THE GOOD OLD DAYS OF ADAM
AND EVE.

I SING, I sing of good times older, When men and women were the bolder, When bills were short, and credit shorter,

And when from malt they brewed their porter.

When lawyers were too proud to pillage, And this city was quite a village; Christmas had its Christmas carols, And ladies sides were hooped like barrels.

Sing hey, sing ho! I can but grieve,
For the good old days of Adam and
Eve.

When drinking ale made strong men stronger,

And doctors made folks live the longer; When our grand dads brewed gobs of porter,

And thought it a sin to go to bed sober; Then was the time for games and gam

bols,

When all New York was covered with

brambles.

Hedges and ditches and ponds of water, But now there's nothing but bricks and

mortar

Sing hey, Sing ho! I can but grieve,
For the good old days of Adam and
Eve.

When all young men they acted wise in,
Getting up to see the lark rising;
And could, unless I'm much mistaken,
Eat for breakfast eight pounds of bacon;
But now our Tom and Jerry's gay, sir,
See larks by night and not by day, sir;
Get in rows, and have long parlies,
And, to save their bacon floor the char-
lies.

Sing hey, Sing ho! I can but grieve,
For the good old days of Adam and
Eve.

When this very place that's now cover'd over

Was a field of wheat or perhaps of clover;

Two or three trees for the cattle to get under,

Out of the way of lightning and thun

der;

No sound was heard but the sweet birds singing,

Except sometimes the cow bells ringing;

But now the birds far away have fled, sirs,

And we are the birds wat sings instead, sir.

Sing hey, Sing ho! I can but grieve,
For the good old days of Adam and
Eve.

But now the progress of civilization, Makes things so high you can't get nothing;

Meat is riz and I am told it will be rizzer, But 'tis as it is and it can't be no tizzer, Butter's high, and bread ain't low, sir, So people must eat po-ta-toes, sir, Coal's very high, but the wind is

higher,

have to cook without any

poor
fire.

Sing hey, Sing ho! I can but grieve,
For the good old days of Adam and
Eve.

So the

AWAY O'ER THE BLUE WAVES OF
OCEAN.

AWAY o'er the blue waves of ocean,
I go to my own native shores,
Yet this bosom will glow with devotion,
To the climes and the scenes it
adores.

Round memory's shrine fondly lingers The joys that have twin'd their bright spell;

And the heart that vibrates to these fingers,

Sighs in sadness the tones of farewell.

Where Italy's bright skies are shining, And France, sunny France, spreads her bloom,

This heart will look back with repining, And its pleasures be saddened in gloom.

Deep thrilling emotions are breaking, While my thoughts on past images dwell;

And my voice at these visions are

waking

Breathes in sadness the notes of farewell

"THE world is at rest, but his watch Love is keeping,

While lonely and sad I look on the

sea;

A cold thrill of fear o'er my bosom is creeping,

Oh, Dermot! dear Dermot! return soon to me !

With trembling I list to the loud raving billow,

And see the pale light from my lamp faintly burn;

Sweet slumber no more sheds a balm o'er my pillow,

Oh, Dermot! dear Dermot! return soon to me,

The heart of thy Norah is breaking for thee !"

In vain doth she watch, oft the gale madly chiding,

Oft shrinking to hear the sea-birds' wild cry;