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Dada, Dada!
As Sung By Sam Collins

I am going to tell of a charming belle, 
Such a nice young gal and sweet as muscatelle, 
She'd a fair, fair skin - her father was in 
The city militia. 
I called on her dada one day, 
Something important I had to say, 
His daughter said he was away, 
So I couldn't see her dada, dada, dada,

Chorus
Dada, dada, dada, dada, dada, dada, dada.

I blushed to my nose when I saw sweet Rose, 
How often I'd lacked the courage to propose; 
Not knowing what to say, I invited her to play 
A tune from some opera. 
I put my arm around her waist, 
Her lovely lips I long'd to taste. 
Said she: "You'd best retire in haste, 
Or I shall call dada, dada, dada."


Oh, said I, my dear, your dada's not here, 
But believe what I say, my darling, is sincere, 
I consider you divine, say, will you be mine? 
Or I'll jump into the aqua. 
She answered in a voice so bland - 
"Your haste, sir, I must reprimand;
You've got my heart, but for my hand, 
You must go and ask dada, dada, dada."

Next morning I went for her pa's consent, 
When he gave her a look of great stonishment. 
Said he: "I never knew that the girl loved you;
You can have her," - said I, "Huzzu! 
Now nothing ever can annoy 
Our wedded life; and oh, what joy! 
We've lately got a little boy, 
I'm teaching to say dada, dada, dada,"

H. De Marsan, Publisher, 60 Chatham Street, New York


DANDY JIM FROM CAROLINE

I've often heard it said of late dat Souf Carolina am de state
Where handsome niggers are bound to shine -
I'm Dandy Jim from Caroline.

Chorus
Den my ole Massa told me, oh, "Best-lookin' nigger in de county," oh;
I looked in de glass and I found it so: just what my Massa told me, oh!

Den beauty - dat is but skin deep, but through my skin is hard to peep;
Dere's none can soak de black gal's mind like Dandy Jim from Caroline.
I dress myse'f from top to toe to see Miss Dinah, here I go;
With trouserloons strapped down so fine, I'm Dandy Jim from Caroline.

De bulldog kept me out de yard; I thought I'd better left my card.
I tied it with a piece of twine, signed, "Dandy Jim from Caroline".
She read my card and wrote me a letter - de more she wrote, she felt de better,
And every word in every line was "Dandy Jim from Caroline".

To read her letter, I began; O! Moses! How de sweat did ran!
She wed de perfect hog with de perfect swine for Dandy Jim from Caroline.
She said, "I love you well enough because I know you up to snuff.
If you'll be hers, then she'll be thine, sweet Dandy Jim from Caroline."

The hottest love is soonest cold; the shortest story soonest told.
She changed her name from Lubly Dine to Mizz Dandy Jim from Caroline.
Now every little child she had is just the image of his dad;
His heel sticks out three feet behind like Dandy Jim from Caroline.

To church I went without delay to christen all dem right away;
Dey christened all 'cept eight or nine young Dandy Jim's from Caroline.


DAR HE GOES! DAT'S HIM!

When first I come to dis here place, dey took me for a hardlin' case;
De white folks say when dey seen my face, "Oh, dar he goes! Oh, dat's him!"

Chorus
"Oh, dar he goes! Oh, dat's him!
" Oh, dar he goes! Oh, dat's him! Dat's him play de old banjo!"

Dey raise dey blinds when I pass by and from behind dey peep so sly;
It's den I hear dem black gals sigh, "Oh, dar he goes! Oh, dat's him!"

De gals come in to have some fun, de old man sarch dar wid a gun;
My sweetheart hollered as I run, "Oh, dar he goes! Oh, dat's him!"

I run ‘til I got out of sight which den put me into a fright;
De white folks yell wid all dare might, "Oh, dar he goes! Oh, dat's him!"

I trabeled to de broke ob day, de coon dog pack begin to bray;
And every word, it seem to say, "Oh, dar he goes! Oh, dat's him!"


dARLING NELLY GRAY

OR,
NELLY GRAY
Words And  Music By Benjamin R. Hanby
1856

There's a low green valley by the old Kentucky shore
Where we've whiled many happy hours away,
A-sitting and a-singing by the little cottage door,
Where lived my darling Nelly Gray.

Chorus
Oh, my poor Nelly Gray, they have taken you away,
And I'll never see my darling any more.
I'm a-sitting by the river and I'm weeping all the day
For you're gone from the old Kentucky shore.

One night I went to see her but "She's gone," the neighbors say,
The white man bound her with his chain;
They have taken her to Georgia to wear her life away,
As she toils in the cotton and the cane.

My canoe is under water and my banjo is unstrung;
I'm tired of living anymore.
My eyes shall look downward and my songs shall be unsung
While I stay on the old Kentucky shore.

My eyes are getting blinded and I cannot see my way -
Hark! There's someone knocking at my door;
Oh! I hear the angels calling and I see my Nelly Gray;
Farewell to the old Kentucky shore.

Final Chorus
Oh, my darling Nelly Gray, up in heaven there they say
That they'll never take you from me any more;
I'm a-coming, coming, coming, as the angels clear the way -
Farewell to the old Kentucky shore.

Benjamin R. Hanby wrote DARLING NELLY GRAY in 1856.  His father was an Ohio minister who held strong abolitionist views.  So strong were those views, in fact, that the Hanby home was a station on the Underground Railroad. This song was based on the story of a slave who had been sold away from her home and family.  Popular in the North both before and during the Civil War, it is reputed that the song was based on the experiences of a runaway slave named Joseph Selby who stopped at the Hanby home en route to Canada.  Selby is said to have hoped to earn sufficient money in Canada to buy the freedom of his sweetheart, a slave named Nelly Gray.  In one of the many versions of the story, Nelly was supposedly traded to a Georgia slaveholder the day before she and Selby were to be married.


THE DARLING YALLER GAL
DAT HAD A JOSEY ON

I seed a dashing yaller gal, 
One day upon de levee, 
Her form was round, her step was light, 
But warn't her bustle heavy? 
She cast a tender glance on me, 
An' den my heart was gone, 
Oh! she was de taring yaller gal, 
Dat had a Josey on!

Chorus
Oh! yes, we all remember her, 
She used to hoe de corn; 
But she's de darling yaller gal 
Dat had a Josey on!

I tipped my hat, an' bowed so low, 
Dat I could hardly straighten; 
An' den I ax'd her quite perlite, 
Dat I for her was waitin'; 

She blushed quite blue, an' den she said, 
"You're quite a dandy, John," 
Oh, she was de taring yaller gal, 
Dat had a Josey on!

I married her dat very day, 
A week we lib'd in clober; 
But soon my lub'd one ran away 
Wid Joe, de cattle drover. 
An' now she troubles me no more, 
Good Lor' - I'm glad she's gone, 
For she was de taring yaller gal, 
Dat had a Josey on!

J. Andrews, No. 38 Chatham St., N.Y.
Printer of Songs, Circulars, Cards, Labels, &c.
Next, Quick & Cheap.



Packet Boat On The Erie Canal

DE BOATMAN DANCE

By Daniel Decatur Emmett

De boatman dance, de boatman sing, de boatman up to eb'rything.
And when de boatman get on shore, he spends his cash and works for more.

Chorus
Dance, de boatman dance! O dance, de boatman dance.
O dance all night 'til de broad daylight
And go home wid de gals in de morning.
Hi ho de boatman row, floatin' down de ribber in a big bateau!
Hi ho, de boat man row, up an' down de ribber in a big bateau!

De boatman is a thrifty man - da is none can do as de boatman can;
I neber see a pretty girl in all my life but dat she be some boatman's wife.

De oyster boat should keep to de shore, de fishin' smack should venture more.
De schooner sails before de wind, de steamboat leaves a streak behind.

I went on board de odder day to see what de boatman had to say;
An' dar I let my passion loose an' dey cram me in de calaboose.

I've come dis time, I'll come no more - let me loose, I'll go ashore;
For dey whole hoss, an' dey a bully crew wid a Hoosier mate an' a captain too.

When you go to de boatman's ball, dance wid my wife or not at all;
Sky-blue jacket an' tarpaulin hat - look out, my boys, for de nine tail cat!

When de boatman blows his horn, look out, old man, your hog is gone;
He steal my sheep, he cotch my shoat, den put 'em in bag and tote 'em to boat.

De Day Ob Liberty's Comin'
George Frederick Root

Darkies don't you see de light,
De day ob liberty's comin', comin',
Almost gone de gloomy night,
De day ob liberty's comin.
High! ho! de darkies sing,
Loud! loud! dar voices ring,
Good news de Lord he bring,
"Now let My people go."

Chorus
Just you look and see dat light!
De day ob liberty's comin', comin',
Almost gone de gloomy night,
De day ob liberty's comin'. 

De Union folks dey wait so long,
We tink dey neber was comin', comin',
And Secesh he get so strong,
We tink dey neber was comin'.
Now Uncle Abe he say,
Come massa while you may,
And for de slabe we'll pay,
For we must let him go. 

Final Chorus
Just you look and see dat light!
De day ob liberty's comin', comin',
Oh! de bless-ed bless-ed sight,
De day ob liberty's comin'.


DE NIGGER ON DE FENCE
To the tune of ALL ROUND MY HAT

Now, listen to me, white folks, de truth I'm going to tell you:
Dat de white man isn't nowhere now, it's plain to men of sense;
For it's nigger in de Senate-house, and nigger in de White-house,
And nigger in de Custom-house, and nigger on de fence.

Some time ago, when Congress met, dey spoke about de nation;
Dey made de acts, dey passed de bills, de laws dey did dispense -
And, speaking of DE PEOPLE, dey always meant de white folks:
But now in every speech dey make, de nigger's on de fence.

Dere's Vendell Philips, Sumner, Horace Greeley. Henry Beecher,
All worshipping de nigger: "fellow feeling's" deir pretences;
But dey never stop to think if dey can benefit de white man,
Dey preach and pray and talk about de nigger on de fence.

Now, just take up de TRIBUNE, and lots of oder papers,
And all de news you 'spect to read, you'll see how dey condense;
It's all about de slavery and abolition questions;
For de idol dat dey worship is de nigger on de fence.

Dey try to prove de nigger am superior to de white man,
And, though dey find dat he is strong, it gives dem no offence;
For, if dey only had deir way, de Mokes should rule de nation,
And deir Candidate for President be? De nigger on de fence.

Now, dere's but one way to end de war, and save dis glorious Union,
To spare de lives of thousands, and stop de great expense:
Stand by de Constitution: no more of abolition:
And darn de man dat meddles wid de nigger on de fence!

H. DE MARSAN, DEALER IN SONGS, TOY BOOKS &C No. 54 CHATHAM ST. N.Y.


DEAD RABBITS' FIGHT WITH
THE BOWERY BOYS
WORDS BY SAUGERTIES BARD
To the tune of JORDAN IS A HARD ROAD TO TRAVEL
1857

They had a dreadful fight, upon last Saturday night,
The papers gave the news accordin';
Guns, pistols, clubs and sticks, hot water and old bricks,
Which drove them on the other side of Jordan.

Chorus
Then pull off the coat and roll up the sleeve,
For Bayard is a hard street to travel;
So pull off the coat and roll up the sleeve,
The Bloody Sixth is a hard ward to travel I believe.

Like wild dogs they did fight, this Fourth of July night,
Of course they laid their plans accordin';
Some were wounded and some killed, and lots of blood spill'd,
In the fight on the other side of Jordan

The new Police did join the Bowery boys in line,
With orders strict and right accordin';
Bullets, clubs and bricks did fly, and many groan and die,
Hard road to travel over Jordan.

When the new police did interfere, this made the Rabbits sneer,
And very much enraged them accordin';
With bricks they did go in, determined for to win,
And drive them on the other side of Jordan.

At last the battle closed, yet few that night reposed,
For frightful were their dreams accordin';
For the devil on two sticks was a marching on the bricks,
All night on the other side of Jordan.

Upon the following day they had another fray,
The Black Birds and Dead Rabbits accordin';
The soldiers were call'd out, to quell the mighty rios
And drove them on the other side of Jordan.

If you want all the good songs, 38 Chatham Street,
There a printer lives, you may rely on;
Lay in a large stock and supply all your friends,
And they'll sing them on the other side of Jordan.

New York July 4th 1857. Written at Hoboken, by Saugerties Bard.
J. Andrews, Printer, 38 Chatham St., N. Y.



Dear Mother, I've Come Home To Die
Words By E. Bowers
Music By Henry Tucker

Dear Mother, I remember well
The parting kiss you gave to me,
When merry rang the village bell;
My heart was full of joy and glee;
I did not dream that one short year
Would crush the hopes that soar'd so high!
Oh! Mother dear, draw near to me,
Dear Mother, I've come home to die.

Chorus
Call sister.. brother.. to my side,
And take your Soldier's last Good-bye, Good-bye;
Oh! Mother dear, draw near to me,
Dear Mother, I've come home to die.

Hark!.. Mother, 'tis the village bell..
I can no longer with you stay:
My Country calls: to arms! to arms!
The foe advance in fierce array!
The vision's past.. I feel that now
For Country I can only sigh:
Oh! Mother dear, draw near to me,
Dear Mother, I've come home to die.

Dear Mother, Sister, Brother, all..
One parting kiss.. to all: Good-bye!
Weep not! but clasp your hand in mine,
And let me like a Soldier die!
I've met the foe upon the field,
Where kindred fiercely did defy..
I fought for Bight.. God bless the Flag!
Dear Mother, I've come home to die!..

H. DE MARSAN, Publisher, 54 Chatham Street, New-York.


Dear Mother, I've COme Home To Eat
Words By John C. Cross
Music By Henry Tucker

To the tune of DEAR MOTHER, I'VE COME HOME TO DIE

This melancholy scene happened but a few months ago: A Vet'ran was returning home, wounded in the stomach by a codfish-ball: being met at the door by his mother, she exclaimed for joy: Dear son, come home for good! When the Vet'ran, with tears of hunger rolling down his cheek, replied: Dear Mother, I've come home to eat!..

Dear Mother, I remember well
The food we get from Uncle Sam:
Hard tack, salt junk, and rusty pork,
Sometimes a scanty piece of ham.
When I a furlough did receive,
I bade adieu to Brother Pete--
Oh! Mother, for a plate of hash..
Dear Mother, I've come home to eat!

Chorus
Oh! for an hour at Meschutt's,
I oft have dream't, when fast asleep!--
Stay, waiter, codfish-balls for me..
Dear Mother, I've come home to eat!

When lying stretched out in my tent,
Wounded with a codfish-ball,
I often heard the bugle sound,
And thought it was the dinner-call;
Then visions of the past came back,
Of Boston-chowder and Pig's-feet..
O Mother dear! don't weep for me:
Dear Mother, I've come home to eat!

I'm now content, no more I'll fight,
Except it is a beef-steak rare;
The army is no place for me..
And shoddy isn't fit to wear..
Oh! for some Quail from Jersey's woods,
And Partridges with fixins neat..
Dear Mother, that's my bill-of-fare..
Dear Mother, I've come home to eat!

 


DEAREST MAY

Oh, niggers come and listen, a story I'll relate,
It happened in a valley in de ole Carolina state;
It was down in de meadow I used to make de hay -
I always work de harder when I t'ink on you, dear Mae.

Chorus
Oh, dearest Mae, you're lovelier dan de day,
Your eyes so bright dey shine at night,
When de moon am gone away.

My Massa gib me holiday, I wish he'd gib me more,
I thanked him very kindly as I shoved my boat from shore.
And down de ribber paddled wid a heart so light and free,
To de cottage ob my lovely Mae, I long'd so much to see.

On de bank ob de ribber where de trees dey hang so low,
When de coon among de branches play, and de mink he keeps below,
Oh, dar is de spot and Mae, she looks so sweet,
Her eyes day sparkle like de stars, and her lips am red as beet.

Beneath de shady ole oak tree I've sot for many an hour,
As happy as de buzzard bird dat sports among de flowers;
But dearest Mae, I left her, and she cried when both we parted,
I gib her a long and fare well kiss, and back to Massa started.

My Master then was taken sick, and poor old man he died;
And I was sold, way down below, close by the river side.
When lovely Mae did hear the news, she wiltered like a flower,
And now lies low, beneath the tree where the owl hoots every hour.

As Sung by C. White, the Christy's and others. 
Andrews' Printer, 38 Chatham St., N. Y., Dealer in Songs, Toy Books, Motto Verses, &c.,
Wholesale and Retail.


THE DEATH OF JENNY WADE

As they said their goodbyes, he looked in her eyes,
He said, "Jenny, my love, I will return;"
She held his hands to her breast, said, "Even though we're apart,
I will hold you inside, like the light in my heart."

Chorus
Always together, for now and forever;
Love is the armor that keeps us alive;
Always together, for now and forever;
I love you, fair Jenny, fair Jenny, my wife."

With the fighting and dying raging outside her door,
Jenny wondered where John was that night;
And although she could not know, John lay dying alone
In the land of Virginia, away from their home.

One lone shell came calling for Jenny that day
As the smoke and the dust settled down;
And the small town of farmers said goodbye on that day
As a young bride of twenty they placed in the ground.


Deep River

Negro Spiritual

Deep river, my home is over Jordan,
Deep river, Lord, I want to cross over into campground.
Deep river, my home is over Jordan
Deep river, Lord, I want to cross over into campground.

Oh don't you want to go to that gospel feast,
That promis'd land where all is peace?
Oh deep river, Lord, I want to cross over into campground.

"Deep River" likely dates to the mid-nineteenth century. As with most spirituals, the composer is unknown.


DER DEITCHER'S DOG

OR,
THE DUTCH WARBLER
WORDS & MUSIC BY SEPTIMUS WINNER
1864

Oh where, oh where ish mine little dog gone?
Oh where, oh where can he be?
His ears cut short und his tail cut long,
Oh where, oh where ish he?

Chorus
Tra la la la, la la la, la la la la,
Tra la la, la la la, la la la la,
Tra la la la, la la la, la la la la,
Tra la la la la la la!

I loves mine lager, 'tish very goot beer;
Oh where, oh where can he be?
But mit no money, I cannot drink here;
Oh where, oh where ish he?

Across the ocean in Garmanie,
Oh where, Oh where can he be?
Der deitchers dog ish der best companie.
Oh where, Oh where ish he?

Und sausage ish goot, bolonie of course!
Oh where, oh where can he be?
Dey makes 'em mit dog, und dey makes 'em mit horse -
I guess dey makes 'em mit he!

Most of us will remember this song with affection from childhood as "Oh Where Has My Little Dog Gone?". Most of us also will recall only one verse - the first verse. Perhaps if we had known the background of this song and the other verses, it might not have been usch a favorite of our childhood days.

Performed in a wartime play and written by Septimus Winner, the cute song and lilting melody cover some darker moments of the Civil War. Dealing with aspects of the underbelly of the war - greed-driven opportunism of some Northern manufacturers who provided shoddy goods to the army, and a resigned acceptance of the horrors taking place on the battlefield - the burlesque humor of a stage German's pet dog being ground into sausage serves as a grim counterpoint to the great war machine grinding up men as fast as they could be supplied.

In the show, the song was done as pure music hall, with the unfortunate dog owner accompanied in the number by a pair of jolly, bloodstained butchers looking away into the sky in mock innocence, who probably know a little more about the dog's fate than they let on. The show and the song were both great hits.


Dick Darlin' The Cobbler

Och! my name is Dick Darlin' the cobbler,
My time I served down there in Kent;
Some say I'm an ould fornicater,
But now I'm resolv'd to repent.

For twenty years I'd been a rover,
An' wasted the prime of my life,
One day I resolv'd to give over,
An' settle myself down to a wife.

Spoken. Yes, I got marri'd, an' be damned to me.  Now, upon my sowl a woman is the most obstroperous and outrageous crature on the face of the earth!  Before I was marri'd, whiniver I'd go among'm, they'd be fighting for me; an' when I marri'd one o' them, in the hopes to be quiet an' peaceable, damn the day she'd be aisy if she wasn't fighting wid me.  Now I'll give ye the contints uv my oath, that, before I was married, there wasn't a nicer, quieter, dacenter, bether disposed or meeker disposition'd boy than myself; but since I'm married, be gob! if I didn't git into a bit of a fight now an' then, I'd go mouldy.  And divil a fight iver I was in or heard tell of, but a woman was at the top, the bottom, both sides, and in the middle of it.

My wife she was blinkin' an' blearin'
My wife she was humpy and black,
The divil all over for swearin',
And her tongue it kept goin' click clack.

Spoken.  Bad luck to me if iver I could tell how a woman's tongue is hung at all.  We all know that a man's tongue is hung by one ind, but bad scran to me if I don't think that a woman's is hung be the middle, an' no sooner one ind strikes the upper part of her jaw, but the other ind hits the lower, an' there it is, upper an' lower, the whole day peltin', 'till at last I'd have to give her a well in the gob wid my last to stop her; an' thin she'd run out uv the cellar, roarin' "Watch, watch, watch! here's this murder'n villin' he's killin' me, he's give me a welt in the gob wid his last, an' he's broke the collar bone of me."

A-rew, wirrastrew! what'll I do?  And thin, widout waitin' for any one to tell her what to do, she up wid a brick an' lets drive at me.  I can dodge it aisy enough 'cause I'm us'd to it: but another poor divil there, standin' by, and not sayin' a word to any body, he got it plump in the mug; up comes the police, an' walks the three uv us off for assault and batthery, an' damn the one got batthered but the poor divil who had nothin' to do wid it.  But that's the way of it, evil communications crorupt good manners.

But now we are parted for iver -
One mornin' before it was light,
I shov'd the ould jade in a river,
And cautiously bid her good night.

My troubles of wedlock bein' over,
This counthry I thought I would try,
Once more I've become a free rover,
An' single I'll stop 'till I die.

Spoken.  A fellow came into my shop the other day.  Dick, says he.  Sir, says I.  I'll bet ye three dollars to one, says he, that I can sole three pair of boots while you sole one.  You can't, says I.  Will ye bet, says he.  I will, says I.  Done, says he.  Done, says I, and to work we wint.  An', afther I'd bate him, as an Irishman ought to do, the dirty bla'guard wouldn't pay me.  But maybe I hadn't satisfaction out uv him; I wint out an' I bate him; I bate him 'till I was blind as a bat.  I bate him 'till I broke nearly all the bones in my body, an' they had to carry me home on a shutther.  He come to me aftherwards, an', says he, You ought to pay me somethin'.  Didn't I give you a practical lesson in industhry?  You didn't know how much work you could do till I brought it out uv you, says he.  Be gob! but I knew how much work he hinder'd me from doin'.  But hould on a bit; let me come across him again, if iver I come across him again - by Jaesus! I'll keep clear uv him.

H. DE MARSAN, Publisher, 60 Chatham Street, New-York.


Didn't She Seem To Like It?
Sung By Tony Pastor
To the tune of JUM CRACK CORN

I can't sing any more, I vow;
So of myself I'll tell you now:
Perhaps you saw me t'other day,
When I took my gal, down, through Broadway.

Chorus
And didn't she seem to like it?
Didn't she seem to like it?
Didn't she seem to like it?
Well, I rayther guess she did.

The way I came to meet her first,
One day I went out on a burst!
And as I stopped to take a drink,
She passed me: I gave a wink -

I called up to her house, that night,
And soon I made the matter right;
I found she'd got no other chap,
Then I squatted her, right on my lap -

Next day, to take a walk we went;
At Thompson's quite a time we spent:
And there, how she the wine did swill!
It burst my bank to pay the bill -

That evening, when I saw her home,
And in the hall we stood alone,
I pressed her hand and squeezed her waist,
And up the stairs we went in haste -

But soon a fellow did appear..
Says he: What are you doing here?
Before I'd time to make reply,

Against his fist he ran my eye -

The gal, then, quickly turned about,
And helped him for to kick me out;
And, as I left, these words she said:
Come, husband dear, let us retire!

H. DE MARSAN.  DEALER in SONGS TOY BOOKS &C.  No 60 CHATHAM ST N. Y.


DIE IN DE FIEL'

NEGRO SPIRITUAL

O what do you say, seekers? O what do you say, seekers?
O what do you say, seekers, about that gospel war?

And what do you say, seekers? O what do you say, seekers?
O what do you say, seekers, about that gospel war?

Chorus
And I will die in the fiel'; will die in the fiel',
Will die in the fiel'; I'm on my journey home.
(Sing it over!)
I will die in the fiel'; will die in the fiel',
Will die in the fiel'; I'm on my journey home.

O what do you say, preacher? O what do you say, preacher?
O what do you say, preacher about that gospel war?

And what do you say, preacher? O what do you say, preacher?
O what do you say, preacher, about that gospel war?

O what do you say, deacons? O what do you say, deacons?
O what do you say, deacons, about that gospel war?

And what do you say, deacons? O what do you say, deacons?
O what do you say, deacons, about that gospel war?

O what do you say, brother? O what do you say, brother?
O what do you say, brother, about that gospel war?

And what do you say, brother? O what do you say, brother?
O what do you say, brother, about that gospel war?

O what do you say, sister? O what do you say, sister?
O what do you say, sister, about that gospel war?

And what do you say, sister? O what do you say, sister?
O what do you say, sister, about that gospel war?


DINAH CROW

O, gentlemen and ladies, I hab you all to know,
Dat here is Miss Dinah, a full sister to Jim Crow.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

All de nigars, are full ob dare stuff,
But dat Jersey nigger, I t'ink dey call Cuff.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

He called for to see me, when I was washin' in de yard,
And de dandy couldn't see me, so he leff his card.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

He cum next Sunday, to wait on me to church,
But I went off wi' Sambo, and left him in de lurch.

I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

Sambo is a nice man, and dresses so neat,
You'd take him for a gemman, if you meet him in de street.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

He hab a profession, and not like de dandies,
You can see him in Market Street, selling of de candies.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

He's got a little table, an' he sits on a stump,
An' he sells to de boy de sweet lasses lump.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

He hate my proud sister, de ugly Cuffelena;
But he berry fond ob me, his sweet and lubly Dinah.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

I t'ink I must hab him, since he must hab a wife,
An if he do behave, we'll lead a merry life.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

While oders in de shops, drinking from de glasses,
We'd rather be at home, boiling out molasses.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

If you cum to see us, sure it make you taffee,
If you only view us, making ob our taffee.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

When de little nigger born (for dey sure enough to cum),
Den we mean to treat our friends, wid a pint ob nigger rum.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

I hab a mighty trouble, and dat's my broder Jim,
For he's so bery ill bred, I can do nothing wid him.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

I went to Catharine Market to buy a marrow bone;
Ben, de butcher, fall in lub, an want to see me home.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

An' when we arrive dere, an' he laid down de meat,
He bery politely ax if I warn't going to treat.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

An' I thought he be mean, since I had asked him in:
So I took de collone bottle, an' brought a glass of gin.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

I give him a glass, an' he took two or three sips,
An' den he wanted to kiss my lubly pouting lips.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

But I soon ax'd no, an' said he'd better hop,
For if I granted dat fabor, he wouldn't know where to stop.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

For young gals must take care, an' keep the fellows cibil,
Or berry soon dey hab cause, to wish dem to de debil.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

De Broadway gals wear der petticoats so high,
Dat too much is exposed, unto de naked eye.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

I sat dem example, dey better follow by half,
For I only show de ankle, insted ob de calf.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

I seed a fellow peeping down, an ax'd him what he were arter,
Says he, "I only want to see, where dat gal ties her garter."
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

If we gals wear de frock up to de moon,
I would advise dem to were de trouseloons.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

O, dis New York's a wicked place to take de stranger in,
For de gals wear false t'ings, and t'ink it be no sin.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

I seed an old maid, an' her mouth was so gum'd,
Dat she could not eat a cracker, unless she had it mum'd.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

She went down Chatham Street, an pawn'd her clothes for bones,
An now dese false set teeth, is all dat she owns.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

Wid white paint and red, an' salve for de lips,
An a sham bishop behind, an' a false pair ob hips.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

Dey rig themselves out, an' promenade all day,
An' pass themselves off for a lady gay.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

Wid dere big cloth cloaks, an' little velvet hats;
Dey are in prime order, for to catch de flats.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

Oder day I was walking, an' lemonading in de street,
Wid my shoe-strings dangling, all around my feet.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

Pompey says to me, de politest ting I can do,
Is to ax de lady in de street if I may tie her shoe.

I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an' ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

O, when I consented, his heart with rapture beat,
Lord, I thought he would die, when he look'd at my feet.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

My shoe muddied his trowsers, played the devil with his vest
False bosom did fly open, an expose his naked breast.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

When he fingered the strings, his ideas began to creep,
An de while he tie de shoe, his eyes began to peep.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

Says I, you nasty nigger, what de debil are you arter;
What make you want to know, where a lady tie her garter.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

Dere he was in de open street, exposed to de vulgar gaze;
When who show'd de cloven foot, but de nigger's foe, old Hays.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

Den dis ferocious man, takes Pompey by de collar;
Den he wouldn't let him go, ‘kase he didn't show de dollar.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

Den he took him to de court, an dere dey sentence he,
All for to sarve tree month, out in de penitentiary.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

After dey hab sentence him, I couldn't make a muss;
So he hab to take a ride, in Corporation omnibus.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

I didn't begrudge him de ride, but I didn't tink it right,
Dat should chain a niger, alongside a sassy white.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

O, its slippery and wet, an I don't know what to do;
I can't raise de dollar to buy de Indian rubber shoe.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

Dey are made for niggers, an I like dem a deal,
Kase dey stretch out so, to fit de Cuffy's heel.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

Between de white and brack, I'm sure dere is no kin;
White's tender place is on de head, nigger's on de shin.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

Sharp nose for de white, de Cuffy hab a chub;
De way I like a nigger, is up to the hub.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

Most white men look too pale,
Some hab a red nose, ‘kase dey drink too much ale.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

White gals hab queer tastes, some lub aniseed,
Some like spruce beer, but gib me Pope's mead.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

One day I seed a wench, dressed out in silk;
Next day I seed her, selling buttermilk.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

Lor' bress dem handsome niggers, what lib in Chapel Strret;
Tho' dey do go to prayer meetin, how slick and sly dey cheat.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

When de meetin' it is out, den homeward dey run;
Dey soon doff dere bonnets off, to hab a bit ob fun.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

For sartin sure de gals are right, an I tink it is no sin,
If dey slily slip across the street, an get a drop ob gin.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

But dem ob Antony and Church, I had almose forgot;
Dey eber take a stranger in, an dere corn em bery hot.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

On de fifth ob July, den niggers hab permission
All for to celumbrate de grand Bobalition.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

Den you see Dinah Crow, an de white ladies do,
Trip da gran Rushun waltz, fixt in silver and blue.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

De composition of dis, will get me many an admirer,
An I expect a puff, in de Inquirer.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

De brack ban dey turn, an for music dey don't lack,
While de big nigger captain, look like a dandy Jack.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

When dey walk till um warm, dey will get in a room,
Gosh? It do de heart good, or to smell de sweet fume.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

I went to de theatre, all for to see de show,
And dere was a white nigger, making fun ob Jim Crow.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

Dis ruffled my temper, an my hair stood strate out:
Says I you nasty white man, I'll surely break your snout.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

I see a gran dandy nigger, on de theatre steps he stood,
I cotch him next morning early, sawing a load ob wood.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

I met a sassy he nigger an gib him such a crack,
Dat I split him like a shad, up and down de back.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

I mean to get married, an make a mighty fuss,
For dere's noting can be sweeter dan a hug, squeeze and buss.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

I'd like to hab a man, wid neat and curly locks,
An cut as big a figgur as de steamer, dandy Cox.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

Here's a health to de white gals, but dere's one ting dey lack,
For how dey would be tickles, if like me, dey were only brack.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

I'm tip ob de fashion, as you can easy see,
An de white gals may take pattern, an fashun arter me.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

Dey may dress an dey paint, an look sleek as an eel,
But when it comes to dancing, dey want de nigger heel.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

De writing ob dese lines, hab made me bery sad,
But dey are done, I am bess glad.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

Now I am done, I leave you in de lurch,
Whoever steal dese lines, I tink would rob a church.
I wink and smile, and play, jist so, an ebery one dat see me, admire Miss Crow.

Sold, wholesale and retail, by Leonard Deming, No. 62, Hanover Street,
second door from Friend Street, Boston, and at Middlebury, Vt.


DINAH CROW'S ABOLITION

Oh, de debil is to pay since the weather's got so hot,
And if de folk ain't gone crazy, I wish I may be shot.

Down in de Chapel what am in Chatham Street
Dat be de berry place where the fanny-tics do meet.

Dare ebery night come, you see on de benches
Sets the pretty white gals alongside the nigger wenches.

You might gone if you choose, dey charge nottin' for admission,
You'd see all de members ob de siety Ab-bob-e-lition.

Dey want to make the white gal marry to de niggar,
And dat jes' what I call goin' de whole figgar.

I heard dey gib a premium, I t'ink about a guinea,
For ebery couple what do hab a real brown pick-en-ninuey.

But de Yankees couldn't stand it, dey wouldn't toe de mark,
Say dey, "We'll set it all to rights a little arter dark."

So ‘way dey went to the chapel, say dey, "Let's make a fuss,"
When in cums de Mayor, with, "Hallo, boys! What's de muss?"

Says he, "Boys, you'd better stop, and don't go the whole bog,
But jes' go to de Punch Bowl and get a little grog."

So dey went and got de steam, an ‘gin to feel a little boozy,
Dey thought dey'd go up de Bowery an hab a little rozee.

For there was a chap up dare, a very sappy noodle,
Who strutted like a turkey cock, and cried, "Damn de yankee doodle!"

Dey broke open de doors, an' rushed on de stage,
Which made Mister Hamblin git in a mighty rage.

They told him to hush, and send dem Metamora,
For he was a Yankee boy, an' I rather guess a roarer.

Neddy he popt out, "Here am I, my boys,
An' I'll speechify a little, if you'll only hush your noise."

Says he "De chap ain't here, he didn't like de fun;
He heard as you was comin' here, so he had to cut an run."

Hamblin tried to pollygise, says dey, "Dat's werry rum,
So shut up your show shop an' we'll all go to home."

"And dis t'ing remember, if you cum here to get your bread,
Jest keep a civil tongue, or you'll ketch a broken head."

Ol' Zip Coon stept up, and funny tings he said,
Crying, "T'ree cheers for Yankeys, dere de boys what ‘go ahead'."

Says he, "Boys, go to bed, and if de wedder keeps so hot,
We'll warm ourselves in Rose Street an' I'll meet you on de spot."

Next night dey went dere, but de man de door did lock it,
And de way dey broke it open was a sin to Davy Crockett.

Out dey trowed de lookin' glass, and cry out like thunder,
"Here cums de furniture, so please to stand from under!"

Dey out wid de pictures, chock full of fun,
But dey wouldn't harm de likeness ob de Glorious Washington.

Out went de beds, and jest to end the joke,
Dey thought they'd make a bonfire and let it end in smoke.

An' now hurrah for up town, and sarve out Dr. Cox,
But some chaps what went dere somehow got in de wrong box.

Ol' Hays says, "How you do,: an took em by de collar;
"Bress you, Massa Hays, let me go, an' I'll gib you half a dollar."

He took dem to de stone jug, says he, "You're now in gaol,
And time enough to rest youself, for folks will go you bail."

One chap he says to Sparks, "For me you ought to feel -
I didn't come here for to riot but only jest to steal."

Says Sparks, "Sure I pity you, but must lock you wid de rest,
But when trial day comes round, dey let you off de best."

Up in Sullivan Street, a darkey had a white mate,
What de boys did dere was awful to relate.

Dey cotcht them into bed, cuddled up so close,
And Missus had some cotton stuffed up her nose.

De parfume was berry nice, but it come rather strong;
She liked it during courtship, but she could'nt stand it long.

Dey took de brack gemman and put him on a stump,
And to sweeten him pretty wife, dey put her under de pump.

Dey pumped well on her, till she war nice and clean,
Then told her to cut her stick and nebber let her face be seen.

One half ob dere tricks I nebber can tell to you,
Without de aid ob my friend Virginny Longtail Blue.

But it war on Friday nite, dey went the whole swine,
Although de sogers turned out an formed regimental line.

Dey used up de darkeys, which I t'ink war a shame,
De fault was de bobolitionist, de niggars warn't to blame.

(Except taking white gals, and making dem dere wife,
While so many Missa Dinah's am leading single life.)

Let ‘um stick to dere colour an' no amalgamation,
For I t'ink de Mulatto are a real abomination.

Let's hab brack or white, but no copper color;
I'm sure I never could come to call such broder.

To see de fuss dat nite, I sure it make you stare,
Where you t'ink was a mob? Why here, dare, an' ebery where.

Dey went to Cox's house, den unto him church;
But gosh, I guess he wise man, an' leave em in de lurch.

Doctor Ludlow come in nex for share ob dare hate,
'Kase he join brack an white into de wedded state.

Dey smashed all de glass, an' rushed in pell mell,
An' habin' not'ing else to do dey took an rung de bell.

Dey went to A.T. Burgundy's and shattered all his glass,
An' swore to tar and feather him if he gib ‘em any sauce.

We am got a nice man, prime un for a mayor;
But as to de corporation - dat is neither here nor dare.

Dey are pretty nice men, true as I am a sinner,
But nebber can like de fighting as dey do celumbrashun dinner.

Dey went to de five points, and one t'ing I know,
Dey cotched ol' Zip Coon along wid Dinah Crow.

Dey rowed him up Salt Creek, but let Miss Dinah go,
'Kase dey like to show respect to old Jim Crow.

I twigged some chaps dare, an' cotched ‘em a-dodging
Up and down Antony Street, seeking out a-lodging.

An' now my broder darkeys just please to keep your station,
Keep clear ob de white folk an' de devilish bobolition.

But if we don't behave ourselves an' mingle wid de white,
If we got a kick on the shin, I'm sure it sarves us right.

An' now God bress you massas, I t'ink it time to stop,
You've punished us a-plenty, so please to let it drop.

Or the grand Chatham RUMPUS CHAPEL, AT THE 5 POINTS, BOWERY APPAN'S Theatre, &c.&c. Sold wholesale and retail by L. DEMING, No. 62, Hanover Street, 2d door from Friend Street, Boston.


Dinah Doe

Music by Anthony F. Winnemore
Lyrics by Silas Sexton Steele, Esq.

Oh, down in Indiana woods,
Whar color'd Angels grow,
Dar I fust track'd a darkey gal,
Her name was Dinah Doe;
Her shape was like a sheaf ob corn,
Her step was like de Roe
An' my heart an' heel was beating
To follow Dinah Doe.
Ah! my heart an' heel was beating
To follow Dinah Doe.

I foller her thro' flow'ry woods,
Each step she walk more slow,
An' when she peeped behind I thought
The stars had dropt below;
For her eyes were like de risen moon,
When daylight out does go
An' my heart an' heel was beating,
To foller Dinah Doe.
An' my heart an' heel was beating,
To foller Dinah Doe.

While looken round, she bumped a tree,
An' backward down she go;
I catch her in dese trobbing arms
As an eagle catch a crow.
Oh, she trembled like a color'd lamb,
Out in a storm ob snow,
Ah! my heart it beat de banjo,
While I hold sweet Dinah Doe.
Ah! my heart it beat de banjo,
While I hold sweet Dinah Doe.

I prest de wound, I kiss her lip,
And she revived not slow;
Her teeth showed like white grains ob corn,
Laid in a double row,
An' her breath was like de summer winds,
Dat on de clover blow;
Oh, she vowed dat night to 'lope wid me,
De charming Dinah Doe.
Oh, she vowed dat night to 'lope wid me,
De charming Dinah Doe.

I help her in my log canoe,
An' down de stream I row;
I want no light to steer by, but
De eyes ob Dinah Doe.
Oh, we ride fas' down de river
While de waters gaily flow;
I thought her mine forever,
Dis Charming Dinah Doe.
I thought her mine forever,
Dis Charming Dinah Doe.

But her Massa's driver spy her out,
While fishen down below;
He shot sweet Dinah thro' de breast,
And in de stream she go.
Oh! her cry was like a dying dove,
Right through my soul it go,
And dis poor heart is beating,
To foller Dinah Doe.
And dis poor heart is beating,
To foller Dinah Doe.


DINAH'S LAMENTATION

To the tune of THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME

Way down beside Francisco Bay, my true lub's gone a-mining;
He ran away wid a yaller gal, and left me here repining.
Oh! Pompey dear, how could you go, and leave poor Dinah weeping?
Her bref goes short, her cheeks turn pale, and nights she has no sleeping.

De purty tears roll down her cheeks, her heart wid lub am beating;
De tales of lub false Pompey told, heart-broken she's repeating;
Yet, Pompey, she forgibs you all, but nebber can dat nigger,
De yaller-gal what coax you off, of tall and lubsome figger.

May be she'll die and you'll come back, Oh! what a happy meeting!
No more will Dinah weep and sigh, but forgib you all de cheating.
Farewell! Farewell! Until we meet, on de udder side ob Jordan;
If we shall meet in dis world no more, she'll like die like Peggy Jorden.

Sweet Peggy Gorden died for lub, her heart was truly broken;
And so will Dinah die likewise; dear friends, I'm not a joke-n.
If Pompey don't come back again, she'll jump into de ribber;
Amongst de cat-fish and de eels, wid mud dey'll Dinah kibber.

H. DE MARSAN. DEALER IN SONGS TOY-BOOKS &C. No 60 CHATHAM. ST N.Y.


Dixie
Words By Albert Pike
Music By Daniel Decatur Emmett
To the tune of DIXIE'S LAND
1861

Southrons, hear your country call you!
Up, lest worse than death befall you!
To arms! To arms! To arms! In Dixie!
Lo! all the beacon fires are lighted
Let all hearts be now united!
To arms! To arms! To arms! In Dixie!

Chorus
Advance the flag of Dixie!
Hurrah! Hurrah!
For Dixie's Land we take our stand,
And live or die for Dixie!
To arms! To arms!
And conquer peace for Dixie!
To arms! To arms!
And conquer peace for Dixie!

Hear the Northern thunders mutter!
Northern flags in South winds flutter!
To arms! To arms! To arms! In Dixie!
Send them back your fierce defiance!
Stamp upon the cursed alliance!
To arms! To arms! To arms! In Dixie!

Fear no danger! Shun no labor!
Lift up rifle, pike, and sabre!
To arms! To arms! To arms! In Dixie!
Shoulder pressing close to shoulder,
Let the odds make each heart bolder!
To arms! To arms! To arms! In Dixie!

How the South's great heart rejoices
At your cannon's ringing voices!
To arms! To arms! To arms! In Dixie!
For faith betrayed and pledges broken,
Wrongs inflicted, insults spoken,
To arms! To arms! To arms! In Dixie!

Strong as lions, swift as eagles,
Back to their kennels hunt these beagles!
To arms! To arms! To arms! In Dixie!
Cut the unequal bond asunder!
Let them hence each other plunder!
To arms! To arms! To arms! In Dixie!

Swear upon your country's altar
Never to submit or falter!
To arms! To arms! To arms! In Dixie!
Till the spoilers are defeated,
Till the Lord's work is completed,
To arms! To arms! To arms! In Dixie!

Halt not till our Federation
Secures among earth's powers its station!
To arms! To arms! To arms! In Dixie!
Then at peace, and crowned with glory,
Hear your children tell the story!
To arms! To arms! To arms! In Dixie!

If the loved ones weep in sadness,
Victory soon shall bring them gladness.
To arms! To arms! To arms! In Dixie!
Exultant pride soon banish sorrow;
Smiles chase tears away tomorrow.
To arms! To arms! To arms! In Dixie!



Plantation Fields
circa 1850

DIXIE, THE LAND OF KING COTTON

Lyrics By Captain Hughes
Music By John Hill Hewitt

To the tune of COLUMBIA, THE GEM OF THE OCEAN

Oh, Dixie the land of King Cotton, the home of the brave and the free;
A nation by freedom begotten, the terror of despots to be.
Wherever thy banner is streaming, base tyranny quails at thy feet;
And liberty's sunlight is beaming in splendor of majesty sweet.

Chorus
Then three cheers for our Army so true, three cheers for our President, too;
May our banner triumphantly wave over Dixie, the land of the brave!

When Liberty sounds her war rattle, demanding her right and her due,
The first land to rally to battle is Dixie, the home of the true.
Thick as leaves of the forest in summer, her brave sons will rise on each plain
And then strike till each vandal comer lies dead on the soil he would stain.

May the names of the dead that we cherish fill memory's cup to the brim;
May the laurels we've won never perish, nor our stars of their glory grow dim.
May our states of the South never sever but companions of freedom e'er be;
May they flourish Confed'rate forever, the boast of the brave and the free.

This song is one of many military and patriotic songs featured in "The Vivandiere," an opera written by John Hill Hewitt.  John Hill Hewitt, New York City born and bred (1801 to 1824) moved to Augusta, Georgia as a 23-year-old adult, where he taught music.  Except for a brief removal to Boston, Hewitt spent the rest of his life in the South.  He is generally considered the Confederacy's leading composer.



Never Against Virginia
Robert E. Lee At Arlington


DIXIE'S LAND

DANIEL DECATUR EMMETT
1859

O, I wish I was in the land of cotton - old times dar are not forgotten;
Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land.
In Dixie Land where I was born in early on one frosty mornin',
Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land.

Chorus
Den I wish I was in Dixie, Hooray! Hooray!
In Dixie Land, I'll take my stand to lib an' die in Dixie.
Away, away, away down south in Dixie.
Away, away, away down south in Dixie.

Old Missus marry "Will-de-weaber"; Willium was a gay deceaber.
Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land.
But when he put his arm around ‘er, he smiled as fierce as a forty-pounder.
Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land.

His face was sharp as a butcher's cleaber, but dat did not seem to greab 'er.
Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land.
Old Missus acted de foolish part, and died for a man dat broke her heart.
Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land.

Now here's a health to de next old Missus, an all de gals dat want to kiss us.
Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land.
But if you want to drive 'way sorrow, come and hear dis song tomorrow.
Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land.

Dar's buckwheat cakes and Ingen' batter, makes you fat or a little fatter.
Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land.
Den hoe it down and scratch your grabble, to Dixie's land I'm bound to trabel.
Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land.

From the Richmond Dispatch
May 11, 1861
p. 1 
National Anthems. - A friend writes to express his pleasure at the ingenuity displayed by a fair correspondent of the Dispatch, on a recent occasion, in endeavoring to prove that the song of "Dixie Land" of right should become the National refrain of the Southern Confederacy. He says she is error when she asserts that the melody is of Northern manufacture. It is purely Southern, and just as purely negro - being a stevadore's song, or chaunt, which for many years past has been bellowed on the wharves and levees of Southern cities, quite as common as the "unwritten music" of "Shinbone Alley," "Ho, boys, You 'Most Done," and "Down Below." It is one of those melodies whose parentage cannot be traced, and whose spontaneous birth defies the researches of the historian. Like many others of the same stamp, it has been caught up by the composers for the "burnt cork opera," and so burnished up and remodeled as to deceive the modern connoisseur, though older ones can detect its nativity. 

He adds: "I make no objections to the tune - it is bold and even pleasing; yet it smells too strongly of the 'nigger' to assume the dignified rank of National song. And the words, notwithstanding the prophetic virtue given them by your lady correspondent, what are they? Mere doggerel stuff, from the brain of some natural poet, away down in Dixie - 'that undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveler returns,' because no one as yet has ever reached it." 

We have no really national airs. "Yankee Doodle" is an unmeaning melody of foreign origin. As our correspondent says, it was played in derision of the Americans, by the British fifers during the Revolutionary war. - Its true origin is from an unsuccessful oratorio, entitled "Ulysses," composed by William Smith.

"Hail Columbia," originally the old "President's March," was composed by the German leader of the band at Trenton, after the battle. 

The "Star Spangled Banner" is the old Irish tune of Bibo. 

The more modern song, so popular with the Unionists, "Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean," claims its origins from John Bull. Its transatlantic title was "Brittania, Thou Gem Of The Ocean." 

"Our Flag Is There," another song tending towards nationality, is said to have been composed in South America. 

Our National melodies should possess a distinct character of their own; but, if we are to depend on any people for their caste, let it not be the untutored son of Africa - the distorter of old Scotch and Irish tunes given to the world in the palmy days of the bards and harpers. If the Confederate States require a National anthem, let them adopt one of pure origin - one that will not be ashamed of its parentage. 


DO THEY MISS ME AT HOME?

CAROLINE A. MASON

Do they miss me at home, do they miss me?
'Twould be an assurance most dear,
To know that this moment some loved one
Were saying, "I wish you were here."
To feel that the group at the fireside
Were thinking of me as I roam
Oh yes, ‘twould be joy without measure
To know that they missed me at home;
To know that they missed me at home.

When twilight approaches, the season
That ever is sacred to song;
Does someone repeat my name over,
And sigh that I tarry so long?
And is there a chord in the music,
That's missed when my voice is away,
And a chord in each heart that awaketh
Regret at my wearisome stay?
Regret at my wearisome stay?

Do they set me a chair near the table
When evening's home pleasures are nigh,
When the candles are lit in the parlor,
And the stars in the calm azure sky?
And when the "good nights" are repeated,
And all lay them down to their sleep,
Do they think of the absent, and waft me
A whispered "Good night" while they weep?
A whispered "Good night" while they weep?

Do they miss me at home? Do they miss me,
At morning, at noon, or at night?
And lingers one gloomy shade round them
That only my presence can light?
Are joys less invitingly welcome,
And pleasures less hale than before,
Because one is missed from the circle,
Because I am with them no more?
Because I am with them no more?


Dolcy Jones

By Stephen Foster
1849

Oh! ladies don't you wonder
When I again appear:
I've just been ober yonder
To see my Dolcy dear;
For Dolcy steps so lightly
Among de bricks and stones,
Her eyes dey shine so brightly
Oh! dadda, D' D' Dolcy Jones!

Chorus
Bye, bye my darling!
Sleep to de rattle ob de bones!
Slumber till morning,
My lubbly Dolcy Jones!
Bye, bye my darling!
Sleep to de rattle ob de bones!
Slumber till morning,
My lubbly Dolcy Jones!

Oh! when I go a courting
I ride thr'o mud and rain:
I leabe de old hoss snorting
At de corner ob de lane.
I find my Dolcy weeping,
And charm her wid de bones,
Bye'n bye I leabe her sleeping,
Oh! dadda, D' D' Dolcy Jones!

I went up town dis morning
To sing a little song;
Miss Dolcy send me warning
To bring my boots along;
For de yard is paved wid cinder,
And de house is built ob stones
And a head is at de window,
Oh! dadda, D' D' Dolcy Jones!

Published by by Firth Pond & Co., N.Y., 1849


DOLLY DAY

WORDS AND MUSIC BY STEPHEN FOSTER
1850

I've told you 'bout the banjo, the fiddle and the bow;
Likewise about the cotton-field, the shovel and the hoe;
I've sung about the bulgine that blew the folks away,
And now I'll sing a little song about my Dolly Day.

Chorus
Oh! Dolly Day looks so gay, I run all round and round,
To hear her fairy footsteps play, as she comes o'er the ground.

I like to see the clover that grows about the lane,
I like to see the cotton plant, I like the sugar cane;
But on the old plantation there's nothing half so gay,
There's nothing that I love so much as my sweet Dolly Day.

When the work is over I make the banjo play,
And while I strike the dulcem notes, I think of Dolly Day.
Her form is like a posy - the lily of the vale,
Her voice is far the sweetest sound that floats upon the gale.

Massa gave me money to buy a peck of corn,
I'se goin' to marry Dolly Day, and build myself a barn,
Then when I'm old and feeble, and when my head is gray,
I'll travel down the hill of life along wid Dolly Day.


Don't Mix Your Liquor, Boys
To the tune of WAIT FOR THE WAGON; Or, LOW-BACKED CAR

Don't mix your liquor, boys, but always take it neat,
He's a surly, churlish fellow who wouldn't stand a treat;
Though surpliced ruffian hypocrites have preached from time to time,
And by their rabid teachings have of drinking made a crime. Yet-

Chorus
We won't mix our liquor, boys, 
We won't mix our liquor, boys;
We won't mix our liquor, boys,
We'll always take it neat.


Still in spite of all their foolish laws, we'll take our daily horn,
And won't give up so easily our friend, John Barleycorn;
For we've known him now for many years, and always found him true,
And to give him up so easily, is a thing we'll never do. So -

Chorus
Don't mix your liquor, boys,
Don't mix your liquor, boys;
Don't mix your liquor, boys,
We'll always take it neat.


We heard one time about a man who suddenly had died,
And to find the causes of his death the jury long had tried;
Until his stomach was cut up, and on the table laid,
When a chunk of ice before there eyes was then and there displayed.  So -

Chorus
Don't mix your liquor, boys,
Don't mix your liquor, boys;
Don't mix your liquor, boys,
We'll always take it neat.

Then the jury saw quite plainly the reason of his death:
Too much water in his grog he took, which, freezing, stopt his breath.
Beecher, Chapin, Tyng and Greeley may drink water when they please,
But let them keep beside the stove when the water begins to freeze.  So -

Chorus
Don't mix your liquor, boys,
Don't mix your liquor, boys;
Don't mix your liquor, boys,
We'll always take it neat.


Neal Dow, who made the liquor law, and patched it up again,
Has made a sorry piece of work, down in the state of Maine;
The work that he commenced down there with such a heavy hand,
Will never stop till tyranny is driven from the land. So -

Chorus
Don't mix your liquor, boys,
Don't mix your liquor, boys;
Don't mix your liquor, boys,
We'll always take it neat.



Dove Of Peace
Words By A. Anderson
To the tune of LAST ROSE OF SUMMER
1863

When the dark cloud of rebellion
Enshrouded our land,
The war cry resounding,
From Georgia to Maine;
The Dove of sweet peace,
No longer could stay,
She spread her bright pinions,
"And flew weeping away." 

The rumbling of chariots,
And the cannon's wild roar,
Where the war horses are prancing,
Or dashing through gore;
Ungenial the clime
To the Dove of sweet peace,
She has fled from our nation
Till these tumults shall cease. 

She has flown to a distance,
In quiet to dwell,
There weeping and cooing
In her quiet lone cell,
A waiting the hour,
When the rainbow of peace
Shall burst the dark cloud,
And the war-cry shall cease. 

When the dark cloud of rebellion
Enshrouded our land,
And the war-cry resounding,
From Georgia to Maine;
The Dove of sweet peace,
No longer could stay,
On her bright golden pinions--
"Flew weeping away." 


Down by the River Lived a Maiden

Song & Chorus by H. S. Thompson
1863

Down by the river there lived a maiden,
In a cottage built just seven by nine,
And all around this lubly bower,
The beauteous sunflower blossoms twine.

CHORUS
Oh! my Clema, Oh! my Clema,
Oh! my darling Clementine,
Now you are gone and lost forever,
I'm dreadful sorry Clementine.

Her lips were like two luscious beefsteaks
Dipp'd in tomato sauce and brine,
And like the cashmere goatess covering
Was the fine wool of Clementine.

Her foot, Oh! Golly! Twas a beauty,
Her shoes were made of Dig-by pine,
Two herring boxes without the tops on
Just made the sandals of Clementine.

One day de wind was blowing awful
I took her down some old rye wine,
And listened to de sweetest cooings,
Ob my sweet sunflower Clementine.

De ducks had gone down to de riber,
To drive dem back she did incline,
She stubb'd her toe and Oh! Kersliver,
She fell into the foamy brine.

I see'd her lips above de waters,
A blowing bubbles bery fine,
But 'turnt no use I want no swimmer,
And so I lost my Clementine.

Now ebry night down by the riber,
Her ghostess walks long half past nine
I know tis her a kase I tracked her,
And by de smell tis Clementine.

Now all young men by me take warning,
Don't gib your ladies too much rye wine,
Kase like as not is this wet wedder,
Dey'll share de fate ob Clementine.

Boston, MA: Oliver Ditson & Co., 277 Washington St.


DOWN IN ALABAM'
Or,
AIN'T I GLAD I GOT OUT DE WILDERNESS
WORDS & MUSIC BY J. WARNER
To the tune of JINE THE CAVALRY
1854

Ah! Ah!
My old Massa, he's got the dropser, um,
He's got the dropser, um,
He's got the dropser, um,
He am sure to die 'kase he's got no doctor, um,
Down in Alabam'.

Chorus
Ain't I glad I got out de wilderness,
Got out de wilderness,
Got out de wilderness,
Ain't I glad I got out de wilderness
Down in Alabam'.

Old blind horse come from Jerusalum,
Come from Jerusalum,
Come from Jerusalum,
He kicks so high dey put him in de museum,
Down in Alabam'.

Dis am a holiday, we hab assembled, um,
We hab assembled, um,
We hab assembled, um,
To dance and sing for de ladies and genbleum,
Down in Alabam'.

Far you well to de wild goose nation,
Wild goose nation,
Wild goose nation,
I neber will leab de old plantation,
Down in Alabam'.

Way down south in Beaver Creek,
In Beaver Creek, in Beaver Creek,
De niggers - dey grow about ten feet,
Down in Alabam'.

Dey wet de ground wid de bacca smoke,
Ground wid de bacca smoke, ground wid de bacca smoke,
When out of de ground dar woolly heads do poke,
Down in Alabam'.

My wife's dead, an' I'll get anuder one,
I'll get anuder one, I'll get anuder one,
My wife's dead, an I'll get anuder one,
Down in Alabam'.

I met a catfish in de ribber,
Catfish in de ribber, catfish in de ribber,
By golly, it made dis nigger shiver,
Down in Alabam'.

I steered right straight for de critter's snout,
For de critter's snout, for de critter's snout,
Turned dat old catfish inside out,
Down in Alabam'.

Oh, here we go now altogether,
Now all together, now all together,
Nebber mind de wind or wedder,
Down in Alabam'.

Published by Wm. Hall & Son, N. Y., 1854 and 1858


Down-Trodden Maryland
Published in Baltimore, November 18, 1861
To the tune of TOM BOWLING

Down-trodden, despised see brave Maryland lie,
The noblest of all States;
Up and to ransom her let each one try,
To hasten the plans of the Fates.
Her land is of the greatest beauty,
That e'er the eye gazed on;
Fearless she roused her to her duty,
Nor paused she 'till was done.


From her Old Line has departed,
With leaders true and brave:
She's been of all the truest hearted,
Why suffer her to be a slave?
She's waited long with murmurs deep,
Aye calling on ye oft;
Still traitors on her insults heap,
Still lies her hope aloft.

But yet she hopes for better things
When Jeff, who all commands,
This wanton war to an end quick brings
With peace to our southern lands.
And when the South is free once more,
'Twill be her proudest boast
That forth the first her men did pour
To curb the invading host.



The Dutch Warbler
See DER DEITCHER'S SONG


DOXOLOGY
Or,
Old 100th

THOMAS KEN
1709

Praise God from whom all blessings flow,
Praise him, all creatures here below;
Praise him above, ye heavenly host,
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.


Drink To Me Only With Thine Eyes
Words By Ben Johnson 
From His Poem "To Celia", 1616

Drink to me only with thine eyes
And I will pledge with mine.
Or leave a kiss within the cup
And I'll not ask for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sip,
I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much hon'ring thee
As giving it a hope that there
It could not withered be;
But thou thereon did'st only breathe,
And sent'st it back to me,
Since when it grows and smells, I swear
Not of itself, but thee.


THE DYING CHILD
JOHN CLARE

He could not die when trees were green, for he loved the time too well.
His little hands, when flowers were seen, were held for the bluebell,
As he was carried o'er the green.

His eye glanced at the white-nosed bee; he knew those children of the spring
When he was well and on the lea. He held one in his hands to sing,
Which filled his heart with glee.

Infants, the children of the spring! How can an infant die
When butterflies are on the wing, green grass, and such a sky?
How can they die at spring?

He held his hands for daisies white, and then for violets blue,
And took them all to bed at night that in the green fields grew,
As childhood's sweet delight.

And then he shut his little eyes, and flowers would notice not;
Birds' nests and eggs caused no surprise, he now no blossoms got;
They met with plaintive sighs.

When winter came and blasts did sigh, and bare were plain and tree,
As he for ease in bed did lie, his soul seemed with the free,
He died so quietly.


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