OUR WAY ACROSS THE MOUNTAINS, HO!

WHEN the tempests fly, o'er the cloudy sky

And the piping blast sings merrily; Oh, sweet is the mirth of the social hearth,

Where the flames are blazing cheerily
Our way across the mountains, ho.
Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!

Our way across the mountains, ho!
Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!

The moon-beam bright, of a summer's night,

Shineth but sad and wearily;

But sweet is the glow where contentment flows,

And the bright fire blazes cheerily. Oh, when the tempests fly o'er the cloudy sky,

And the piping blast sings merrily; Oh, sweet is the mirth of the social hearth,

Where the flames are blazing cheerily
Our way across the mountains, ho.
Ho ho ho! ho! ho! ho!

Our way across the mountains, ho!
Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!

Let the storms without, in their midnight rout,

Howl through the casement drearily; We're merry within round the blazing linn,

Where contentment flows right

cheerily.

Our way across the mountains, ho!

THERE'S NO HOME LIKE MY OWN

In the wild Chamois track,
At the breaking of morn,

With a hunter's pride,

O'er the mountain side,

We are led by the sound of the Alpine

horn,

Tra la la la la la la la la

O, that voice to me,

Is a voice of glee,

Where'er my footsteps roam;

And I long to bound,

When I hear that sound,

Again to my mountain home,

In the wild Chamois track,
At the breaking of morn
With a hunter's pride,

O'er the mountain side,

We are led by the sound of the Alpine horn; &c.

I have crossed the proud Alps,
I have sailed down the Rhone,
And there is no spot,

Like the simple cot,

And the hill and the valley I call my

own;

Tra la la la la la la la la, &c

There the skies are bright,
And our hearts are light,

Our bosoms without a fear,
For our toil is play,

And our sport the fray,

With the mountain roe, or the forest deer.

THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS

THE light of other days is faded,
And all their glories pass'd,

For grief with heavy wing hath shaded
The hopes too bright to last;

m

The world, which morning's mantle clouded

Shines forth with purer rays!

But the heart ne'er feels, in sorrow shrouded

The light of other days.

The leaf which autumn tempests wither,

The birds which then take wing When winter's winds are past, come hither

To welcome back the spring: The very ivy on the ruin,

In gloom full life displays;

But the heart alone sees no renewing The light of other days.

AM I NOT FONDLY THINE OWN?

THOU, thou, reign'st in this bosom, There, there, hast thou thy throne; Thou, thou, knowest that I love thee,Am I not fondly thine own?

Yes, yes, yes, yes, am I not fondly thine own?

Then, then, e'en as I love thee,

Say, say, wilt thou love me?

Thoughts, thoughts, tender and true, love,

Say wilt though cherish for me? Yes, yes, yes, yes, say wilt thou cherish

for me?

Speak, speak, love, I implore thee,
Say, say, hope shall be thine,
Thou, thou, know'st that I love thee,
Say but that thou wilt be mine!
Yes, yes, yes, yes, but say that thou
wilt be mine?

OCH! NORAH DEAR.

OCH! Norah dear! I'm waiting here,
I'm watching still for you, love;
And, while you sleep, the flow'rets
weep,

All shrined in tears of dew, love.
The silv'ry moon, its bright rays soon
Behind the hills will fade love;
But better there her beauties bear,
For thou her beams would shade,
love.

Och! Norah dear! &c.

Och! Norah dear! I'm waiting here, The stars look cold and blue, love;