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LOVER AND THE BIRD

Oh! Sing, sing on, sweetly to cheer me,
Bird, thy music solace will bring;

Thou wilt not fly; why should'st thou fear me?
Sing of love; of love only sing.

Those honeyed notes of thine thro' me are thrilling,
This heart long desponding with pleasure.
Oh! Sing, sing on, sweetly to cheer me, filling.

Chorus:

Sing of love, of love only sing,

Sing, sing, ah, songster pity me!

Why can I never sing a song of rapture like thee?

Oh! Sing on, sing on, e'en to deceive me,

Bird with visions glitt'ring and vain,

Vain flatt'ring hopes. Oh! do not leave me,
Sing of love, of love only sing;

Soon from my dreams shall I waken to sorrow,
Today give me rapture; I'll weep tomorrow,

Oh, sing, sing on, e'er to deceive me.

Edison Blue Amberol Record 2418

LOVE'S OLD SWEET SONG
Bingham

Once in the dear dead days beyond recall,
When on the world the mists began to fall;
Out of the dreams that rose in happy throng,
Low to our hearts love sang an old sweet song.
And in the dusk, where fell the firelight gleam,
Softly it wove itself into our dream.

Chorus:

Just a song at twilight,
When the lights are low;
And the flickering shadows,
Softly come and go.
Though the heart be weary,

Sad the day and long,

Still to us at twilight

Comes love's old song,

Comes love's old sweet song.

Even today we hear love's song of yore,
Deep in our hearts it swells forevermore;
Footsteps may falter, weary grow the way,
Still we can hear it at the close of day;
So till the end when life's dim shadows fall,
Love will be found the sweetest song of all.
Columbia Record 5670

LOW BACK'D CAR
Lover

When first I saw sweet Peggy,
'Twas on a market day;
A low-backed car she drove,

And sat upon a truss of hay.
But when that hay was blooming grass
And decked with flowers of spring,
No flower was there that could compare
To the blooming girl I sing.
As she sat in her low-backed car
The man at the turnpike bar
Never asked for the toll-
But just rubbed his old poll

And looked after the low-backed car.

Sweet Peggy, 'round her car, sir,
Has strings of ducks and geese;
But scores of hearts she slaughters
By far outnumber these.

While she among her poultry sits,
Just like a turtle dove,

Well worth the cage, I do engage,

Of the blooming god of love.

While she sits in her low-backed car,

The lovers come near and far,

And envy the chicken

That Peggy is pickin'

While she sits in her low-backed car.

I'd rather own that car, sir,
With Peggy by my side,

Than a coach and four and gold galore,
And a lady for my bride.
For a lady would sit forninst me

On a cushion made with taste,
While Peggy would sit beside me

With my arm around her waist. As we drove in her low-backed car, To be married by Father Maher, Oh! my heart would beat high At her glance and her sign, Though it be in a low-backed car! Columbia Record 323

LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM

Moore

Oh! The days are gone when Beauty bright,
My heart's chain wove,

When my dream of life, from morn till night
Was love, still love.

New hope may bloom, and days may come,
Of milder, calmer beam,

But there's nothing half so sweet in life
As love's young dream.

Victor Record 31865

LOVE'S GOLDEN DREAM

I hear tonight the old bells chime
Their sweetest, softest strain;
They bring to me the olden time
In vision once again.

Once more, across the meadowland,
Beside the flowing stream,

We wander, darling, hand in hand,
And dream love's golden dream.

Chorus:

Love's golden dream is past,
Hidden by mists of pain,
Yet we shall meet at last,
Never to part again.
Love's golden dream is past,
Hidden by mists of pain,
Yet we shall meet at last,
Never to part again.

I look into your lovelit eyes,
I hear your gentle voice;

You come to me from Paradise

And bid my heart rejoice.

Sweet visions fade not from my sight,
I would awake to pain,

But dream, till at the portals bright,
I clasp your hand again.

Columbia Record 1476

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Oh, ma babby, ma curly headed babby,

We'll sit below de sky, an' sing a song to de moon,
Oh, ma babby, ma little nigger babby,

Yo' daddy's in de cotton field a-working fo' de coon.

So lulla, lulla, lulla, lulla, by-by,

Does yo' want de moon to play wid?

Or de stars ter run away wid?

Dey'll come if you don't cry.

So lulla, lulla, lulla, lulla, by-by!

In de mammy's arms be creepin',
An' soon yer'll be a-sleepin',

Lulla, lulla, lulla, lulla, by.

Oh, ma babby, ma curly headed babby,

I'll dance yer fast to sleep, an' lub yer so as I sing,

Oh, ma babby, ma little nigger babby,

Jus' tuck yer head like a little bird

Below its mammy's wing.

So lulla, etc.

Victor Record 88543

Copyright 1900 by E. Hatzfeld Co., London, England

JANET'S CHOICE

They say I may marry the Laird if I will,
The Laird of high degree,

And the jewels so fair I may twine in my hair
And a Lady I'll surely be.

But oh! where would my heart be?

In spite of my gems so gay,

My heart it would break for somebody's sake,

So I think I had better say "nay,"

And I will marry my own love, my own love, my own love, And I will marry my own love,

For true of heart am I.

So the Laird may marry the Lady,

The Lady of high degree,

And jewels so fair she may twine in her hair,

They are better for her than me.

And gaily I'll dance at the bridal,

I'll merrily dance on the lea,

With Susan and Alice and Emma,

But Donald shall dance with me.

And I will marry my own love, my own love, my own love, And I will marry my own love,

For true of heart am I.

So the Laird he marries the Lady,

The Lady of high degree,

And the lowland lassie he lov'd so well,

Abode in her own country,

"For oh! where would my heart be?"

Was ever her constant cry,

If ever I'd dar'd to marry the Laird,

Why Donald would surely die.

So I will marry own love, my own love, my own love,

So I will marry my own love,

For true of heart am I.

Victor Record 87262

JESSIE, THE FLOWER OF DUBLANE

Tannahill

The sun has gane doon o'er the lofty Ben Lomand,
And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene,
While lonely I stray in the calm simmer gloamin'
To muse on sweet Jessie, the flow'r of Dublane.
How sweet is the brier wi' its saft foulding blossom
And sweet is the birk wi' its mantle o' green,
But sweeter and fairer, and dear to this bosom,
Is lovely young Jessie, the flow'r o' Dublane.

Pathe Record 30042

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