#1878 #ABookOfMiscellaneousLyrics #EnglishWriters #VictorianWriters
(Suggested by an old verse.) THRO’ the dark and dreary night, Golden slumbers kiss thine eyes; Sleep, and in the early light With a golden smile arise!
MY love at Seaton Terrace dwells… A hale and hearty wight, Who lilts away the summer day, Also the winter night: The merriest bird with rapture sti…
LO the day begins to rise, And the shadows of the night, Overtaken with surprise, Blushing fly his presence bright; Cease thy briny tears to flow,
WHY thus mourn o’er star-hopes fa… They are only from thy ken, By a passing vapour shaded, And will soon appear again: Would thou prove a moral warrior,
The Violet invited my kiss. I kiss’d it and called it my bride… “Was ever one slighted like this?” Sighed the Rose as it stood by my… My heart ever open to grief,
‘You wont!’ the Rose’s accents ri… ‘I will!’ the Golden Bee’s are ri… And tho’ the winds, to aid her, sp… Soon with the breeze-tost bloom he… swinging.
A new song to an old tune. AWAY to the pic-nic at Ryton, aw… Went off in the sunrise our younke… And many were bonny and many were… But sweetest of any was Barbara B…
WHEN first the maiden fair I eye… —This world is a world of grief al… A lily she held and a rose beside But I was doomed her lot to moan. The rose was gain’s and the lily w…
AH me! my heart is like to break, The envied rose upon my cheek, The blood red rose is cold and ble… Now Robin slighteth me. Alas! a shadow lone and pale
AT Backworth sung till echo rung, A bard whose feelings were, In what to young and old he sung Of little Dolly Dare. ‘Tho’ Lizzy’s sweet and Polly’s n…
MY mother bade me go. I went: But beat my heart, ere I returned… A rat-tat-tan, and what it meant Too soon I to my sorrow learned. Her errand to the youth I ran,
THERE’S not a may in Ellerton By half so sweet to look upon; In all the country round there’s n… So sweet as Dora Dee. The blood-red rose to passer by,
I LIKE the darling critics’lik… O, how upon their work I linger, When they their weapons use to str… Not me, but some less happy singer… The treasure of their venom-bags
WOULD I could to freedom awaken… Half worthy the theme, then, a son… Would be echoed on high by the ser… And re-echoed on earth till with r… I would tell of the glory she give…
ELEVEN long winters departed Since you and he sailed o’er the m… Dear, dear—I’ve been thrice broke… And thrice—but, ah, let me refrain… There was not a lassie in Plessy,