Glowing with love, on fire for fame Hail to the night as we gather once more Have faith in one another Here's a health to the Queen and a lasting peace... I'd be a butterfly, born in a bower I had a dream, a happy dream I love the merry sunshine I'm a merry, merry Zingara I miss thy kind and gentle voice. In the depth of the forest an old oak grew It seems to me but yesterday I've been roaming, I've been roaming I've watched with thee the daylight stealing King Time, old Time, we gaily sing Liberty, liberty! search the world round Listen, ye tillers of the soil... Look always on the sunny side Lovely night-lovely night... Many have told of the monks of old. My name's Edward Morgan, I live at L'angollen.... No more shall the children of Judah sing No more, no more shall the notes of love Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note Of what is the old man thinking... Oh! a dainty plant is the ivy green Oh! come to the west, love-Oh! come there with me Oh! charming May-Oh! charming May Oh! could we do with this world of ours... 147 ... 195 ... 195 ... 100 13 6 54 127 154 Oh! don't remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt? your sails Oh! if there's a pleasure on earth that's more pure Oh! leave me to my sorrow Oh! let's look, if we can, to the bright side Oh! the heart is a free and fetterless thing Oh! the maids of merry England Oh! there is a roamer beneath the blue sky Rise, Herod, my hound, from the stranger's floor ... Shades of evening, close not o'er us ... Shall manhood unmoved mark a brother's distress? Say not love is like a rose Shall I, wasting in despair She was sister to the angels... Speak gently, it is better far Stay, gentle morn, awhile Summer dies and leaves no traces Something to love me, something to bless Sweet Jessie was young and simple The eagle may wave in a royal court... The light of other days is faded... The moon, the moon, what rapture she brings The noontide is hot and our foreheads are brown... The carrion crow is a sexton bold The flowers that bloom round childhood's path There is a flower that bloometh... There came a minstrel, old and grey... There are feelings that benighted There are two little words that we use They say there's an isle where but roses grow They told him gently she was dead have chosen the proud stranger They saw that I was bright and fair... Though lowly my cot, and though poor my estate Thou hast winning eyes, Mary Through the wood, through the wood, follow and find me PAGE ... 197 ... 179 ... 212 'Tis forty years, my old friend John.... 'Tis said that ever round our path Upon the hill he turned Violets, violets, beautiful blue violets What hadst thou ir thy treasure-caves and cells? When crown'd with summer roses When I beheld the anchor weigh'd When the moon is on the waters. Your Molly has never been false, she declares THE END. |