  [New Orleans—1829-1869.] When I'm playing The Last Hope It carries me away To other realms than Mother Earth, And sometimes I would stay In Music Land with its sweet tones That banish from our hearts All petty horrid troubled cares That stab us with their darts. Gottschalk, I'm very proud to own, Was a real Dixie lad, And as I am a Dixie girl This makes me very glad. When he was only twelve years old He went abroad to learn How to make sweet music sounds And while abroad his parents lost Their filthy lucre all, And on his talents this young lad Was then compelled to call And ask their aid to earn his bread And help his parents dear. And he then traveled, so 'tis said, In lands both far and near Far more than any other man In music circles known. He gave his life to those who called, No minutes were his own. And so he wore out the good frame Which nature to him gave And when he was but forty Was claimed by the cruel grave. |
|
