Old Ballads | Page 2

ball so fine? Robin was there. What when the play was o'er, What made my heart so sore? Oh, it was parting with Robin Adair.
But now thou'rt cold to me, Robin Adair. But now thou'rt cold to me, Robin Adair. Yet he I lov'd so well Still in my heart shall dwell; Oh, I can ne'er forget Robin Adair.
_Anon._

MOLLY BAWN.
Oh, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining, All lonely, waiting here for you? While the stars above are brightly shining, Because they've nothing else to do. The flowers late were open keeping, To try a rival blush with you; But their mother, Nature, set them sleeping, With their rosy faces wash'd with dew. Oh, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining, All lonely, waiting here for you? Now the pretty flowers were made to bloom, dear, And the pretty stars were made to shine; And the pretty girls were made for the boys, dear, And may be you were made for mine: The wicked watch-dog here is snarling, He takes me for a thief, you see; For he knows I'd steal you, Molly, darling, And then transported I should be. Oh, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining, All lonely, waiting here for you?
Samuel Lover.

GO, HAPPY ROSE!
Go, happy Rose! and interwove With other flowers, bind my love. Tell her, too, she must not be Longer flowing, longer free, That so oft has fetter'd me.
Say, it she's fretful, I have bands Of pearl and gold to bind her hands; Tell her, if she struggle still, I have myrtle rods at will, For to tame though not to kill.
Take thou my blessing thus, and go, And tell her this,--but do not so! Lest a handsome anger fly Like a lightning from her eye, And burn thee up as well as I.
_Herrick._

THE ANCHOR'S WEIGH'D.
The tear fell gently from her eye, When last we parted on the shore; My bosom heav'd with many a sigh, To think I ne'er might see her more. "Dear youth," she cried, "and canst thou haste away? My heart will break; a little moment stay. Alas, I cannot, I cannot part from thee. The anchor's weigh'd, farewell! remember me."
"Weep not, my love," I trembling said, "Doubt not a constant heart like mine; I ne'er can meet another maid, Whose charms can fix that heart like thine!"
"Go, then," she cried, "but let thy constant mind Oft think of her you leave in tears behind." "Dear maid, this last embrace my pledge shall be! The anchor's weigh'd! farewell! remember me."
_S.J. Arnold._

ALICE GRAY.
She's all my fancy painted her, She's lovely, she's divine; But her heart it is another's, She never can be mine; Yet lov'd I as man never lov'd, A love without decay, Oh! my heart, my heart is breaking For the love of Alice Gray!
Her dark brown hair is braided O'er a brow of spotless white; Her soft blue eye now languishes, Now flashes with delight; Her hair is braided not for me, The eye is turned away; Yet, my heart, my heart is breaking For the love of Alice Gray.
I've sunk beneath the summer's sun, And trembled in the blast; But my pilgrimage is nearly done, The weary conflict's past: And when the green sod wraps my grave, May pity haply say, Oh! his heart, his heart is broken For the love of Alice Gray.
William Mee.

HOME, SWEET HOME.
'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home! A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, Which, seek thro' the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere. Home! home! sweet, sweet home! There's no place like home! There's no place like home!
An exile from home splendour dazzles in vain, Oh I give me my lowly thatch'd cottage again! The birds singing gaily that came at my call, Give me them with the peace of mind dearer than all. Home! home! sweet, sweet home! There's no place like home! There's no place like home!
_J. Howard Payne._

JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO.
John Anderson, my Jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my Jo.
John Anderson, my Jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither; And monie a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither: Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my Jo.
_Burns (New Version)_.

MY PRETTY JANE.
My pretty Jane, my pretty Jane! Ah! never, never look so shy; But meet me in the evening, While the bloom is on the rye. The spring is waning fast, my love, The corn is in the ear, The summer nights are coming, love, The moon shines bright