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And for right good cheer in the wild woods here

Oh! why should a hunter lack? For with steady aim at the bounding game,

And hearts that fear no foe,

To the darksome glade in the forest shade,

Oh! merrily forth we go.-Ho! ho!
Some love to roam, &c.

THE BRAVE OLD OAK

A SONG of the oak, the brave old oak, Who hath ruled in the greenwood long;

Here's health and renown to his broad green crown,

And his fifty arms so strong.

There is fear in his frown when the sun goes down,

And the fire in the west fades out; And he showeth his might on a wild midnight,

When storms through his branches shout.

Then sing to the oak, the brave old oak,

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Who hath ruled in this land so long' And still flourish he, a hale green tree, When a hundred years are gone.

He saw the times when the Christmas chimes

Were a merry sound to hear; And the squire's wide hall and the cottage small

Were full of American cheer;
And all the day, to the rebeck gay,
They frolick'd with lovesome swains:
They are gone, they are dead-in the
churchyard laid,

But the tree-he still remains.
Then sing to the oak, &c.

THE BANKS OF THE BLUE MOSELLE

WHEN the glowworm gilds the elfin flower

That clings round the ruin'd shrine, Where first we met, where first we

loved,

And I confess'd me thine;

'Tis there I'll fly to meet thee still, At sound of vesper bell,

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In the starry light of a summer night, In the starry light of a summer night, On the banks of the blue Moselle, On the banks of the blue Moselle, In the starry light of a summer night, On the banks of the blue Moselle.

If the cares of life should shade thy brow,

Yes, yes, in our native bowers, My lute and heart might best accord, To tell of happier hours. Yes, there I'll soothe thy griefs to rest, Each sigh of sorrow quell. In the starry light, &c.

LIST THEE, DEAR LADY LIST thee, dear lady, O listen, I pray, In life's early season, love is the lay: A young knight there came to his lady love's bower,

He touched his guitar, he sang of love's power;

She was another's-oh! there was the

sting

Start not, fair lady—another I sing.

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Unknown was the knight; for no one

could say

From whence he had come, or whither his way; Disguise he assumed; he hover'd around;

She was the charm that his bosom had bound;

E'en in her chamber his love-notes they ring

Start not, fair lady-another I sing.

Past vows are forgotten-'tis seen in her eyes,

'Tis told in her blush, 'tis breathed in her sighs;

The young knight is urgent, love is the tale

Love over reason too oft will prevail : Her thoughs are all his; to a brigand they cling

Start not, fair lady-another I sing.

THE SPOT WHERE I WAS BORN

I HAVE wandered on through many a

clime,
Where flowers of beauty grew,

Where all was blissful to the heart,
And lovely to the view.
I have seen them in their twilight pride,
And in the dress of morn;

But none appeared so sweet to me,
As the spot where I was born.

THE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN

I'LL sing you a good old song, made by a good old pate,

Of a fine old English gentleman, who had an old estate,

And who kept up his old mansion at a bountiful old rate,

With a good old porter old poor at his gate,

Like a fine old English gentleman, all of the olden time.

to relieve the

His hall so old was hung around with pikes, and guns, and bows, And swords, and good old bucklers, which had stood against old foes, And 'twas there "his worship" sat ir state, in doublet and trunk hose, And quaff'd his cup of good old sack to warm his good old nose, Like a fine old, &c.

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