I’ll be not myself at all, Molly dear, Molly dear, ’Till you my own I call. Since a change o’er me there came, shure you might change your name, And ’twould just come to the same, Molly dear, Molly dear, Oh! ’twould just come the same; For if you and I were one, all confusion would be gone, And ’twould simplify the mather entirely, And ’twould save us so much bother When we’d both be one another, So listen now to rayson, Molly Brierly, Oh! I’m not myself at all.
Oh, I have roam’d in many lands, And many friends I’ve met; Not one fair scene or kindly smile Can this fond heart forget; But I’ll confess that I’m content, No more I wish to roam; Oh, steer my bark to Erin’s isle,-- For Erin is my home. Oh, steer my bark, &c.
If England were my place of birth, I’d love her tranquil shore; But if Columbia were my home, Her freedom I’d adore. Though pleasant days in both I pass’d, I dream of days to come; Oh, steer my bark to Erin’s isle,-- For Erin is my home. Oh, steer my bark, &c.
The harp that once through Tara’s halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara’s walls, As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory’s thrill is o’er, And hearts that once beat high for praise, Now feel that pulse no more.
No more to chiefs and ladies bright, The harp of Tara swells; The chord alone, that breaks at night, Its tale of ruin tells. Thus freedom now but seldom wakes; The only throb she gives, Is when some heart indignant breaks, To show that still she lives.
Copied by permission of FIRTH, POND & CO., 547 Broadway, N. Y., publishers of the music.
I wish he would decide, Mamma, I wish he would decide, I’ve been a bridesmaid many time, When shall I be a bride; My cousin Anne and sister Fan, The nuptial knot have tied, Yet come what will I’m single still, Yet come what will I’m single still, I wish he would decide. When shall I be a bride, When shall I be a bride, For come what will I’m single still, I wish he would decide.
He takes me to the play, Mamma, And brings me pretty books, He woos me with his eyes, Mamma, Such speechless things he looks. Where e’er I roam, abroad, at home, He lingers by my side, Yet come what will I’m single still, Yet come what will I’m single still, I wish he would decide. When shall I be a bride, When shall I be a bride, For come what will I’m single still, I wish he would decide.