Thomas Haynes Bayly

Oh no: we never mention her! Her name is never heard; My lips are now forbid to speak That once familiar word.

Sure it is better, when summer is over To die when all fair things are fading away.

Those, who have wealth, must be watchful and wary; Power, alas! nought but misery brings!

I'd be a butterfly born in a bower, Where roses and lilies and violets meet.

I'm saddest when I sing.

My fond affection thou hast seen, Then judge of my regret To think more happy thou hadst been If we had never met.

Oh, I have roamed o'er many lands, And many friends I've met; Not one fair scene or kindly smile Can this fond heart forget.

The mistletoe hung in the castle hall, The holly-branch shone on the old oak wall.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder: Isle of Beauty, fare thee well!

Fear not, but trust in Providence, Wherever thou may'st be.

Oh pilot, 'tis a fearful night! There's danger on the deep.

The rose that all are praising Is not the rose for me.

Tell me the tales that to me were so dear, Long, long ago, long, long ago.

Friends depart, and memory takes them To her caverns, pure and deep.

She wore a wreath of roses The first night that we met.

Why don't the men propose, Mamma? Why don't the men propose?

Gayly the troubadour Touched his guitar.

We met,—'twas in a crowd.

I've now got the music book ready, Do sit up and sing like a lady A recitative from Tancredi, And something about "Palpiti!" Sing forte when first you begin it, Piano the very next minute,