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SALLY GOODIN

Had a piece of pie an' I had a piece of puddin',
An' I give it all away just to see my Sally Goodin.
I looked down the road an' I seen my Sally comin',
An' I thought to my soul that I'd kill myself a-runnin'.
Love a 'tater pie an' I love an apple puddin',
An' I love a little gal that they call Sally Goodin.
Love a 'tater pie an' I love an apple puddin',
An' I love a little gal that they call Sally Goodin.

I dropped the 'tater pie an' I left the apple puddin',
But I went across the mountain to see my Sally Goodin.
I dropped the 'tater pie an' I left the apple puddin',
But I went across the mountain to see my Sally Goodin.
Sally is my doxy an' Sally is my daisy,
When Sally says she hates me, I think I'm goin' crazy.
Little dog'll bark an' a big dog'll bite you,
Little gal'll court you an' big gal'll fight you.

Rainin' an' a-pourin' an' the creek's runnin' muddy,
An' I'm so damn drunk I can't stand steady.
Rainin' an' a-pourin' an' the creek's runnin' muddy,
An' I'm so damn drunk I can't stand steady.
I'm goin' up the mountain an' marry little Sally;
Raise corn on the hillside an' the devil in the valley.
I'm goin' up the mountain an' marry little Sally;
Raise corn on the hillside an' the devil in the valley.

Sally gave me hambone, Sally gave me cornbread,
Sally gave me one kiss and like to killed me stone dead.
Sally gave me one drink, and then she gave me two;
I wonder 'bout my soul and I don't know what to do.
I climbed up the oak tree and Sally climbed a gum;
I never knew a pretty gal, I didn't love her some.
I climbed up the oak tree and Sally climbed a gum;
I never knew a pretty gal, I didn't love her some.

Sally in the 'tater patch, Sally in the peas,
Sally, won't you come back and set my heart at ease.
Sally in the 'tater patch, Sally in the peas,
Sally, won't you come back and set my heart at ease.


SALLY IN OUR ALLEY

Henry Carey
1726

Of all the girls that are so smart, there's none like pretty Sally;
She is the darling of my heart, and she lives in our alley.
There is no lady in the land that's half so sweet as Sally;
She is the darling - is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

Her father, he makes cabbage nets and through the streets does cry 'em;
Her mother, she sells laces long to such as please to buy 'em.
But sure such folks could ne'er beget so sweet a girl as Sally!
She is the darling - is the darling of my heart
And she lives in our alley.

When she is by, I leave my work, I love her so sincerely;
My master comes like any Turk, and bangs me most severely.
But let him bang his belly full - I'll bear it all for Sally.
She is the darling - is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

Of all the days that's in the week, I dearly love but one day,
And that's the day that comes betwixt a Saturday and Monday;
For then I'm drest all in my best to walk abroad with Sally.
She is the darling - is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

My master carries me to church, and often I am blamed
Because I leave him in the lurch as soon as text is named.
I leave the church in sermon-time and slink away to Sally;
She is the darling - is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

When Christmas comes about again, O, then I shall have money;
I'll hoard it up and box it all, I'll give it to my honey.
I would it were ten thousand pound - I'd give it all to Sally.
She is the darling - is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

My master and the neighbors all make game of me and Sally;
And, but for her, I'd better be a slave and row a galley.
But when my seven long years are out, O, then I'll marry Sally -
O, then we'll wed - then we'll wed, and then we'll bed -
But not in our alley!

The original tune and the words to SALLY IN OUR ALLY were written by English composer and playwright Henry Carey, one of many songs in a play he also wrote. SALLY IN OUR ALLEY was published in 1726.  According to Chappell's Popular Music of the Olden Time, Carey's original melody was replaced around 1760 by "a much older ballad-tune": THE COUNTRY LASS. The melody of THE COUNTRY LASS was the vehicle by which SALLY IN OUR ALLEY became popular in America in the 18th century, and again in a revival of the play in the mid-19th century.  

Chappell offers a story behind the ballad. Chappell asserts that a shoemaker's apprentice was on holiday in England with his sweetheart. He took her to see the sights, including Bedlam, puppet shows, and Moorfields. Taking the perspective of the Unseen Seer, Carey followed them throughout the day and wrote the ballad based on their 'sketch of nature.'

Though the ballad became popular, Carey was ridiculed by other composers for the ballad. Several other sets of lyrics were written to Carey's tune, including:

Sally's Lamentation
Or,
The Answer to Sally

What pity 'tis so bright a thought
Should e'er become so common;
At ev'ry corner brought to naught
By ev'ry bawling woman.
I little thought when you began
To write of charming Sally,
That ev'ry brat - that ev'ry brat would sing so soon,
"She lives in our alley."


Sally's Lamentation

Or,
The Answer to Sally

What pity 'tis so bright a thought
Should e'er become so common;
At ev'ry corner brought to naught
By ev'ry bawling woman.
I little thought when you began
To write of charming Sally,
That ev'ry brat - that ev'ry brat would sing so soon,
"She lives in our alley."


Sam sluffheel and fanny doodle:
A Serenade
From CHRISTY'S NIGGA SONGSTER

1850

He. Oh, Miss Fanny let me in,
For de way I lub you is a sin;
Oh, lubly Fanny, let me in,
To toast my feet and warm my shin.

She. Oh, no, I cannot let you in -

Both. To toast ( my / your ) feet and warm ( my / your ) shin.

She. Sam Sluffheel when last we parted,
You to me did prove false hearted.
Whitewash Sal you went to see,
And she ain't one bit better dan me.
Oh, no, I cannot let you in
To toast your feet and warm your shin.

He. Oh, Miss Fanny, how I prizes,
Lubly teeth and lubly eyeses,
Your handsome Fanny Elssler feet -
Growling music also sweet.
Oh, lubly Fanny, let me in,
To toast my feet and warm my shin.

She. My lub for you is so berry great,
Dat it is a sin to make me wait.
Sam Sluffheel, I ain't got no fine maid
And 'tain't no use to slamanade.
Oh, no, I cannot let you in
To toast your feet and warm your shin.

He. Oh, when I set up oyster cellar,
You shall wait upon de feller,
Sell hot corn and ginger pop,
You be de lady ob de shop.
Oh, lubly Fanny, let me in,
To toast my feet and warm my shin.

She. Oh, Sam, If dat's de trufe you tell me,
I shall wait upon de feller,
Sell hot corn and ginger pop,
I'll be lady ob de shop.
Oh, Sam Sluffheel you may come in
To toast your feet and warm your shin.
He. Oh, Miss Fanny, I'se a- coming in,
For de way I lub you is a sin.

Spoken
She. Now Mr. Sam Sluffheel, as you is in, I wants to expostulate wid you, I wants to know what nigger wench dat was, you was goin' ober to Hobuckem wid.

He. Why dat was Miss Araminta Peachblossom, to be sure - why?

She. Oh, not'ing, only I taught if she opened her mouth once, they would hab to stop the paddle, or she would hab swallowed up all de machinery, dat's all!

He. Yes, an' I wants to know what nigger dat was you was perambulating up Broadway wid de oder night?

She. Why dat was Mr. Jeromibus, ob course.

He. Why, I taught you said it was Mr. Juberbus.

She. Nigger, you must be cracked--Mr. Jerombus, I said.

He. Well, Mr. Jerombus, and Mr. Juberbus, is much de same, especially Mr. Juberbus; now look here, Miss Fanny, suypose you show us some ob dem Highland Fling touches you danced for Fanny Elssler de oder night.

She. Well I s'pose I must if it is only to oblige you, you are so insinuatory. (Dances the Cachuca.)


Sambo's Address To His Bredren
See CHING A RING CHAW


sAMBO'S 'DRESS TO HE BREDREN
AND OLE WIRGINNY

Broder, let us leave Buckra lan' for Hay-tee,
Dar you be receive, gran' as Layettee;
Make a mighty show wen we lan fom steemship -
I be like Munro, you like Louis Fillip.

Chorus
Chinger ring, ringer, ching, ching,
Ho ah ding, ding, ah kum darkee;
Chinger ring, ringer, ching, chaw,
Ho ah ding, kum darkee.

O, dat equal sod, who no want to go-e,
Dar we feel no rod, dar we hab no fo-e;
Dar we lib so fine, wid our coach an' hors-ie,
An' eb'ry time we dine, hab one, two, tree, four cours-ee.

No more carry hod, no more oceter o-pe,
No more dig de sod, no more krub de shop-e;
But hab wiskers gran', an' prominade de street-e.
Wid buty's ob de lan' were in full dress meet-e.

No more carry bag, an' wid nail an' tick-e,
Nasty dirty rag, out ob gutter pick-e;
No more barro' wheel all 'bout de street-e,
No more 'blige' to steel, den by Massa beet-e.

No more white man stare wen we stan' in mob-e,
An' frite our lubly fair, wich mak 'em sigh an' sob-e;
Dar our wives be gran', an' in di'mon's shin-e
While eb'ry kulerd man hab much he drink ob win-e.

Dar smok' de bess segar fech from de Habannah,
Wile our doctars fair, play on de pianah;
No more kry, hot korn, or pepper pot all hot-e,
But wark de lubly lorn, an' res' in shady grot-e.

No more our son kry sweep, no more he be de lack-e,
Nor more our doctars weep, 'kase dey kall dem black-e;
No more dey sarvant be, no more dey wash an kook-e,
But eb'ry day we see dem read de novel book-e.

No more wid black an' brush, make boot an' shoe to shin-e,
But hab all good t'ings flush, an' all ob dem sublim-e;
No more bob for eel, an all dem sort ob fish-e -
No more eat korn meal, but hab de bess of dish-e.

Dar we hab parties big, dar dance an' play de fiddle,
Dar walse an' hab de jig, kast off an' doun de middle;
Den in de gran' soloon, we take de blushing damsell,
Wen eyes shine like de moon, an' eb'ry mouf dey cram full.

Dar dance at night de jig, wat white man kall kotilion,
In hall so mity big he hole a ha'f a milion;
Den take our partners out, den forward too and back-e,
Den kros an' turn about, an' den go home in hack-e.

Dar too, we sure to make our dortars de fine la-dee,
An' wen dey husban take, dey ' bove de common grad-ee;
An' den perhaps our son, he rise in glor'us splender,
An' be like Washington, he countries great defender.


SAMBO'S RIGHT TO BE KILT
Private Miles O'Reilly

Some tell me 'tis a burnin' shame
To make the naygers fight,
And that the trade of bein' kilt
Belongs but to the white.
But as for me, upon my soul!
So lib'ral are we here,
I'll let Sambo be shot instead of myself
On ev'ry day in the year.

Chorus
On ev'ry day in the year, boys,
And in ev'ry hour in the day,
The right to be kilt I'll divide wid him,
And devil a word I'll say.

In battle's wild commotion,
I shouldn't at all object,
If Sambo's body should stop a ball
That's coming for me direct;
And the prod of a Southern bagnet,
So ginerous are we here,
I'll resign and let Sambo take it
On every day in the year.

Chorus
On ev'ry day in the year, boys,
And wid none 'iv your nasty pride,
All my right in a Southern bagnet prod
Wid Sambo I'll divide.

The men who object to Sambo
Should take his place and fight;
And it's better to have a nayger's hue
Than a liver that's wake and white.
Though Sambo's black as the ace of spades,
His fingers a trigger can pull,
And his eye runs straight on the barrel sight,
From under his thatch of wool.

Chorus
On ev'ry day in the year, boys,
Don't think that I'm tippin' you chaff;
The right to be kilt we'll divide with him, boys,
And give him the largest half.


The Sands Of Time Are Sinking

The sands of time are sinking,
The dawn of heaven breaks;
The summer morn I've sighed for -
The fair, sweet morn awakes:
Dark, dark hath been the midnight,
But dayspring is at hand,
And glory, glory dwelleth
In Immanuel's land.

Christ, He is the fountain,
The deep, sweet well of love!
The streams of earth I've tasted
More deep I'll drink above:
There to an ocean fullness
His mercy doth expand,
And glory, glory dwelleth

In Immanuel's land.

Oh! Well it is forever,
Oh! well forevermore,
My nest hung in no forest
Of all this death-doomed shore:
Yea, let the vain world vanish,
As from the ship the strand,
While glory - glory dwelleth
In Immanuel's land.

There the Red Rose of Sharon
Unfolds its heartsome bloom
And fills the air of heaven
With ravishing perfume:
Oh! To behold it blossom,
While by its fragrance fanned
Where glory-glory dwelleth
In Immanuel's land.

The King there in His beauty,
Without a veil is seen:
It were a well spent journey,
Though seven deaths lay between:
The Lamb with His fair army,
Doth on Mount Zion stand,
And glory - glory dwelleth
In Immanuel's land.

Oft in yon sea beat prison
My Lord and I held tryst,
For Anwoth was not heaven,
And preaching was not Christ:
And aye, my murkiest storm cloud
Was by a rainbow spanned,
Caught from the glory dwelling
In Immanuel's land.

But that He built a Heaven
Of His surpassing love,
A little new Jerusalem,
Like to the one above,
"Lord take me over the water"
Hath been my loud demand,
"Take me to my love's own country,
Unto Immanuel's land."

But flowers need nights cool darkness,
The moonlight and the dew;
So Christ, from one who loved it,
His shining oft withdrew:
And then, for cause of absence
My troubled soul I scanned
But glory shadeless shineth
In Immanuel's land.

The little birds of Anwoth,
I used to count them blessed,
Now, beside happier altars
I go to build my nest:
Over these there broods no silence,
No graves around them stand,
For glory, deathless, dwelleth
In Immanuel's land.


Fair Anwoth by the Solway,
To me thou still art dear,
Even from the verge of heaven,
I drop for thee a tear.
Oh! If one soul from Anwoth
Meet me at God's right hand,
My heaven will be two heavens,
In Immanuel's land.

I've wrestled on towards Heaven,
Against storm and wind and tide,
Now, like a weary traveler
That leaneth on his guide,
Amid the shades of evening,
While sinks life's lingering sand,
I hail the glory dawning
From Immanuel's land.

Deep waters crossed life's pathway,
The hedge of thorns was sharp;
Now, these lie all behind me
Oh! for a well tuned harp!
Oh! To join hallelujah
With yon triumphant band,
Who sing where glory dwelleth
In Immanuel's land.

With mercy and with judgment
My web of time He wove,
And aye, the dews of sorrow
Were lustered with His love;
I'll bless the hand that guided,
I'll bless the heart that planned
When throned where glory dwelleth
In Immanuel's land.

Soon shall the cup of glory
Wash down earth's bitterest woes,
Soon shall the desert briar
Break into Eden's rose;
The curse shall change to blessing
The name on earth that's banned
Be graven on the white stone
In Immanuel's land.


O I am my Beloved's
And my Beloved's mine!
He brings a poor vile sinner
Into His "house of wine."
I stand upon His merit -
I know no other stand,
Not even where glory dwelleth
In Immanuel's land.

I shall sleep sound in Jesus,
Filled with His likeness rise,
To love and to adore Him,
To see Him with these eyes:
'Tween me and resurrection
But Paradise doth stand;
Then - then for glory dwelling
In Immanuel's land.


The Bride eyes not her garment,
But her dear Bridegroom's face;
I will not gaze at glory
But on my King of grace.
Not at the crown He giveth
But on His pierced hand;
The Lamb is all the glory
Of Immanuel's land.

I have borne scorn and hatred,
I have borne wrong and shame,
Earth's proud ones have reproached me
For Christ's thrice blessed Name:
Where God His seal set fairest
They've stamped the foulest brand,
But judgment shines like noonday
In Immanuel's land.

They've summoned me before them,

But there I may not come,
My Lord says "Come up hither,"
My Lord says "Welcome home!"
My King, at His white throne,
My presence doth command
Where glory - glory dwelleth
In Immanuel's land.


The Scolding Wife

I married with a scolding wife, full twenty years ago, 
And ever since, I've lived a life of misery and woe, 
For my wife is such a tyrant without the house and in, 
That she'd pitch me to the devil for a drop or two of gin.

Chorus
For she worries me, she flurries me, and 'tis her heart's delight, 
To bang me with the fire shovel round the room at night.

She rises in the morning, steps out to get a dram, 
While I dress myself and go to work as quiet as a lamb; 
When I come home to breakfast perhaps she'll punch my head, 
And then again at dinner time, I find her drunk a bed.

If I come home at tea time, I patiently must stop, 
'Till she has drain'd the tea pot, then poor I must take the slop; 
And should I hap to say a word, or even seem to gloom, 

Full well I know the consequence, the poker is my doom.

Should I go with my companions to take a drop of stout, 
She'll hunt through all the neighborhood until she finds me out; 
Then she'll hold me up to ridicule before the company, 
Saying, "petticoat your master is, and evermore shall be."

Last night at ten o'clock, says I, my dear, I'll go to bed, 
And scarcely on my pillow laid ten minutes was my head, 
When like a roaring lion she opened the door, 
She haul'd me out of bed and threw me slap upon the floor.

Then tables, chairs and poker, like fury she let fly, 
With her nails she scratch'h my face, and with the bellows black'd my eye. 
She tore my shirt in pieces, broke my smellers with a broom, 
And banged me with a fire shovel up and down the room.

I roar'd out horrid murder - the watchman broke the door, 
And found my wife a-beating me so neatly on the floor. 

The neighbours all alarmed, came to stop the strife, 
Or really, I believe, she'd taken my poor life.

Had I ten thousand sovereigns, I'd give them with good will, 
To send my wife a twelvemonth unto the treading mill; 
Or would the devil take her, I'd thank him for his pains, 
And hang me with my garters before I'd wed again.

Sold, wholesale and retail by L. Deming
No. 62, Hanover Street, 2d door from Friend Street, Boston


SHADY GROVE
From HENRY BECK'S FLUTE BOOK &
SCOTS MUSICAL MUSEUM
1768 / 1853

When I was a little boy,
I wanted me a knife;
Now I am a bigger boy,
And I want me a wife.

Chorus
Shady Grove, my little love,
Shady Grove, I know ye;
Shady Grove, my little love,
I'm bound for Shady Grove.

Cheeks as red as the bloomin' rose,
Eyes of the deepest brown;
You're the darlin' of my heart,
Stay 'til the sun goes down.

Had a banjo made of gold -
Every string would shine;
The only song that I would play
Was WISH THAT GIRL WAS MINE.

Went to see my Shady Grove,
She was standin' in the door;
Shoes and stockings in her hands,
Little bare feet on the floor.

Wish I had a big, fine horse,
And corn to feed him on;
Pretty little girl to stay at home
And feed him when I'm gone.

Peaches in the summertime,
Apples in the fall;
If I can't get the girl I love,
Won't have none at all.

When I was in Shady Grove,
I heard them pretty birds sing;
Next time I go to Shady Grove,
I'll take a diamond ring.

When you go to catch a fish,
Fish with a hook and line;
When you go to court a girl,
Never look behind.

Some come here to fiddle and dance,
Some come here to tarry;
Some come here to fiddle and dance,
But I come here to marry.

Once I had a muley cow,
Muley when she's born;
Took a jaybird forty year
To fly from horn to horn.

Shady Grove, my little love,
Shady Grove, I know ye;
Shady Grove, my little love,
Don't wait 'til the Judgement Day!


SHENANDOAH

Oh, Shenandoah, I long to hear you;
Away, you rolling river.
Oh, Shenandoah, I long to hear you;
Away, I'm bound away,
'Cross the wide Missouri.

Oh, Shenandoah, I love your daughter;
Away, you rolling river.
For her I've crossed the rolling water;
Away, I'm bound away,
'Cross the wide Missouri.

Missouri, she's a mighty river;
Away, you rolling river;
The Indians camp along her border;
Away, I'm bound away,
'Cross the wide Missouri.

The white man loved an Indian maiden;
Away, you rolling river.
With notions his canoe was laden;
Away, I'm bound away,
'Cross the wide Missouri.

Seven long years I courted Sally;
Away, you rolling river.
Seven more years I longed to have her;
Away, I'm bound away,
'Cross the wide Missouri.

Farewell, my dear, I shall not grieve you;
Away, you rolling river.
Oh, Shenandoah, I'll not deceive you;
Away, I'm bound away,
'Cross the wide Missouri.


SHORT'NIN' BREAD
Traditional Appalachian Song
ca 1845

Put on the skillet, put on the lid,
Mammy's gonna make a little short'nin' bread;
That ain't all she's a-gonna do:
Mammy's gonna make a little coffee, too.

Chorus
Mammy's little baby loves short'nin', short'nin',
Mammy's little baby loves short'nin' bread.
Mammy's little baby loves short'nin', short'nin',
Mammy's little baby loves short'nin' bread.

Three little babies layin' in bed,
Two was sick and the other 'most dead;
Sent for the doctor, the doctor said,
"Feed them babies on short'nin' bread."

When them babies - sick in bed -
Heard that talk
'bout short'nin' bread,
They popped up well to dance and sing;
Skipped around and cut the "Pigeon Wing".

Put on the skillet, pour on the grease;
Don't make a little, but a great big piece.
Sift out the bran and drop in the corn -
Mammy knowed what she's doin' when she made that pone.

Slipped into the kitchen - slipped up the lid -
Filled my pockets with short
'nin' bread.
Stole the skillet - stole the lid -
Stole that gal makin' short'nin bread.

Caught me with the skillet, caught me with the lid,
Caught me the gal makin' short'nin bread.
Paid six dollars for the skillet, six dollars for the lid,
Spent six months in jail eatin' short'nin bread.

The PIGEON WING that t he short'nin bread-healed babies "cut" refers to a dance that was popular in the 1840s.


Shuck Dat Corn Befo' Yo' Eat
Slave Song

All dem pooty gals will be dar,
Shuck dat corn befo' yo' eat;
Dey will fix it fo' us rare,
Shuck dat corn befo' yo' eat.

I know dat supper will be big,
Shuck dat corn befo' yo' eat;
I t'ink I smells a fine roas' pig,
Shuck dat corn befo' yo' eat.

I hope dey'll hab some whiskey dar,
Shuck dat corn befo' yo' eat;
I t'ink I'll fill my pockets full,
Shuck dat corn befo' yo' eat.

 


sister carrie
Or,
the compromise song
Words and Music by A.P. Peck

Sister Carrie my dear,
I am sorry to hear,
That you are determin'd to leave us;
But they say it's a fact
That your trunk is all pack'd
And you hope by such conduct to grieve us.
You hope by such conduct to grieve us, dear Carrie,
You hope by such conduct to grieve us.

You have always been naughty
And wilful and haughty;
Like a spoiled little minx as you are,
So vain of your beauty,
Forgetful of duty,
You owe to indulgent papa,
You owe to indulgent papa, my dear,
You owe to indulgent papa.

You surely can't say
That you've not had your way -
In each of our family broils,
While I vow and declare,
You have had your full share,
In all of our National spoils.
In all of our National spoils, Carrie dear,
In all of our National spoils.

Now be warned of your fate
Before it's too late,
Like a dear little innocent lamb.
Come out of your pet
And do not forget,
All the kindness of good Uncle Sam.
All the kindness of good Uncle Sam, Sister Carrie,
All the kindness of good Uncle Sam.

Some day all forlorn
Bedraggled and torn,
Like the Prodigal Son in his need;
You will knock at the door,
And come home once more,
Nor venture again to Secede.
Nor venture again to Secede, Sister Carrie,
Nor venture again to Secede.

The palmetto tree
No shelter will be,
When the dark clouds of anarchy lower;
You will long for the rest
Of our own Eagle's Nest,
And the Strong Arm of Federal Power.
The Strong Arm of Federal Power, Miss Carrie,
The Strong Arm of Federal Power.

Now dear little Sis
Come give me a kiss,
To make up these Family Jars;
Secession shall never
Our Union dissever,
Hurrah! for the Stripes and the Stars;
Hurrah! for the Stripes and the Stars, Dear Carrie,
Hurrah! for the Stripes and the Stars.

 


SITTIN' ON A RAIL
OR,
THE RACCOON HUNT

As I walk by de light ob de moon, 
So merrily singin' this same tune,
Dare I spy - big raccoon, 
A-sittin' on a rail, a-sittin' on a rail,
A-sittin' on a rail, an' sleepin' bery sound.

At dis raccoon I long to peep, 
'Cause he was so fass a sleep;
So up to him I softly creep, 
An' pull him off de rail, an' pull him off de rail,
An' pull him off de rail, and trow'd him on de ground.

De old raccoon, he cratch an bite,
I hit him den wid all my mite;
I bung he eye an' spile him sight;
O I'se de child to fight, O I'se de child to fight,
O I'se de child to fight, an' play de banjo, too.

While on de ground de raccoon lay,
I tell him bess' he 'gin to pray;
Den he jump up an run away,
So quick um out ob sight, so quick um out ob sight,
So quick um out ob sight, an' gone to de debil, too.

...Den, you see, dis nigger, he loosum de raccoon dat time, slick enough, but I wouldn't care much bout 'um, only I make sich great calfimalashun on 'um while he lay on de ground. I calfimalate to live myself for 'bout six week on de clare raccoon fat - juss' de stuff, you know, for de nigger - an' I goin' to hab him skin take off, too, an' I goin' to hab a pair ob mockerson made on 'um for Miss Philisy Madinah Comestock, de little whitey gal what I court, juss' ober de hill hear; but, you know, de great writer say dare many slip 'tween de cup an de mouf, so, you see, I din't get de fat, an' Miss Philisy din't get de mockerson, which make 'um feel berry bad; so I tell Philisy, says I, neber mine Philisy, neber mine, says I, 'cause I play de berry debil wid dat arr raccoon, de berry next time I kotch him:

A-sittin' on a rail, a-sittin' on a rail,
A-sittin' on a rail, an' sleepin' berry sound.
My ole massa he lub gin, de way he drink him was a sin;
It cause 'um him to tumble in a hole 'bout eight feet deep.

...You see, my ole Massa, he did lub gin to obstruction, an' he git drunk one night an' go to bed on de whiskey barrel, and he wake in de mornin', an' he fine heself dead, an' I make calfimalashun how he die juss' 'fore he time cum, an' I 'spose - seein' dat my Massa dead - dare no harm for de nigger to sing little 'bout 'um...

O, my ole Massa dead and gone,
De debil sing him funeral song;
A little poison help him on,
Bress 'um, let 'um go,
Bress 'um, let 'um go,
Bress 'um, let 'um go wid de bottle in de hand.

...Now, my ole Massa be berry curious ole feller - berry great man, too, he was deacon ob de church, an' presumdent ob Temperance Society, too, an' dey hab a resomalushum in dat arr society (make de nigger laff to t'ink on him) dat no man drink de whiskey - only wen he wash de sheep. Now de way de old man use' to whip dat arr resomalushum 'round de stump was a caution. You see, de ole feller, he keep a big buck sheep in de barn, an' him an' me use' to take 'um out an' wash 'um 'bout nineteen time ebery day, an' de way he go stagerum home would be for mos' part on Pompey back; an' den my ole Missa she say, Pompey, you brack dog, you git your Massa drunk. No, I say, Missa, I calliminate de whiskey got 'um drunk - what make Missa take at Pompey, an' he hab to cut stick for dat time...

One Frenchman lick two Portegee -
One Englishman, he lick all three;
One Yanky lick all four, ye see,
An' dat's de way we'll do, dat's de way we'll do,
An' drive 'um off de sea, if dey don't pay de debt.

...Now, you see, gemmen an' lady, dem arr Frenchman he want de pology; but if I wore Presumdent ob dese Unitum State (which I t'ink berry likely, if nuttin' happen to hinder me, I neber will be), I tell you juss' what kine ob pology I gin dem Frenchman - why, I gin 'um juss' sich pology as de Fox gin de Goose, when he kotch him by de neck an' dislocatum him shoulder joint. An' any udder feller what gin dem Frenchman any udder pology dan dat:

Should be rode on de rail, be rode on de rail,
Be rode on de rail till de debil take him down.

I told you bout de raccoon fight I had all on de moonlight night;
An' arter dat I seen a sight
What did my eyes exprise, what did my eyes exprise,
What did my eyes exprise, an' make me wonder quite.

...Now, gemmen an' lady, I don't 'spose you goin' to brieve what dis nigger goin' telly you; but I hope to be press' to def in cider press an' hab dis beautiful pair ob ruby lips ob mine 'quese flat in lemon 'queser, if I din't see dat berry same raccoon:

A-sittin' on a rail, a-settin' on a rail,
A-sittin' on a rail, an' sleepin' berry sound.

Sold, wholesale and retail, by LEONARD DEMING,
At the Sign of the Barber's Pole, No. 61, Hanover Street, Boston,
And at MIDDLEBURY, Vt.


SKIP TO MY LOU

Lost my partner, what'll I do? Lost my partner, what'll I do?
Lost my partner, what'll I do? Skip to my Lou, my darling.

Chorus
Lou, Lou, skip to my Lou; Lou, Lou, skip to my Lou;
Lou, Lou, skip to my Lou; skip to my Lou, my darling.

Get me another one, pretty as you; get me another one, pretty as you;
Get me another one, pretty as you; skip to my Lou, my darling.

Pretty as a redbird - prettier, too! Pretty as a redbird - prettier, too!
Pretty as a redbird - prettier, too! Skip to my Lou, my darling.

Can't get a red bird, jay bird'll do; can't get a red bird, jay bird'll do'
Can't get a red bird, jay bird'll do; skip to my Lou, my darling.

Can't get a biscuit, cornbread'll do; can't get a biscuit, cornbread'll do;
Can't get a biscuit, cornbread'll do; skip to my Lou, my darling.

Fly's in the buttermilk, shoo, fly, shoo; fly's in the buttermilk, shoo, fly, shoo;
Fly's in the buttermilk, shoo, fly, shoo; skip to my Lou, my darling.

Ants in the sugar bowl, two by two; ants in the sugar bowl, two by two;
Ants in the sugar bowl, two by two; skip to my Lou, my darling.

Cows in the cornfield, what'll I do? Cows in the cornfield, what'll I do?
Cows in the cornfield, what'll I do? Skip to my Lou, my darling.

Little red wagon, paint it blue; little red wagon, paint it blue;
Little red wagon, paint it blue; skip to my Lou, my darling.

Hair in the butter dish, six feet long; hair in the butter dish, six feet long;
Hair in the butter dish, six feet long; skip to my Lou, my darling.

Kittens in the haystack, mew mew mew! Kittens in the haystack, mew mew mew!
Kittens in the haystack, mew mew mew! Skip to my Lou, my darling.

Mule's in the cellar, kickin' up through! Mule's in the cellar, kickin' up through!
Mule's in the cellar, kickin' up through! Skip to my Lou, my darling.


THE SLAVE SHIP
Words And Music By Henry Russell
1850

- Allegro Moderato -
The first gray dawn of the morning was beaming,
The bright rays shone forth, the glad spirit of light;
The rising sun over the ocean was streaming,
And dispelled with his rays the dark shadows of night.
The air, oh how pure, and the morning, how mild,
And the waters lay hush'd like a sleeping child.

Then up with the anchor, and let us away;
Spread the sails, 'tis a favoring wind;
And long o'er the break of the morning,
The break of the morning we'll leave
The coast of old Afric behind.
Softly, softly, let us away!
Sofly softly let us away!

Gloomily stood the captain, with his arms upon his breast,
And his cold brow firmly knitted,
And his iron lips compress'd.
"Are all well whipp'd below there!"
"Ay, ay," the seaman said.
"Heave up the worthless lubbers, the dying and the dead!"

- Allegro assai -
Help! oh help! thou God of Christians,
Save a mother from despair!
Cruel white man stole my children
God have mercy, hear my prayer!
I'm young and strong and hardy;
He's a weak and sickly boy:
Take me, whip me, chain me, starve me!
God of mercy, save my boy!

- Recitative -
"They've killed my child! they've killed my child!"
The mother cried - now all is o'er:
Down the savage captain struck her,
Lifeless on the vessel's floor.

- Moderato con Anima -
Old England, sweet land of the brave and the free,
Whose home is the waters, whose flag sweeps the sea;
Still stretch out thy hand o'er the ocean's broad wave,
Protecting the helpless, unfortunate slave;
And nations which call themselves free shall repent
Of the thousands of souls to eternity sent.
Each who forwards the cause, on the verge of the grave
Shall be blessed by the prayer of the poor Negro slave.


slumber on, baby dear:
a mother's cradle song
-
La Ninnarella -
Italian words by J. Debrin
English words by H.C. Watson
Music by Louis Moreau Gottschalk
1863

Slumber on, Baby dear,
Do not hear thy mother's sigh,
Breath'd for him far away,
Whilst she sings thy lullaby!
Slumber on Baby, dear,
Do not hear thy mother's sigh,
Breath'd for him far away,
Whilst she sings thy lullaby!

Slumber on, o're thy sleep,
Loving eyes will watch with care,
In thy dreams, may thou see
God's own angels hov'ring here;
Slumber on, may sweet sleep
Softly on thy eyelids lie,
While I watch, chaunting low,
Thy sweet soothing lullaby.

Slumber on, happy child,
May life's storms pass gentle by,
When this voice, hush'd and still,
No more sings thy lullaby!
Slumber on, happy child,
May life's storms pass gentle by,
When this voice, hush'd and still,
No more sings thy lullaby!

In this heart, torn with grief,
Lies a daunting love for thee,
Father come, bless my child,
Sweetly slumb'ring on my knee;
Slumber on, may sweet sleep
Softly on thy eyelids lie,
While I watch chaunting low,
Thy sweet soothing lullaby.

Slumber on, may sweet sleep
Softly on thy eyelids lie,
While I watch chaunting low,
Thy sweet soothing lullaby.
Oh, sleep, oh, sleep my child, oh sleep!


snolly-goster ebenezer
Words & Music By J.B. Murphy
1864

Oh, my name is Julius Caesar, Horace Greely, Ebenezer,
And I come from Lou'siana down below;
I'm a reg'lar Snolly goster, Contraband and darky teazer,
And I does'nt mind partic'ler whar I go!
You will find I'm up to snuff, though look a little rough,
And I hollers for the Union kase I thinks it good enough,
Den be careful what you say, for secession doesn't pay
And dat stary flag am bound to win the day.

Dar's some hungry politicians, dat would like to get in office
And dey doesn't care what follows so dey win;
But dey'll nebber fool ole Abr'am wid dar speeches and conventions
And de way he cracks dar knuckles am a sin
I could mention in my song and it wouldn't be very wrong
Three or four honeyswoglers who have went it pretty strong
But dey'd better hold dar peace 'till dis "cruel war" shall cease
Out of compliment to Father Abe's police.

Dar's a great deal of talking 'bout de Linkum proclamation,
Dat was issued but a little while ago,
And I think dat de darkies aught to hab a jubilation,
From New York to the Gulf of Mexico,
But I doesn't think it right dat de whites alone should fight
While de niggers run around from de left and to de right
If dar freedom is so dear, den why doesn't dey volunteer
And help dar Fader Abe to end de war.

SNOLLY-GOSTER EBENEZER : Song and Dance written by J.B. Murphy, author of YOUNG EPH'S LAMENT, CHARCOAL PHILOSOPHY, BULLY NIGGER AMOS ; and sung with immense success by J.W. Smith and others at the principal concert halls and theatres.
Saint Louis : Endres & Compton, 1864.


the snow storm:
a ballad
Words By Seba Smith
Music By L. Heath
1843

The cold wind swept the mountain's height,
And pathless was the dreary wild,
And mid the cheerless hours of night
A mother wandered with her child.

As through the drifted snows she pressed,
The babe was sleeping on her breast,
The babe was sleeping on her breast.

And colder still the winds did blow,
And darker hours of night came on,
And deeper grew the drifts of snow -
Her limbs were chilled, her strength was gone.

"O God!" she cried, in accents wild,
"If I must perish, save my child,
"If I must perish save my child."

She stript her mantle from her breast,
And bared her bosom to the storm;
As round the child she wrapped the vest,
She smiled to think that it was warm.

With one cold kiss, one tear she shed,
And sunk upon a snowy bed,
And sunk upon a snowy bed.

At dawn, a traveller passed by,
And saw her 'neath a snowy veil -
The frost of death was in her eye,
Her cheek was cold, and hard and pale -

He moved the robe from off the child;
The babe looked up, and sweetly smiled,
The babe looked up, and sweetly smiled.

Boston: Oliver Ditson, 1843


A SOBER SPOUSE FOR ME:
A FIRESIDE TEMPERANCE SONG

Words By George Pope Morris
Music By Henry Russell
To the tune of SOME LOVE TO ROAM
1844

Some love to stroll where the wassail-bowl
And the wine cups circle free;
None of all that band e'er shall win my hand:
No - a sober spouse for me.
Where the wine-cups circle free;
None of all that band e'er shall win my hand:
No - a sober spouse for me.  No - a sober spouse for me.
Like cheerful streams when the morning beams
With him my life should flow.
Not down the crags the drunkard drags
His wife for shame and woe.
Not down the crags the drunkard drags
His wife for shame and woe.
No! no! no! no! - no! no! no! no! - no! no! no!

Some love to stroll where the wassail-bowl
And the wine-cups circle free;
None of all that band e're shall win my hand:
No! a sober spouse for me;
No - a sober spouse for me! No - a sober spouse for me.
The drunkard mark, at midnight dark -
Oh, what a sight good bark!
From fumes of beer and wine appear
Grim friends who cross his track;
His children's name he dooms to shame -
His wife to want and woe;
She is betrayed for wine is made
Her rival and her foe.
No! no! no! no! - no! no! no! no! - no! no! no!

Still some wife stroll, where the wassail-bowl
And the wine-cups circle free;
None of all that band e'er shall win my hand:
No - a sober spouse for me;
No - a sober spouse for me; No - a sober spouse for me.

A Temperance fireside Setting for the Ladies as sung by Mrs. Strong, and Respectfully dedicated to the Lady Franklin T. B. Society, at whose request it was written by George Pope Morris after the manner of Charles Mackay's Popular Song of SOME LOVE TO ROAM; the Music Composed by Henry Russell. 


A Soldier In De Colored Brigade
Music By Stephen Foster
Words By George Cooper

1863

Old Uncle Abram wants us, and we're coming right along
I tell you what it is, we're gwine to muster mighty strong.
Then fare you well my honey dear! now don't you be afraid
I's bound to be a soldier in de colored brigade.
A soldier! a soldier, in de darkey brigade!
I's bound to be a soldier, in de colored brigade! 

O! when we meet de enemy I s'pec we make 'em stare,
I t'ink he'll catch a tartar when he meets de woolly hair.
We'll fight while we are able and in greenbacks we'll be paid,
And soon I'll be a Colonel in de Colored Brigade.
A Colonel! a Colonel in de darkey Brigade,
And soon I'll be a Colonel in de Colored Brigade! 

Wid musket on my shoulder and wid banjo in my hand,
For Union, and de Constitution as it was I stand.
Now some folks tink de darkey for dis fighting was'nt made,
We'll show dem what's de matter in de Colored Brigade.
De matter! de matter in de darkey Brigade,
We'll show dem what's de matter in de Colored Brigade! 

In days ob Gen'ral Washington we fought de British well,
Behind de bales wid "Hickory" I tink we made 'em yell.
I tell you we're de chickens dat can handle gun or spade,
And Greeley he'll go wid us in de Colored Brigade.
Go wid us! Go wid us in de darkey Brigade,
And Greeley he'll go wid us in de Colored Brigade! 

Some say dey lub de darkey and dey want him to be free,
I s'pec dey only fooling and dey better let him be.
For him dey'd brake dis Union which de're forefadders hab made,
Worth more dan twenty millions ob de Colored Brigade.
Dan millions! Dan millions of de darkey Brigade,
Worth more dan twenty millions ob de Colored Brigade! 

Den cheer up now my honey dear I hear de trumpets play,
And gib me just a little buss before I go away.
I'll marry you when I come back so don't you be afraid,
We'll raise up picanninnies for de Colored Brigade.
Ninnies! Ninnies for de darkey Brigade,
We'll raise up picanninnies for de Colored Brigade!

 

Soldier, Soldier Will You Marry Me?

Soldier, soldier, will you marry me,
With your musket, fife and drum?
Oh, how can I marry such a pretty girl as you,
When I have no hat to put on?
Off to the haberdasher she did go,
As fast as she could run,
Bought him a hat, the best that was there,
And the soldier put it on.

Soldier, soldier, will you marry me,
With your musket, fife and drum?
Oh, how can I marry such a pretty girl as you,
When I have no coat to put on?
Off to the tailor she did go,
As fast as she could run,
Bought him a coat, the best that was there,
And the soldier put it on.

Soldier, soldier, will you marry me,
With your musket, fife and drum?
Oh, how can I marry such a pretty girl as you,
When I have no boots to put on?
Off to the cobbler she did go,
As fast as she could run,
Bought him a pair of the best that was there,
And the soldier put them on.

Soldier, soldier, will you marry me,
With your musket, fife and drum?
Oh, how can I marry such a pretty girl as you,
When I have no pants to put on?
Off to the tailor she did go,
As fast as she could run,
Bought him a pair, the best that was there,
And the soldier put them on.

Soldier, soldier, will you marry me,
With your musket, fife and drum?
Well, how can I marry such a pretty girl as you,
With a wife and three kids back home?


SOLDIER'S JOY

From HENRY BECK'S FLUTE BOOK
1786

Some Continental soldiers on a bivouac
Were playing stud poker in a mountain shack;
But every vigilante threw down his hand
When the captain of the guard gave the sharp command:

Chorus
Jimmy, get your fiddle out and rosin up the bow;
Johnny, tune your banjo up - we're gonna have a show.
Billy, pass the jug around to Corporal McCoy;
We're gonna have a tune called SOLDIER'S JOY.

The girls in Boston are dancin' tonight;
The gal-derned Redcoats are holdin' 'em tight.
When we get there, we will show them how -
But that ain't a-doin' us no good now.

There goes General Washington;
He's got his horse in a sweepin' run.
The barefooted boys are beggin' to fight,
And we're gonna cross the Delaware River tonight.

Old Burgoyne in the wilderness
Got his army in an awful mess;
The farmers got mad at the British and Huns,
And captured ten thousand of the sons-of-a-guns.

John Paul Jones in an old tin can
Scoured the ocean like a fightin' man;
The British said, "Paul, are you ready to strike?"
And Paul said, "I'm just beginnin' to fight."

General Washington and Rochambeau,
Drinkin' their wine in the campfire's glow.
Big Dan Morgan came a-gallopin' in;
He said, "We got Cornwallis in the old cowpen."

Wake up, Buddy, have you heard the news?
Grandma Britain's got a terrible bruise.
The Redcoats cried and cursed Yorktown
While the band played THE WORLD'S TURNED UPSIDE DOWN.

A homemade fiddle and a mandolin,
An old banjo and a tambourine;
A big DUN bully for the soldier boy -
Everybody loves to hear the SOLDIER'S JOY.


The Soldier's Tear
Words By Thomas Haynes Bayly
Music By George Alexander Lee

1830

Upon the hill he turn'd,
To take a last fond look
Of the valley and the village church,
And the cottage by the brook;
He listen'd to the sounds,
So familiar to his ear,
And the soldier leant upon his sword,
And wip'd away a tear.

Beside that cottage porch
A girl was on her knees,
She held aloft a snowy scarf
Which flutter'd in the breeze;
She breath'd a pray'r for him,
A pray'r he could not hear,
But he paus'd to bless her as she knelt,
And wip'd away a tear.

He turn'd and left the spot
Oh! do not deem him weak,
For dauntless was the soldier's heart,
Tho' tears were on his cheek;
Go watch the foremost ranks
In danger's dark career,
Be sure the hand most daring there
Has wip'd away a tear.


SOLON SHINGLE AND HIS
GREAT APPLE-SASS CASE
A Characteristic Ditty
As Performed By JOHN E. OWENS, In The Celebrated 
American Comedy THE PEOPLE'S LAWYER
At The Broadway Theatre, New York

Folks, I'm a Jarsey notion, it isn't any braggin; 
My Father fit in the Revolution, he driv' a Baggidge waggin;
And one fine day he started out all for to get some full, 
But come back badly wownded, 'cos he had been kicked by a Muil. 
"Jes' so, Jes' so;" strange things do come to pass! 
Some pesky critter stole from me a borril o' apple-sass.

I courted Patty Bigelow, but for a friend made tracks, 
Or John Ellsley would have been my son if he hadn't been old Zack's;
A Brindil Cow Case I have got: I'll win it, for I swow, 
A smart young lawyer sure could ride to Congress on my Cow. 
"Jes' so, Jes' so;" strange things do come to pass! 
Some pesky critter stole from me a borril o' apple sass.

I called upon a merchant big, and on young Ellsley too;
Ses I, "Whoa-oh, you CATTILL, why Mr. Winslow how DOO YOU DOO?" 
My waggin's standin' jest outside, to a post my mare I tied her, 
(Spoken)
And I want you temperance cuss to pay for that 'ere borril o' cider. 
"Jes' so, Jes' so; " strange things do come to pass! 
Some pesky critter stole from me a borril o' apple sass.

I pried about, an' I look'd around, but didn't do nothin' rash; 
I found a pistil, a flask o' rum, and the account of Doctor Cash; 
And while I talked about old Si, and Nobby, my bloomin' lass, 
Some critter from my waggin stole a borril o' Apple Sass. 
"Jes' so, Jes' so;" strange things do come to pass! 
Some pesky critter stole from me a borril o' apple sass.

"Perhaps," thinks I, "this Otis Boy, who stole a watch and chain, 
Did steal my sass;" so off I starts, and into Court I came; 
Got swored right through, and tuk a cheer, but felt a little Noddy, 
For I had three cents worth of clams, and a glass o' good rum toddy. 
"Jes' so, Jes' so;" strange things do come to pass! 
Some pesky critter stole from me a borril o' apple sass.

"Next Witness!" - I was called upon jes' for to speak the truth, 
Ses I, "Here Judge, hand me a pen; I want to pick my tooth!" 
I bothered all the law chaps, they thought I was an ass; 
They made but little out o' me, or my borril o' apple sass. 
"Jes' so, Jes' so;" strange things do come to pass! 
Some pesky critter stole from me a borril o' apple sass.

MORRIL. 
Any feller what 'ud steal a watch, 'ud steal a borril o' sass, 
It's main strength with them critters, no pints o' morals pass; 
Be careful how you let hot rum, an' slams togither mingle, 
And when the Sass Case DOES come off, jes' call on Solon Shingle!

Music published by Firth, Son & Co. 563 Broadway, N.Y.
Sold at Wholesale by Horace Partridge, 
No. 27 Hanover Street, Boston


SOMEBODY'S DARLING

Words By Marie Ravenal de la Coste
Music By John Hill Hewitt
1864

Into the ward of the clean white-washed halls
Where the dead slept and the dying lay;
Wounded by bayonets, sabres and balls,
Somebody's darling was borne one day.
Somebody's darling, so young and so brave,
Wearing still on his sweet yet pale face;
Soon to be hid in the dust of the grave,
The lingering light of his boyhood's grace.

Chorus
Somebody's darling, somebody's pride;
Who'll tell his mother where her boy died?

Matted and damp are his tresses of gold
Kissing the snow of that fair young brow;
Pale are the lips of most delicate mould -
Somebody's darling is dying now.
Back from his beautiful purple-veined brow,
Brush off the wandering waves of gold;
Cross his white hands on his broad bosom now -

Somebody's darling is still and cold.

Give him a kiss, but for somebody's sake,
Murmur a prayer for him, soft and low;
One little curl from his golden mates take -
Somebody's pride they were once, you know;
Somebody's warm hand has oft rested there:
Was it a Mother's, so soft and white?
Or have the lips of a sister, so fair,
Ever been bathed in their waves of light?

Somebody's watching and waiting for him,
Yearning to hold him again to her breast;
Yet there he lies with his blue eyes so dim,
And purple, child-like lips half apart.
Tenderly bury the fair, unknown dead,
Pausing to drop on his grave a tear;
Carve on the wooden slab over his head,
"Somebody's darling is slumbering here."

One of the best-loved of all Confederate songs, this poem was written by Marie Ravenal de la Coste, the daughter of French parents who had emigrated to Savannnah, Georgia. Marie taught French but was inspired to try her hand at poetry when her fiance, a captain in the Confederate Army, was killed in combat. After his death, Marie made a habit of visiting wounded soldiers in Savannah's hospitals, bringing them flowers and fruit and keeping them company. She composed these moving verses about the loss of a loved one in battle after seeing an unidentified young soldier with a fatal wound brought into the ward where she was visiting.


SONG OF THE BLACK SHAKERS

I went down to Sally's house - Sally wasn't home,
So I sat in de corner dar, an' played on de jaw bone.

Dancing Chorus
Fi-yi-ya, it te oot te doodle dum.
Possum up a gum tree, Cooney in de hollar;
Show me de colored man dat stole my dollar.

Now shake yourselves, darkies, an' dance to de fiddle -
Swash shay, hands across - all go down de middle.

Pompey plays de bango, Zezer plays de fiddle -
Obediah skins de eels, an' fries 'em on de griddle.

Why am de Jim Crow Polka like bitter beer?
Bekase dar am so many HOPS in it.

Sung nightly with tremendous applause, by all the Ethiopian Bands in the City. PRICE ONE CENT.


The Song of the Drum

Oh, the drum it rattles so loud! 
When it calls me, with its rattle, 
To the battle - to the battle - 
Sounds that once so charmed my ear, 
I no longer now can hear: 
They are all an empty hum, 
For the drum - 
Oh, the drum - it rattles so loud!

Oh, the drum - it rattles so loud! 
At the door, with tearful eye, 
Father, mother, to me cry; 
Father! Mother! Shut the door! 
I can hear you now no more! 
Ye might as well be dumb - 
For the drum - 

Oh, the drum - it rattles so loud!

Oh, the drum - it rattles so loud! 
At the corner of the street, 
Where so oft we used to meet, 
Stands my bride, and cries: "Ah, woe! 
My darling, wilt thou go?" 
"Dearest girl, the hour is come! 
For the drum - 
Oh, the drum - it rattles so loud!"

Oh, the drum - it rattles so loud! 
My brother in the fight 
Bids a last, a long good night; 
And the guns, with knell on knell, 
Their tale of warning tell; 
But my ear to that is numb, 
For the drum -
Oh, the drum - it rattles so loud!


Oh, the drum - it rattles so loud! 
There no such stirring sound 
Is heard the wide world round, 
As the drum that, with its rattle, 
Echoes Freedom's call to battle! 
We fear no martyrdom 
While the drum - 
Oh, the drum - it rattles so loud!

Oh, the drum - it rattles so loud!
To drive from the sacred soil 
Invaders, loaded with spoil, 
Beat the drum, with peals of thunder, 
We punish the murder and plunder, 
By killing the Northern scum! 
While the drum - 
Oh, the drum - is rattling so loud!


SONG OF THE FIFTH

Words By C.E. McCarty
5TH COMPANY - WASHINGTON ARTILLERY
July 1864

The cannoneers are slumbering on the hillside,
The eastern sky is bright with dawning day;
When, springing gaily from his clover pillow,
The bugler sounds the stirring reveille.
Awake! Awake! The God of day is rising,
The trembling dewdrops sparkle in each ray;
The distant picket
's rifle gives a warning,
The "Fifth" must strike for liberty today!

Chorus
Hurrah! Hurrah! We struggle for the right,
From hill to hill resounding, the battle cry is sounding.
Hurrah! Hurrah! We
're ready for the fight!
A grave or victory!

Now when the deadly struggle rages wildest,
Where shell and shrapnel burst amid the roar,
Our good "Napoleons" bellow forth in anger
And drop the fierce invaders by the score.
Again! Again! For God and Louisiana,
Ram home the charge with energy of hate,
Now give them our swift canister for Mumford,
And - every gun - for Order Twenty-Eight!

Dear Louisiana! By thy waters weeping,
Insulted women watch with tearful eyes;
From ruined homes and desecrated altars,
A cry for vengeance gathers to the sky.
On every field our gallant boys are sleeping,
Their blood hath flown our liberties to save;
And, drop for drop, we
'll force it from the foeman 
Or dying, sweetly sleep in Freedom's grave!

Penned by C.E. McCarty on July 15th, 1864 in Atlanta, Georgia, the title of the song is indeed SONG OF THE FIFTH and is subtitled "Written for the 5th Company - Washington Artillery". The song may be sung to the melody of CHEER, BOYS, CHEER!

The references to "Mumford" and "Order Twenty-Eight" are references to the actions of Federal General Benjamin Butler. Federal Ddmiral Farragut and his Marines raised the Federal flag over the New Orleans branch of the United States Mint, taking possession of the city of New Orleans. Five days later, General Benjamin Butler marched into New Orleans to rule the city under martial law. Butler would rule the city for the next eight months.

Many citizens of lower Louisiana openly displayed their contempt for the Federal troops, the Federal occupation of their land, and Butler himself. Their resentment stemmed not only from the fact that a foreign invader had taken over their native land, but to Butler's orders regarding treating the Federal flag with respect; his orders requiring the citizenry to show courtesy and deference to Federal troops; and his prohibition of their even singing songs deemed "treasonable" by the Federals.

William Mumford, a New Orleanian, showed his contempt for the Federal occupation troops by entering the New Orleans branch of the United States Mint and lowering the Federal flag. For that offense, Butler had Mumford hanged.

As a result of the contempt with which Federal officers and sodiers were treated by the ladies of New Orleans in particular, Benjamin Butler was to issue "Order Twenty-Eight", an order that earned him the nickname "Beast" Butler from P.G.T. Beauregard, and soon all other Southrons. The order read as follows:

As the officers and soldiers of the United States have been subject to repeated insult from the women (calling themselves ladies) of New Orleans, in return for the most scrupulous non-interference and courtesy on our part, it is ordered that hereafter when any female shall, by word, gesture, or movement, insult or show contempt for any officer or soldier of the United States, she shall be regarded and held liable to be treated as a woman of the town plying her avocation.

In other words, the ladies of New Orleans who failed to treat the Federal officers or soldiers as gentleman would find that, not only was their good name as "ladies" forfeit, but they were to be treated as common prostitutes, subject to the indignities of public insult and arrest.


SONG OF THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS
Words By John Greenleaf Whittier
To the tune of AULD LANG SYNE
1855

We cross the prairies, as of old our fathers crossed the sea;
To make the West as they the East the Homestead of the Free.

We go to rear a wall of men on Freedom's southern line,
And plant beside the cotton tree the rugged northern pine.

Upbearing, like the ark of old, a Bible in our van,
We go to test the truth of God against the fraud of man.


SOURKROUT AND SAUSAGES

I marry my frow - some childer I gets, 
As fat as little pigs, 
Dey eat me out of my house un home 
Un boterr me mit some rigs.

Chorus
Sourkrout un sausages, 
Schnapps un lager bier, 
I wish I was home mit my frow, 
As any place but here.

My frow do noting but scold un scratch, 
Un wear my breeches, too; 
When I open my mouth she takes a stick 
Un beats me black and blue. 

I live mit her as long as I can, 
Den I runs away, 
To list for a soldier un Basastopole, 
To fight for a shilling a day. 

De army is bad as tongue of my frow, 
It is as worse by far - 
De Russias stick me if I goes un front, 
Un I'm killed if I go to de rear. 

MORAL:
All you men has got frows yus'e take mine advice, 
Un put up mit dere ire, 
To list for a soldier is jumping out 
Of de frying pan into de fire. 

L'ouis Bonsal, Bookseller, Stationer And Blank Book Manufacturer, 
Corner of Baltimore and Frederick streets, Baltimore, Maryland
All kinds of Books bound, and Blank Books made to order
Songs, Wholesale & Retail


SOURWOOD MOUNTAIN
Traditional Appalachian Song

Chickens a-crowin' on Sourwood Mountain -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.
So many pretty girls I can't count 'em -
Hey ho, ma-diddle-um day.

My true love's a blue-eyed daisy -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.
She won't come and I'm too lazy -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.

My true love lives at the head of the holler -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.
She won
't come and I won't foller -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.

My true love's a blue-eyed daisy -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.
If I don
't get her, I'll go crazy -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.

Big dog bark and little one bite you -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.
Big girl court and little one spite you -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.

My true love lives over the river -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.
A few more jumps and I
'll be with her -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.

Ducks in the pond, geese in the ocean -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.
Devil
's in the women if they take a notion -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.

One of these days, before too long -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.
I
'll get that gal and home I'll run -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.

She sat once with old Chris Becker -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.
Run to me when I wouldn
't fetch her -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.

Young Miss Sarah is about half-grown -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.
Jumps on the boys like a dog on a bone -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.

Glenn Harrison, I want your daughter -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.
To wash my clothes and carry my water -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.

Hey there, Glenn, can I have your daughter?
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.
"Say, young man, you take her if you want her."
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.

"Bundle her clothes, take her up behind you -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.
Take her home and whup her 'til she minds you."
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.

Love my wife, love my baby -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.
Love my biscuits sopped in gravy -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.

Chickens crowin' on Sourwood Mountain -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.
So many pretty girls, I can't count 'em -
Hey, ho, ma-diddle-um day.


THE SOUTHERN CROSS

Before 1864
To the tune of THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER

Oh! say can you see, through the gloom and the storm,
More bright for the darkness, that pure constellation;
Like the symbol of love, and redemption, its form,
As it points to the haven of hope for the nation.
How radiant each star, as they beacon afar,
Giving promise of peace or assurance in war.
'Tis the cross of the South which shall even remain,
To light us to Freedom and Glory again.

How peaceful and blest was America's soil
'Till betrayed by the guile of the Puritan demon,
Which lurks under Virtue, and springs from its coil
To fasten its fangs in the life blood of freemen.
Then loudly appeal to each heart that can feel,
And crush the foul Viper 'neath Liberty's heel;
And the Cross of the South shall forever remain,
To light us to Freedom and Glory again.

'Tis the emblem of peace, 'tis the day star of hope;
Like the sacred Labarum, which guided the Roman.
From the shores of the Gulf to the Delaware's slope,
'Tis the trust of the Free and the terror of Foemen.
Fling its folds to the air while we boldly declare:
The rights we demand, or the deeds that we dare;
And the Cross of the South shall forever remain,
To light us to Freedom and Glory again.

But if peace should be hopeless and justice denied,
And war's bloody vulture should flap his black pinions,
Then gladly to arms! while we hurl in our pride,
Defiance to Tyrants, and death to their minions.
With our front to the field, swearing never to yield,
Or return like the Spartan, in death on our shield,
And the Cross of the South shall triumphantly wave,
As the flag of the Free, or the pall of the brave.


THE SOUTHERN GIRL'S SONG

See THE HOMESPUN DRESS


THE SOUTHERN SOLDIER

Unknown

I'll place my knapsack on my back,
My rifle on my shoulder;
I'll march away to the firing line,
And kill that Yankee soldier;
And kill that Yankee soldier.
I'll march a way to the firing line
And kill that Yankee soldier.

I'll bid farewell to my wife and child,
Farewell to my aged mother,
And go and join in the bloody strife
Till this cruel war is over;
Till this cruel war is over,
I'll go and join in the bloody strife
Till this cruel war is over.

If I am shot on the battlefield
And I should not recover,
Oh, who will protect my wife and child
And care for my aged mother?
And care for my aged mother,
Oh, who will protect my wife and child
And care for my aged mother?

And if our Southern cause is lost,
And Southern rights denied us,
We'll be ground beneath the tyrant's heel
For our demands of justice;
For our demands of justice,
We'll be ground beneath the tyrant's heel
For our demands of justice.

Before the South shall bow her head,
Before the tyrants harm us,
I'll give my all to the Southern cause,
And die in the Southern Army;
And die in the Southern Army,
I'll give my all to the Southern cause
And die in the Southern Army.

If I must die for my home and land,
My spirit will not falter;
Oh, here's my heart and here's my hand
Upon my country's altar;
Upon my country's altar,
Oh, here's my heart and here's my hand
Upon my country's altar.

Then Heaven be with us in the strife,
Be with the Southern soldier;
We'll drive the mercenary boarder
Beyond our Southern border.
Beyond our Southern border,
We'll drive the mercenary boarder
Beyond our Southern border.


THE SOUTHERN SOLDIER BOY

Bob Roebuck is my sweetheart's name;
He's off to the wars and gone.
He's fighting for his Nanny dear -
His sword is buckled on.
He's fighting for his own true love,
His foes he does defy;
He is the darlin' of my heart,
My southern soldier boy.

When Bob comes home from war's alarms,
We'll start life a-new;
I'll give myself right up to him,
A dutiful, loving wife.
I'll try my best to please my dear
For he is my only joy.
He is the darlin' of my heart,
My Southern soldier boy.

Oh, if in battle he were slain,
I am sure that I would die;
But I am sure he'll come again
To cheer my weeping eye.
But should he fall in this, our glorious cause,
He still would be my joy,
For many a sweetheart mourns the loss
Of her southern soldier boy.

I hope for the best and so do all
Whose hopes are in the field;
I know that we shall win the day
For Southrons never yield.
And when we think of those who are away,
We look above for joy;
And I'm mighty glad my Bobby is
A Southern soldier boy.
He is the darlin' of my heart,
My Southern soldier boy.


SPARKING SUNDAY NIGHT
Words By Sidney Martin Grannis
To the tune of WAIT FOR THE WAGON
1856

Sitting in a corner, on a Sunday eve,
With a taper finger resting on your sleeve;
Starlight eyes are casting on your face their light;
Bless me, this is pleasant - sparking Sunday night.

CHORUS
Bless me, ain't it pleasant;
Bless me, ain't it pleasant;
Bless me, ain't it pleasant,
Sparking Sunday night?

How your heart is thumping 'gainst your Sunday vest;
How wickedly 'tis working on this day of rest.
Hours seem but minutes as they take their flight;
Bless me, ain't it pleasant - sparking Sunday night?

Dad and Mam are sleeping on their peaceful bed,
Dreaming of the things the folks in meeting said.
"Love ye one another," Ministers recite;
Bless me, DON'T we do it - sparking Sunday night?

One arm with gentle pressure lingers 'round her waist;
You squeeze her dimpled hand, her pouting lips you taste.
She freely slaps your face, but more in love than spite -
Oh thunder! Ain't it pleasant - sparking Sunday night?

But hark! the clock is striking, it is two o'clock I snum;
As sure as I'm a sinner, the time to go has COME.
You ask with spiteful accents, if "that old clock is right,"
And wonder if IT ever - sparked on Sunday night.

One, two, three sweet kisses - four, five, six, you hook,
But, thinking that you rob her, give back those you took;
Then, as for home you hurry, from the fair one's sight,
Don't you wish EACH DAY was only Sunday night?

Andrews, Printer, 38 Chatham St, N. Y.
Dealer in Songs, Games Toy Books, Motto Verses, &c.
Wholesale and Retail
.


Spice For All
See ALL SPICE


THE SPIRITUAL RAILWAY

1855
To any long metre tune

The line to Heaven by Christ was made;
With heavenly truth the rails are laid.
From earth to heaven the line extends
To life eternal, where it ends.

Chorus
We are going home, we are going home,
We are going home to die no more.

Repentance is the station, then,
Where passengers are taken in;
No fee for them is there to pay,
For Jesus is Himself the way.

The Bible then is engineer;
It points the way to heaven so clear.
Through tunnels dark and dreary here
It does the way to glory steer.

God's love the fire, his truth the steam,
Which drives the engine and the train;
All you who would to glory ride
Must come to Christ, in Him abide.

In first, and second, and third class:
Repentance, faith and holiness;
You must the way to glory gain
Or you with Christ can never reign.

Come then, poor sinner, now's the time -
At any place upon the line -
If you repent and turn from sin,
The train will stop and take you in.

The depots're built on solid ground;
No earthly powers can tear them down.
When the whistle blows, we understand
The train is coming right at hand.

No switch is there for us to tend;
There's but one track from end to end.
When the alarm bell rings to tell,
Look out - then all things will be well.

No curves on this celestial way;
'Tis safe to run by night or day.
Are you in haste bright heaven to gain?
Be sure and take the express train.

When we get to our final home,
The track is left, and more can come;
And that is sound, and won't decay,
And will be to the Judgment Day.

Andrews, Printer, 38 Chatham St, N. Y.
Dealer in Songs, Games Toy Books, Motta Verses, &c.
Wholesale and Retail.


st. clare to little eva in heaven
Composed, Written and Sung by George C. Howard
In His Original Character of "St. Clare"
In UNCLE TOM'S CABIN
1854

Childless, desolate this heart
Naught on earth is left to cherish
All is lost since we must part,
Every hope and joy will perish.

Chorus
Eva! Eva! gentle daughter,
Are those bright eyes veiled in death;
That so fondly beam'd with goodness
Upon all at parting breath.
Art thou gone from me forever,
Shall I never more behold thee,
Bud of life, my heart's fond treasure,
What is now the world to me.

Lonely here and worn with sadness,
No loved child's sweet voice I hear;
Life hath ceased to yield its gladness
Since without my little dear.

Chorus
Eva! Eva! lovely daughter,
 Are those young lips closed and cold
That so softly spoke of heaven! -
Emblem of an angel's mould,
Picture of divine perfection,
Loved by all, enslaved and free,
Oh my heart and soul's affection,
What is now the world to me.

Home is silent, dread, and drear,
Uncle Tom is seen to weep;
Topsy lingers near the bier,
Strewing roses at thy feet.

Chorus
Eva! Eva! charming daughter,
Smile upon me from above;
Open those bright gates of pearl,
Bless me with thy spotless love;
Little angel thou art gone 'there,'
Filled at last thy prophecy;
Farewell only child forever,
What is now the world to me.

New York: Horace Waters, 1854


stand up, stand up for jesus
George Duffield
1858

Stand up, stand up for Jesus,
Ye Soldiers of the cross;
Lift high his royal banner,
It must not suffer loss;
From vict'ry unto vict'ry
His army shall he lead,
Till every foe is vanquished,
And Christ is Lord indeed.

Stand up, stand up for Jesus, the solemn watchword hear;
If while ye sleep He suffers, away with shame and fear;
Where’er ye meet with evil, within you or without,
Charge for the God of battles, and put the foe to rout.

Stand up, stand up for Jesus, the trumpet call obey;
Forth to the mighty conflict, in this His glorious day.
Ye that are brave now serve Him against unnumbered foes;
Let courage rise with danger, and strength to strength oppose.

Stand up, stand up for Jesus, stand in His strength alone;
The arm of flesh will fail you, ye dare not trust your own.
Put on the Gospel armor, each piece put on with prayer;
Where duty calls or danger, be never wanting there.

Stand up, stand up for Jesus, each soldier to his post,
Close up the broken column, and shout through all the host:
Make good the loss so heavy, in those that still remain,
And prove to all around you that death itself is gain.

Stand up, stand up for Jesus, the strife will not be long;
This day the noise of battle, the next the victor’s song.
To those who vanquish evil a crown of life shall be;
They with the King of Glory shall reign eternally.

A spiritual awakening occurred in New York City in late 1857 which would spread through many states over the next few months.  Men, women, and children thronged to noon-day prayer meetings in churches, public halls and theaters, and the awakening swept through Christian churches of all denominations.  More than 5,000 people participated in the prayer meetings in the YMCA in Philadelphia in the spring of 1858.  Dudley Tyng, a young Episcopal minister, was among the leaders.  Enormous crowds attended his Church of the Covenant.

One weekday afternoon Tyng went from his study to the barn where a mule was walking in circles, powering a corn-shelling machine.  As he patted the mule, the sleeve of his silk study jacket caught in the cogs of the wheel, and his arm was torn from his shoulder.  Despite all medical efforts he died five days later.  George Duffield, one of the ministers who stood by Tyng's bed in his last hours, asked if he had any message to send to his people.  Tyng replied, "Tell them, 'Let us all stand up for Jesus.'" 

The following Sunday morning, George Duffield preached to his Presbyterian congregation from the text, "Stand therefore, having girded your loins with truth and having put on the breastplate of righteousness." (Ephesians 6:14). The sermon ended with the hymn Duffield had written, based on the dying testimony of his friend Tyng.  The hymn reflects the imagery of a Roman soldier's fighting equipment as described in Paul's letter to the Ephesians and reflects the martial attitude that a Christian must adopt in "fighting the good fight".
  


The Star Spangled Banner
Words By Frances Scott Key

O say can you see by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars thro' the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watch'd were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.


Chorus
Oh say, does that star spangled banner yet wave,
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore dimly seen thro' the mist of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines in the stream.

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore,
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,
A home and a country shall leave us no more?
Their blood has wash'd out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hirelings and slave
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave.

O thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their lov'd home, and the war's desolation;
Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the heav'n rescued land,
Praise the Power that hath made and preserv'd us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And the be our motto, "In God is our trust."



Stay On The Farm
1850

Come, boys, I have something to tell you:
Come here and I'll whisper it low;
You're thinking of leaving the homestead -
Don't be in a hurry to go.
The city has many attractions,
But think of its vices and sins:
When once in the vortex of fashion,
How soon destruction begins.

Chorus
Stay on the farm, stay on the farm,
Tho' profits come rather slow;
Stay on the farm, stay on the farm -
Don't be in a hurry to go.

You talk of the mines of Nevada -
They're wealthy in treasure, no doubt;
But, ah, there is gold in the farm, boys,
If only you'll shovel it out.
The mercantile life is a hazard,
Surrounded by glitter and show;
And wealth is not made in a day, boys -
Don't be in a hurry to go.

The farm is the best and the safest,
And certainly surest to pay;
You're free as the air on the mountain,
And monarch of all you survey.
Then stay on the farm a while longer,
Tho' profits come in rather slow;
Remember, you've nothing to risk, boys -
Don't be in a hurry to go.

 


Steal Away to Jesus
Negro Spiritual

Chorus
Steal away, steal away,
Steal away to Jesus!
Steal away, steal away home,
I ain't got long to stay here!

My Lord calls me,
He calls me by the thunder;
The trumpet sounds with in-a my soul,
I ain't got long to stay here.

Green trees are bending,
Poor sinner stands atrembling;
The trumpet sounds with in-a my soul,
I ain't got long to stay here.


Tombstones are bursting,
Poor sinner stands a-trembling,
The trumpet sounds with in-a my soul,
I ain't got long to stay here.

My Lord calls me,
He calls me by the lightning,
The trumpet sounds with in-a my soul,
I ain't got long to stay here.


STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY

John Williamson Palmer
1862

Come, stack arms, men! pile on the rails,
Stir up the campfire bright;
No matter if the canteen fails -
We'll make a roaring fire tonight.
Here Shenandoah crawls along,
There burly Blue Ridge echoes strong
To swell the Brigade's rousing song
Of "STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY."

We see him now, the queer slouched hat
Cocked o
'er his eye askew;
The shrewd, dry smile; the speech so pat,
So calm, so blunt, so true.
The "Blue-light Elder" knows 'em well;
Says he, "That's Banks - he's fond of shell;
Lord save his soul! we'll give him...
Well, that's "STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY."

Silence! Ground arms! Kneel all! Caps off!
Old Blue Light
's going to pray.
Strangle the fool that dares to scoff -
Attention! It's his way.
Appealing from his native sod,
"Hear us, hear us, Almighty God.
Lay bare Thine arm; stretch forth Thy rod!" -
That's "STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY".

He's in the saddle now; Fall in!
Steady! The whole brigade!
Hill's at the ford, cut off; he'll win
His way out, ball and blade!
What matter if our shoes are worn?
What matter if our feet are torn?
"Quick step! We're with him 'ere the dawn;"
That's "STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY."

The sun's bright lances rout the mists
Of morning, and, by George!
Here's Longstreet, struggling in the lists,
Hemmed in an ugly gorge.
Pope and his Dutchmen, whipped before -
"Bayonets and grape!" hear Stonewall roar;
"Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby's score!"
Is "STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY."

Ah, Maiden! wait and watch and yearn
For news of Stonewall's band.
Ah, widow! read, with eyes that burn,
That ring upon thy hand.
Ah, Wife! sew on, pray on, hope on;
Thy life shall not be all forlorn;
The foe had better ne
'er been born that gets
In "STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY."


strike for your rights,
avenge your wrongs

Chorus
Sing to the Rio Grande,
The rolling Rio Grande!
Our foe shall bow the knee,
Oh, Yankee Doodle Dandy!

Remember gallant Cross laid low
Assassinated by the foe,
Then strike the bold avenging blow,
Upon the Rio Grande!

Remember how your brothers fell.
While marching on to Isabel,
Surrounded by the curs of hell,
Upon the Rio Grande!

Think of the jails of Santa Fe,
Where freemen in captivity
Felt Mexico's foul tyranny,
Upon the Rio Grande!

Think of each harmless merchant bark,
Struck by these pirates in the dark,
With hearts more cruel than the shark,
Upon the Rio Grande!

Then strike by noble Taylor's side
'Til freedom's stars in triumph wide,
Stretch from the bold Pacific's tide,
Unto the Rio Grande!

Now the Texas star will fly,
Amidst Old Glory's starry sky
And we're the boys who'll raise it high,
Upon the Rio Grande!

One of the most popular songs of the 1840's was THE ROSE OF ALABAMA.  An upbeat minstrel tune, it comically told of the dealings of a young man and his attempts to be with his lady love - the Rose of Alabama. 

With the outbreak of the war with Mexico in 1846, Americans were quick to take popular melodies and add new words to them.  Such is the case with this piece.  As Americans listened in rapt awe of the deeds of Taylor's little Army on the Rio Grande, this up tempo melody seemed perfectly suited to a marching fight song.  The authors of the words to this version are unknown.  The original copy from which this transcript is taken is from THE ROUGH AND READY SONGSTER.

The lyrics tend to reinforce the idea of the war being a holy crusade to spread freedom.  Note the next to the last verse is a ringing call for Manifest Destiny. "Gallant Cross laid low" refers to Quartermaster of the Army Colonel Trueman Cross who was murdered by bandits near Fort Texas in April 1846.  "The jails of Santa Fe" refers, of course,  to the failed Santa Fe expedition organized by the Republic of Texas prior to Annexation.  "Marching on to Isabel" is a reference to Zachary Taylor's march to Port Isabel and the battles of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma.


SWANEE RIVER
See OLD FOLKS AT HOME


SWEET BETSY FROM PIKE
See also VILLIKINS AND HIS DINAH

Did you ever hear tell of sweet Betsy from Pike
Who crossed the wide prairies with her lover Ike,
With two yoke of cattle and one spotted hog,
A tall shanghai rooster, and an old yaller dog?

Chorus
Sing too rali oorali oorali ay
Sing too rali oorali oorali ay

One evening quite early they camped on the Platte;
'Twas near by the road on a green shady flat
Where Betsy, quit tired, lay down to repose,
While with wonder Ike gazed on his Pike County rose.

Out on the prairie on bright starry night
They broke out the whiskey and Betsy got tight.
She sang and she shouted and danced o'er the plain,
And showed her bare arse to the whole wagon train.

The Injuns came down in a wild yelling horde,
And Betsy was scared they would scalp her adored;
Behind the front wagon wheel Betsy did crawl,
And there fought the Injuns with musket and ball.

The wagon tipped over with a terrible crash,
And out on the prairie rolled all sorts of trash;
A few little baby clothes, done up with care -
Looked rather suspicious, but
'twas all on the square.

Sweet Betsy got up with a great deal of pain,
And declared she
'd go back to Pike County again.
Then Ike heaved a sigh and they fondly embraced,
And she traveled along with his arm 'round her waist.

They soon reached the desert, where Betsy gave out,
And down in the sand she lay rollin; about.
While Ike in great wonder looked on in surprise,
Sayin' "Betsy, get up! You'll get sand in your eyes."

They stopped at Salt Lake to inquire the way,
And Brigham declared that sweet Betsy should stay.
But Betsy got frightened and ran like a deer
While Brigham stood pawin' the earth like a steer.

The alkali desert was burning and bare,
And Isaac
's soul shrank from the death that lurked there.
"Dear old Pike County, I'll go back to you."
Says Betsy, "You'll go by yourself if you do."

Long Ike and sweet Betsy attended a dance,
And Ike wore a pair of his Pike County pants.
Sweet Betsy was dolled up in ribbons and rings;
Said Ike, "You're an angel, but where are your wings?"

A miner said, "Betsy, will you dance with me?"
"I will, you old hoss, if you don't make too free;
But don't dance me hard - do you want to know why?
Daggone you, I'm chock full of strong alkali."

They swam the wide rivers and crossed the tall peaks,
And camped on the prairie for weeks upon weeks;
Starvation and cholera and hard work and slaughter -
They reached California 'spite of hell and high water.

They passed the Sierras through mountains of snow
'Til old California was sighted below;
Sweet Betsy, she hollered, and Ike gave a cheer,
Saying, "Betsy, my darlin', I'm a made millionaire!"

Long Ike and sweet Betsy got married, of course;
But Ike, getting jealous, obtained a divorce.
Sweet Betsy, quite satisfied, said with a shout,
"Goodbye, you big lummox, I'm glad you backed out."


SWEET EVELINA

Way down in the valley, where the lilies first grow,
Where the winds from the mountain ne'er ruffles the rose,
Lives sweet Evelina, the dear little dove;
The pride of the valley, and the girl that I love.

Chorus
Dear Evelina, sweet Evelina,
My love for thee shall never, never die;
Dear Evelina, sweet Evelina,
My love for thee shall never, never die.

She's fair like the rose, like the lamb, she is meek;
She never was known to put paint on her cheek.
In softest of curls hangs her raven-black hair,
And there never was need for perfumery there.

Evelina and I, one evening in June
Took a walk all alone by the light of the moon;
The stars, they shone bright, and the heavens were clear;
There I felt 'round my heart most mightily queer.

Three years have now passed and I've not got a dollar;
Evelina still lives in green, grassy hollow.
Although I am fated to marry her never,
I've sworn that I'll love her forever and ever.

Sung by JERRY BRYANT.


SWING LOW, SWEET CHARIOT

Negro Spiritual

Chorus
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home;
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home.

I looked over Jordan, and what did I see? -
Coming for to carry me home;
A band of angels coming after me -
Coming for to carry me home.

I'm sometimes up, and sometimes down -
Coming for to carry me home;
But still my soul feels heavenward bound -
Coming for to carry me home.

The brightest day that I can say -
Coming for to carry me home;
When Jesus washed my sins away -
Coming for to carry me home.

 

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