stormy hills so free;
        Oh, the wild, wild moors; the wild, wild moors,
            The sweet wild moors for me!


III.


Oh, blessed sleep, that brings in dreams
    My native hills to me;
The heathery wilds, the rushing streams,
    Where once I wandered free!
'Tis a glimpse of life's sweet morning light,
    A bright angelic ray,
That steals into the dusky night,
    And fades with waking day!
        Oh, the lonely moors, the breezy moors,
            And the stormy hills so free;
        Oh, the wild, wild moors; the wild, wild moors,
            The sweet wild moors for me.

 

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My Croodling Dove.

I.


OH, have you seen my bosom's queen?
    Oh, have you seen my dear?
She's stolen the summer from the scene,
    And left the winter here!
If you should meet those eyes so sweet,
    I warn you to beware;
They'll plant love's dart deep in your heart,
    And leave it in despair!

Chorus—Oh, my love, my only love;
                     There's witchery about thee!
                 My little bright-eyed croodling dove,
                     I cannot live without thee!


II.


The green field lights up with her smile;
    The daisies kiss her feet;
The cowslip nods with dainty wile,
    To catch her glances sweet;
The little rosebuds clap their hands
    To greet that lovely face,
And every sweet its dour sends
    To win my darling's grace!

Chorus—Oh, my love, my only love;
                 There's witchery about thee!


III.


The sunshine dallies with her hair
    Till evening shades steal on,
And still, enamoured, lingers there
    Long after daylight's gone;
And there all night, in slumbers sweet,
    The lovesick truant lies,
And peeps out from her curls to meet
    The morning in her eyes!

Chorus—Oh, my love, my only love;
                 There's witchery about thee!


IV.


The young winds follow her all day,
    Like lovers in the wake,
With many a fond complaining lay,
    Still sighing for her sake;
They crowd about her rosy lips
    Their nectar'd sweets to win;
And chase her, as away she trips,
    To taste her breath again!

Chorus—Oh, my love, my only love;
                 There's witchery about thee!


V.


The wild birds listen to her song
    With sweet and glad surprise;
The rain-drops halt in downward throng
    To look into her eyes:
She fills the rosy glow of day
    With love's enchanting light,
And when she takes herself away
    It might as well be night!

Chorus—Oh, my love, my only love;
                     There's witchery about thee!
                 My little bright-eyed croodling dove,
                     I cannot live without thee!

 

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As I went Crooning on my Way.

AIR—“My bridheen bawn masthore.”

I.


AS I went crooning on my way,
    With free and careless mind;
A wild bird of the summer day,
    To pleasant life inclined;
I met a maid whose charms divine
    Woke love within my breast,
And since that hour this heart of mine
    Has never been at rest.


II.


In matchless form and modest mien,
    She moved with winsome grace;
I saw her two bewitching e'en,
    I saw her lovely face;
Like the moon that from an envious cloud
    Sails brightly o'er the scene,
She came, then vanished in the crowd,
    And all was night again.


III.


We met, like passing ships at sea,
    Upon a sunny day;
She gave one fatal smile to me,
    And went her destined way,
It was a fleeting angel's glance,
    That melted into air;
It left me in a raptured trance,
    It left me in despair.


IV.


And oh! if fate will have it so
    That we no more may meet,
To my last hour I'll pining go,
    And bless that vision sweet;
For though we only met to part
    And far asunder glide,
She left a jewel in my heart
    Worth all the world beside.

 

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Now's the Time to Remember the Poor.

(To an old English melody.)

I.


FROM my warm ingle-cheek, on a keen winter's day,
    When the woods and the fields were forlorn,
I could see the white slopes where the snow-mantle lay,
    I could hear the cold blast in the thorn;
And as wild by my window the thick-falling snow
    Drifted by on the wintry wind,
It threw a cold gloom o'er my snug shelter's glow,
    And it saddened the thoughts of my mind.


II.


Then a pretty bird came to my lattice to sing,
    And he peeped through the storm at my nest;
The cold drift lay white on his trembling wing,
    And it powdered his bonny red breast:
His little eye shone through my dim window pane,
    As I paced o'er the soft warm floor;
And the sweet minstrel's song had this tender refrain,
    “Now's the time to remember the poor!”


III.


Then I crept to my hearthstone, so cosy and bright,
    Which the rage of the tempest defied,
And I pensively mused on the shelterless wight
    That was wand'ring and shiv'ring outside;
And I thought, with a sigh, of the hardship and pain
    Which the houseless and old endure;
And I said, as I looked through my window again,
    “Now's the time to remember the poor!”


IV.


How little we dream when we're sheltered and glad,
    Whilst the cold blasts of winter are keen,
Of the poor and the lonely, the sick and the sad,
    That are mourning in corners unseen:
But this life it is short, both to high and to low,
    And there's nought in the world that's sure;
We were bare when we came here, and bare we must go—
    “Now's the time to remember the poor!”

 

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It's Time to be Joggin' Away.

AIR—“Grana Waile.”

I.


WHEN pitchers are empty an' pouches are bare,
    It's time to be joggin' away;
When they're grievin' the heart an' they're stintin' the fare,
    It's time to be joggin' away:
When they're snappin' an' fratchin' an' peevishly catchin'
    At th' best that a body can say;
When love's taen amiss, with a winterly kiss,
    It's time to be joggin' away.


II.


At the close of the day, when the sun has gone down,
    It's time to be joggin' away.
When night draws a curtain of deepenin' frown,
    It's time to be joggin' away:
When the sky has no moon, an' from dark clouds aboon
    No star shows a glimmerin' ray;
When the journey is lone, an' the gatherin' winds moan,
    It's time to be joggin' away.


III.


When slander is loud, an' when tricksters are proud,
    It's time to be joggin' away.
When truth meets with slight, an' when craft wins the fight,
    It's time to be joggin' away;
When rascals grow bold, an' when cronies grow cold,
    An' cross to the opposite way,
When foemen look sly, an' when neighbours look shy
    It's time to be joggin' away.


IV.


When the night brings no rest, an' the daylight no cheer,
    It's time to be joggin' away;
When the heart's full of pain, an' the head full of care,
    It's time to be joggin' away;
When favours are sold, an' affection grows cold,
    An' kindness begins to decay;
When friendship has fled, an' we live with the dead,
    It's time to be joggin' away.


V.


When the shank's growin' slim, an' the eyes growin' dim,
    It's time to be joggin' away;
When the foot totters slow, an' the pulse flutters low,
    It's time to be joggin' away;
When the blood's gettin' thin, an' we're wearied wi' din,
    It draws to the close of the day;
Then farewell to all, for the passing bells call,—
    It's time to be joggin' away!

 

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Farewell!

I.


THE light of day is dying
    Beyond the heaving sea;
The plaintive wind is sighing
    Across the fading lea:
            Farewell, farewell!
The fire burns low, and I must go,
    To wander far alone;
            Farewell!


II.


Farewell, the scenes of childhood;
    Life's hopeful dream is o'er;
Farewell to field and wildwood;
    I shall return no more:
            Farewell, farewell!
Fate wills it so, and I must go,
    To wander far alone;
            Farewell!


III.


Spring will come with wildflowers
    To gem my native shore;
And June will deck the green bowers
    That I shall see no more:
            Farewell, farewell!
Fate wills it so that I must go,
    To wander far alone;
            Farewell!


IV.


Farewell, my love, for ever,
    From thee, too, I must part;
To know thee, and to sever.—
    The tale of this sad heart:
            Farewell, farewell!
When roses grow on winter's snow,
    I'll come to thee again;
            Farewell!

 

_________________________

 
I can't tell how to Woo.

I.


THESE women all, both short and tall,
    Are fluttering to and fro,
With dainty wile, and witching smile;
    But I can let them go:
For, I know not, I care not,
    I can't tell how to woo;
And fate will have her way, brave boys,
    Whatever a man may do.


II.


Bell's proud and high, and she struts by
    With her neb cocked in the air;
She cannot see such folks as I,
    But that brings me no care:
For, I know not, I care not,
    I can't tell how to woo;
And fate will have her way, brave boys,
    Whatever a man may do.


III.


The miller's Jane's a dainty queen,
    With a twinkle in her e'e;
A sweeter rosebud ne'er was seen;
    But she'll never bloom for me:
For, I know not, I care not,
    I can't tell how to woo;
And fate will have her way, brave boys,
    Whatever a man may do.


IV.


Yet, soon or late, we all must mate;
    It is the lot of man;
But, till I meet my kindly fate,
    I'll frisk it while I can:
For, I know not, I care not,
    I can't tell how to woo;
And fate will have her way, brave boys,
    Whatever a man may do.



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