  No. 3. I’d Choose to be a Daisy.Copied by permission of Firth, Pond & Co., 547 Broadway, owners of the copyright. I’d choose to be a daisy, If I might be a flower, My petals closing softly At twilight’s quiet hour, And waking in the morning When falls the early dew, To welcome heaven’s bright sunshine, And heaven’s bright tear-drops too. Chorus.—I’d choose to be a daisy, If I might be a flower, My petals closing softly At twilight’s quiet hour. I love the gentle Lily, It looks so meek and fair, But daisies I love better, For they grow everywhere, The lilies bloom so sadly, In sunshine or in shower, But daisies still look upward, However dark the hour. Chorus.—I’d choose to be a daisy, &c. Copied by permission of Firth, Pond & Co., 547 Broadway, N. Y. owners of the copyright. Oh, the summer moon is brightly blowing, The wild birds wake their song, And the streamlet as it softly murmurs, So gently glides along. Where the sweet hedge-rose is blowing, In the woodlands green, There I love to wander, With my heart’s true queen— My bonny, bonny Jean. CHORUS. Where the sweet hedge-rose is blowing, In the woodlands green, There I love to wander, With my heart’s true queen. Yet ’tis not the rosy tint of summer, Nor the song-birds’ joyous lay, Nor the streamlet’s murmuring music, That makes my heart feel gay; ’Tis her smile that beams upon me, ’Mid each flowery scene, While I fondly wander, With my heart’s true queen, My bonny, bonny Jean. Bonny Jean, your smile is always with me, When absent, love, from thee; Making joy and sunshine round my pathway, Wherever I may be. May they ever beam upon me, In this mortal scene, While I fondly wander With my heart’s true queen, My bonny, bonny Jean. Copied by permission of Firth, Pond & Co., 547 Broadway, owners of the copyright. There’s a yellow rose in Texas that I am going to see, No other darkey knows her, no darkey only me; She cried so when I left her, it like to broke my heart, And if I ever find her, we never more will part. CHORUS. She’s the sweetest rose of color this darkey ever knew, Her eyes are bright as diamonds, they sparkle like the dew, You may talk about your Dearest May, and sing of Rosa Lee, But the yellow rose of Texas beats the belles of Tennessee. Where the Rio Grande is flowing, and the starry skies are bright, She walks along the river in the quiet summer night; She thinks if I remember, when we parted long ago, I promised to come back again, and not to leave her so. Chorus.—She’s the sweetest rose of color, &c. Oh! now I’m going to find her, for my heart is full of woe, And we’ll sing the song together, that we sung so long ago, We’ll play the banjo gayly, and we’ll sing the songs of yore, And the yellow rose of Texas shall be mine forever more. Chorus.—She’s the sweetest rose of color, &c. Copied by permission of Wm. Hall & Son, 543 Broadway, N. Y., owners of the copyright. I’m leaning o’er the gate, Annie, ’Neath the cottage wall; The grey dawn breaks, the hour grows late, I hear the trumpet’s call. I could not brook thy cheek so pale, The sad tear in thine eye,— This heart which laughs at war might quail, So Annie dear, good-by! This heart which laughs at war might quail, So Annie dear, good-by! I’m marching with the brave, Annie! Far from home and thee, To win renown, perhaps a grave, A glorious one ’twill be! But what so e’er the fate I meet, To conquer, or to die! This heart’s last throb for thee will beat; So Annie dear, good-by! This heart’s last throb for thee will beat; So Annie dear, good-by! Copied by permission of Firth, Pond & Co., 547 Broadway, N. Y., owners of the copyright. Softly sigh the winds of evening, Through the lone sequester’d dell, Where in calm and dreamless slumber, Lies our darling Rosabel. Like a flower she bloom’d in beauty, Shedding sweetness all around; Like a flower she droop’d and faded, When we laid her in the ground. CHORUS. Softly sighs the winds of evening, Through the lone sequester’d dell, Where Lies our darling Rosabel. Other flowers still bloom around us, In our little native glen, But so pure and fair a blossom Never shall we see again. Fare thee well, thou loved and lost one, Thou art only gone before, Where’er long we hope to meet thee, Never to lose thee any more. Chorus.—Softly Copied by permission of Firth, Pond & Co., 547 Broadway, N. Y., owners of the copyright. Death with his cold hand, hath robb’d me of every hope, Hath robb’d me of every hope—my loved one is gone; Bleak was the moment, that parted our beating hearts— That parted our beating hearts, and left me alone. Sweet was the low voice, that wrapt me in fond delight, That wrapt me in fond delight, as fair visions do; Soft were the dark eyes, that languish’d in beauty bright, That languish’d in beauty bright—how fondly and true! CHORUS. Linda has departed, the warm and tender-hearted, Linda has departed, and left me here to mourn. Blest were the hours pass’d, with her whom my soul adored, With her whom my soul adored, whose heart was so light; Sad is the lone hour, bereft of my darling one, Bereft of my darling one, in darkness and night. All now is cheerless, my joys long have pass’d away, My joys long have pass’d away, with love’s fleeting years; Hope has no comfort, for sadness now holdeth sway, For sadness now holdeth sway, and leaves me in tears. CHORUS. Linda has departed, the warm and tender-hearted, Linda has departed and left me CHORUS I think of old Ireland, across the blue wave, I think of old Ireland, the land of the brave, ’Tis the home of the brave, where the wild shamrocks grow, Oh, I think of old Ireland, wherever I go. And ’tis soon I’ll be home, in the land I love best, In my own dearest Emerald Isle of the West, Though now I am chasing the wild buffalo, For I think of old Ireland wherever I go. Yet though far away from that dear blessed sod, I still offer up prayers to my country’s God, To chase from her borders the base Saxon foe, For I think of old Ireland wherever I go. Dear land of the shamrock, and sweet smelling brier, Dear scenes of my childhood which never could tire, When a boy I picked beech-nuts in wild Glenaboe, Oh, I think of old Ireland, wherever I go. And how oft have I drank out of Barranane’s Well, In whose clear waters there lurks a bright spell, The afflicted go there to find ease for their woe, For I think of old Ireland wherever I go. And how oft have I swam in the Blackwater’s tide, And roam’d the sweet wild woods around Castle Hyde, For it’s through its wild woodland the Blackwaters flow, Oh, I think of old Ireland wherever I go. And how oft have I sported through its pastures so green, Where the wild fragrant daisy can always be seen, For flowers in luxuriance there always do grow, Oh, I think of old Ireland wherever I go. But all my sad wanderings soon will be o’er, And that isle of my heart I will never leave more, Though deep is her sorrow, and bitter her woe, Oh, I think of old Ireland wherever I go. CHORUS Old dog Tray! always hungry— Meat can not drive him away; With his tail “druv” in behind, neither gentle nor yet kind Is that hungry dog, that old dog Tray. I hurried home one night, with a rousing appetite, For nothing had I tasted the whole of that long day. But Oh! how I was done—not a thing was left but bone— All eaten by that old dog Tray. Old dog Tray, &c. The steaks I thought my own, had vanish’d one by one— Those cutlets, those chops too, had all pass’d away; Those tenderloins were gone—they each and all had flown— Stolen by that old dog Tray. Old dog Tray, &c. With naught to break my fast, my eyes on Tray I cast, Who look’d as though he felt what my breaking heart would say; But oh! ’twas all deceit—’twas he who stole my meat, That hungry dog, that old dog Tray. Old dog Tray, &c. Dis fine old Dietchen shentlemen he vent to bed drunk efery night, Un somedimes ven dere vas coming rount elections, mit de udder fellers he’d fight, Un slouck dem on de koup mit a double-barrel’d powie knife, but I don’t tink dat vas rite, For ven vun of dem peeples haf his head preak’d into his nose all ofer his face, un vas nearly drownded mit a big stick, I tell you somedings rite avay shust now dat vas a sorry sight, To dis fine old Dietchen shentleman, von of de goot olt kind. But von time dere comed some drouples, un he fight mit all his main, Dough he vas kilt von two ash six eight couple of times, he shumps up un fites again, Dill his hed vas all splitted open down pack, un den de blood comes down like rain; Un py and py come dere de coroner mit de shury, un sit on him apout dwenty-two hours ash tree-quarters, un shqueeze all de preth out of his pody, den dey prings in a verdigrass, vot he dies from prandy and vater on de prain, Does dis fine old Dietchen shentleman, de subject of dis song. MORAL. Now all you young maidens take warning by her, Never not by no means disobey your guverner; And all you young fellows, mind who you clasp eyes on, Think of Vilikins and his Dinah and the cup of cold pison. Singing &c. More-Ale! Now all you young vummins, votefer you do, Don’t let dat Hans Dunder shpeak somedings mit you, Un all you young fellers, ven you courts in de passage, Dink of Hans un Katarina un de big Bolony sassage. CHORUS To the West! to the West! to the land of the free, Where the mighty Missouri rolls down to the sea; Where the young may exult, and the aged may rest, Away, far away, to the land of the West. To the West! to the West! where the rivers that flow, Run thousands of miles, sparkling out as they go; Where the green waving forests shall echo our call, As wide as old England, and free to us all; Where the prairies, like seas where the billows have roll’d, Are broad as the kingdoms and empires of old; And the lakes are oceans in storms or in rest— Away, far away, to the land of the West. To the West! to the West, &c. To the West! to the West! there is wealth to be won; A forest to clear is the work to be done; We’ll try it—we’ll do it—and never despair, While there’s light in the sunshine, or life in the air; The bold independence that labor shall buy, Shall strengthen our hearts, and forbid us to sigh; Away, far away, let us hope for the best, For a home is a home, in the land of the West. To the West! to the West, &c. Copied by permission of Firth, Pond & Co., 547 Broadway, owners of the copyright. On the grave near massa’s dwelling, You remember, darkies, well, Stands a stone, so silent, telling Where sleeps gentle Lillie Bell; Where, in spring, the tall bananas To the winds their branches wave, Guarding well from every danger Gentle Lillie’s lonely grave. CHORUS Oh, Lillie! long-lost Lillie! To thy grave amid the dell Our hearts are sadly turning, Gentle Lillie, Lillie Bell. Oh! darkies, how my heart is yearning, Once to see that grave again; Memory backward quickly turning, Frees my breast from present pain. But those days have gone forever— Lost beneath life’s angry wave; I weep no more; my heart is buried With my Lillie in her grave. Chorus.—Oh, Lillie! &c. ’Twas last eve I saw her beckon, Far up in the azure sky, Bidding me to quickly hasten To her new-found home on high. Then, darkies, take me quickly, take me Where the tall bananas wave; For my heart will cease its sighing Near my Lillie’s lonely grave. Chorus.—Oh, Lillie! &c. Copied by permission of WM. Hall & Son, 543 Broadway, N. Y., Publishers of the music, and owners of copyright. In beauty gleamed the moon last night, And brightly star lamps shone, The wind among the lindentrees Made music sad and lone; The shadows of the firelight danced Like sprites upon the floor, As moon and star ray gently fell Around the cottage door; With breathings hush’d we sat around The couch where Ettie lay, And wept that one so beautiful, So soon must pass away. She wore within her golden hair A mesh of changeful light, And mingled with her dark eyes’ sheen Were spirits’ gleams last night; Upon their light and viewless wings, The angels downward came, And stole within the cottage door, And quench’d our love-light flame. So quiet were her slumbers sweet On yester eventide, We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping, when she died! CHORUS He bounded up: his practised eye, Was turn’d upon the lurid sky, Lit by the flames, which mounting higher, Soon clothed the night in a robe of fire. With lightning speed he reach’d the scene— Oh! what a sight was there! A mother stood amid the flames, And shriek’d in wild despair! Her arms around her frighten’d babe Where thrown with frenzied clasp, As though she fear’d the fire-fiend Would tear it from her grasp. With helmet turn’d, through fire and smoke, The gallant fellow fearless broke; He saved them both, but ah! his life Was lost in the unequal strife. Now in sweet Greenwood’s peaceful shade The noble hero sleeps, And o’er his grave full many a friend, In silent sorrow sweeps. A monument erected there Is pointed to with pride By those with whom he often fought The fire, side by side. Sweet flow’rs exhale their fragrant breath, Where now he, peaceful sleeps in death And Above his solemn Greenwood grave. CHORUS All around the cobbler’s bench, The monkey chased the weasel The priest, he kiss’d the cobbler’s wife; Pop went the weasel. A penny for a ball of thread, A penny for a needle, That’s the way the money goes; Pop goes the weasel. All around, &c. My wife, she is awful sick, The baby’s got the measles, Sally’s got the hooping-cough; Pop goes the weasel. All around, &c. Johnny Bull, he makes his brag, He can whip the whole creation, Why don’t he take Sebastopol, By Pop goes the weasel. All around, &c. Mayor Wood has put the rumsellers through, The Maine Law’s a sad evil, We cannot get our toddy now; Pop goes the weasel. All around, &c. CHORUS For I’ve got a home out yonder, few days—few days! I’ve got a home out yonder, in old Tennessee. And I can’t stay in these diggins, few days—few days! Can’t stay in these diggins, I’m gwine home. They tell about Maine Liquor Law, few days—few days; It makes the folks get drunk the more; I’m gwine home. Nebraska’s gwine to be a State, few days—few days; Cuba too will come in late; I’m gwine home. For I’ve got a home out yonder, &c. Every thing is done by steam, few days—few days; Leather taffy, chalk ice-cream—I’m gwine home. Boys wears beards, and women too, few days—few days; Though all things change there’s nothing new, I’m gwine home. For I’ve got a home out yonder, &c. The Shanghai fowls, how tall they grow, few days—few days, That people can not hear them crow; I’m gwine home. When guano’s put on gudgeon’s tails, few days—few days; They grow to be as big as whales; I’m gwine home. For I’ve got a home out yonder, &c. There’s sin and folly everywhere, few days—few days; Enough to make old I’ll sing my parting song once more, few days—few days; And then I’ll pass o’er Jordan’s shore; I’m gwine home. For I’ve got a home out yonder, &c. CHORUS So I pull’d off my coat, and roll’d up my sleeve, Jordan’s a hard road to trabble; So I pull’d of my coat and roll’d up my sleeve, Around the Crystal Palace there are a great many shows, Where all the country greenhorns are drawn in— There are snakes and alligators, mammoth mules and big ’taters, That were raised on the other side of Jordan. The Sovereign of the Seas, she went to Liverpool, In less than fourteen days, too, accordin’, Johnny Bull he wiped his eyes, and looked with surprise, At this clipper from the Yankee side of Jordan. The ladies of England have sent a big address About slavery, and all its horrors, accordin’, They had better look at home, to their own white slaves, That are starving on the English side of Jordan. They have got a bearded lady down at Barnum’s show, And lots of pictures outside, accordin’ She’s going to take her eye-lashes for a pair of mustaches, For to trabble on the other side of Jordan. The Duchess of Sutherland, she keeps the Stafford House, The place where the “Black Swan” is boardin’; At a musical party, they ask’d for a song, And she gave them—On the other side of Jordan. Our great father, Washington, he was a mighty man, And all the Yankees do their fighting accordin’, They will raise the flag of freedom wherever they can, Till they plant it on the other side of Jordan. I take off my coat, &c. Copied by permission of Firth, Pond & Co., 547 Broadway, owners of the copyright. ’Twas ten o’clock one moonlight night, I ever shall remember, When every star shone twinkling bright, In frosty dark December; When at the window, tap, tap, tap, I heard a certain well-known rap, And with these words most clear, “Remember, ten o’clock, my dear, Remember, love, remember.” My mother dozed before the fire, My dad his pipe was smoking, I dare not for a word retire, And was not that provoking? At length the old folks fell asleep, I then my promised word to keep, And for his absence did denote, He on the window shutters wrote, “Remember, love, remember.” And did I heed a treat so sweet? Oh, yes! and mark the warning, He said at church we were to meet, At ten o’clock next morning; And then we meet no more to part, To twine for ever hand and heart; And since that day in wedlock join’d, The window shutters bring to mind, “Remember, love, remember.” CHORUS. Come, love, come, come away with me, My bark is on the glossy sea; The moon is bright, on ocean’s breast, All, save the Pirate, are now at rest. See how she rides the crested foam, To bear thee, love, to the Pirate’s home; Then fly, love, fly, do not delay, We must be gone before to-morrow’s day. Come, love, come, &c. I dare not stay on this hallow’d land, I must away to my pirate band; They restless sit, all side by side, To hail thee, love, as the Pirate’s Bride. Come, love, come, &c. Though my voice is rough—oh! do not start, For true and soft is the Pirate’s heart. Thy home shall be on some fairy land, And thou wilt be Queen of the Pirate’s band. Come, love, come, &c. Come, love, come—ah! why that stern brow— She smiles, who so happy as the pirate now. My arms will bear thee to “that thing of life,” And this night thou must be the Pirate’s Wife. CHORUS Firm, united, let us be, rallying round our liberty; As a band of brothers joined, peace and safety we shall find. Immortal patriots, rise once more, defend your rights, defend your shore. Let no rude foe, with impious hand, Let no rude foe, with impious hand, Invade the shrine where sacred lies, of toil and blood the well-earned prize. While offering peace sincere and just, in heaven we place a manly trust, That truth and justice will prevail, and every shame of bondage fail. Firm, united, let us be, &c. Sound, sound the trump of fame! let Washington’s great name Ring through the world with loud applause, Ring through the world with loud applause, Let every clime to Freedom dear, listen with a joyful ear. With equal skill and God-like-power, he govern’d in the fearful hour, Of horrid war! or guides, with ease, the happier times of honest peace. Firm united let us be, &c. Behold the chief who now commands, again to serve his country stands— The rock on which the storm will beat, The rock on which the storm will beat; But armed in virtue firm and true, his hopes are fix’d on Heaven and you. When hope was sinking in dismay, and glooms obscured Columbia’s day, His steady mind, from changes free, resolved on death or liberty. Firm united let us be, &c. Copied by permission of Firth, Pond & Co., 547 Broadway, N. Y., owners of the copyright. Woodman, spare that tree Touch not a single bough, In youth it shelter’d me, And I’ll protect it now; ’Twas my forefather’s hand That placed it near his cot; There, woodman, let it stand, Thy ax shall harm it not. That old familiar tree, Whose glory and renown Are spread o’er land and sea,— And wouldst thou hack it down? Woodman, forbear thy stroke! Cut not its earth-bound ties; Oh! spare that aged oak Now towering to the skies! When but an idle boy I sought its grateful shade; In all their gushing joy, Here, too, my sisters play’d. My mother kiss’d me here; My father press’d my hand: Forgive this foolish tear, But let the old oak stand! My heart-strings round thee cling, Close as thy bark, old friend! Here shall the wild birds sing, And still thy branches bend. Old tree! the storms still brave! And, woodman, leave the spot! While I have hand to save, Thy ax shall harm it not. Copied by permission of Wm. Hall & Son, 543 Broadway, N. Y. owners of the copyright. Dar was a frog lived in a spring, Sing song, Polly, won’t you ki’ me, oh? He had such a cold dat he could not sing, Sing song, Polly, won’t you ki’ me, oh? I pull’d him out and frow’d him on de ground, Sing song, Polly, won’t you ki’ me, oh? Old frog he bounced and run around, Sing song, Polly, won’t you ki’ me, oh? CHORUS Camo kimo, daro, war, my high, my ho, my rumsti-pum-stididdle, Soot bag, pidly-winckem, linck ’em, nip cat, Sing song, Polly, won’t you ki’ me, oh? Milk in de dairy, nine days old, Sing song, &c. Rats and skippers are getting bold, Sing song, &c. A long-tail’d rat in a bucket of souse, Sing song, &c. Just come from de white folks’ house, Sing song, &c. In South Carolina the niggers grow, Sing song, &c. If de white man only plant his toe Sing song, &c. Water de ground with ’bacca smoke, Sing song, &c. And up de nigger’s head will poke, Sing song, &c. Way down South—in Cedar-street, Sing song, &c. Dar’s where de niggers grow ten feet, Sing song, &c. Dey go to bed, but ’taint no use, Sing song, &c. Dar feet hang out for a chicken’s roost. Sing song, &c. CHORUS Lay down the shovel and the hoe, Hang up the fiddle and the bow; For no more work for poor old Ned, He’s gone where the good darkies go. His fingers were long, like the cane in the brake, And he had no eyes for to see; He had no teeth for to eat de hoe cake, So he had to let the hoe cake be. Lay down, &c. One cold frosty morning old Ned died, Oh, the tears down massa’s face run like rain; For he knew when Ned was laid in the ground, He’d nebber see his like again. Lay down, &c. Copied by permission of Wm. Hall & Son, 543 Broadway, N. Y., owners of the copyright. I was raised in Mississippi, where the sugar-cane grows tall, And I loved a pretty yellow girl, much sweeter than them all. She left the place one moonlight night—we sorrow’d much to part; No token did she leave me, but her picture on my heart, And I moan, and I groan, all alone, all alone. CHORUS But fretting won’t do for a darkey of this figure— Time enough for that when he gits a little bigger; Dancing with the yellow girls, and shucking out the corn, Will make him forget ’Tilda Horn. While ago I got a letter from her, thinking, as I sat, If I met her, how she’d like me, in my stylish Kossuth hat. ’Twas the last I heard about her, and since then I’m much in dread That’s she’s married to another man, or else she must “gone dead.” In despair, I declare, I is crack’d, that’s a fact. But fretting won’t do, &c. Now I go about, down in the mouth, and stockings down at heel; Like Massa Shakspeare’s Hamlet, too. I’m touch’d up here I feel. His uncle gave him good advice—mine took my clothes in pawn; And all to raise the cash to dress—deceitful ’Tilda Horn. Oh! this wool I could pull, this poor heart is so full. But fretting won’t do, &c. Since the Shakspere’s coming in my head, I’m like Othello, too, The victim of my jealous fears, I don’t know what to do; Desdemona lost his handkerchief—that wasn’t much to lose; But ’Tilda took my ’bacca-box, my shirts, and Sunday shoes, Now I stray all the day, from the gay far away. But fretting won’t do, &c. OF Beadle’s Dime Military Song Book AND SONGS FOR THE WAR.
OF Beadle’s Dime Union Song Book No. 1.
OF Beadle’s Dime Union Song Book No. 2.
OF Beadle’s Dime Song Book No. 1.
OF Beadle’s Dime Song Book No. 2.
OF Beadle’s Dime Song Book No. 4.
OF Beadle’s Dime Song Book No. 5.
OF Beadle’s Dime Song Book No. 6.
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